Lower Lighted

9:41pm.  Only committed to blog post this eve.  This morning’s running arrangements didn’t transpire precisely as planned, but I adjusted, having an interval set I many not have otherwise benefited [from].  Long day behind main bar, which brings me to this ’09 single vineyard Cabernet, after what I enjoyed at Uncle Tim and Aunt Denise’s house, at the whim’d barbeque.  But I’m not sure where to go from here, with the 3PAGE effort still unfinished.  Maybe I shouldn’t let mySelf touch blog till I finish a day’s 3PAGES.  Sounds practical..

Talking with Katie tonight, about winemaking, tannic management, her withholding certain secrets.  I’m evermore interested.  There could be something on the horizon for her and I.  Can’t say.  But it’s there.  Beyond charged, electrified.  Alive.  Tasting my wines today, with Sam.  Both tasted quite tasting Room worthy, as Sam put it.  And, to my astonishment, the blend tasted better, more of character, than the Merlot.  Couldn’t believe it, really.  That’s why I want2makeWINE.. it constantly surprises the writer, one truly new to its world, house.  Another sip, imaging Self away.  2Paris.  With Hemingway, Ms. Stein, Pablo…  Did I absorb enough when I was there?  Just remember that one session, while Alice was asleep, me writing at our Room’s desk.  Looking down at surrounding streets, dark.  Waiting for morning caffeine.

What I’m listening to now, what I’d be listening to on a flight to Paris.  Looking out the window, seeing nothing.  Or on a bus, cross this country, sipping something similar2 this Cab.  The exploration, curiosity quell.. what I need in writing well.  These runs to which I’ve been committing, beneficial ignition.  But I need to follow with impulse.  So glad the TV’s off.  It’s poison.  Even/especially the “news.”

People afraid of my writing: You should be.  I’m a Writer, restraining no inner-shove for scribble.  If I’m ordered to target YOU, you’ll be cited.  On line.  Paginated.  Is it ‘personal’?  It could be.  But it’d be what I was told 2do.  By Craft.  And I’ll be honest.. I love the fear that people voice, of US, Writers.  And they should be afraid.  Especially those in ‘the industry.” Can’t tell you how many times people have said to me, “Don’t put this on your blog,” or something of mirroring wrap.  The blog is the last thing you should be afraid of, devil.  IF you’re in fortunate enough to wind up in/on one of the book’s pages, you should hide.  As that’ll never be ‘deleted’, or ‘taken down’.

Be warned, devil…  I’m.  A.  WRITER.

The Cabernet, still not with me sitting serenely.  Maybe I should have waited to IT open.  Love these tracks, on this Pandora station.  On vacation.  Away, far.  Paris, Vienna, Prague, Rome.  Just away.  Perfect for this ink, Comp Book.  And this song, just what I need to hear.  Want to stop typing, writing, just imagine, dream away day’s rest.

Spifflicating my own sense of sensibility with this overthinking.  Just what I urged students NOT do.  Time, just walking away from me.

Just as

she does.

Confusing me, endlessly.  But that’s what’s keep the writer writing, what has the writing in its galactic flip.