9/11/13– Instead of throwing away the 2,000+ words from the past few days, here on blog, I’m deciding to rack them into the ‘41+’ project. Sipping Rosé, then onto ’10 Pinot. Running tomorrow. Of course, I failed when my alarm this morning sounded at 5:15a, simply hitting ‘off’, going back to bed. but maybe I shouldn’t stop trying to have the wee hours run.
Did a lot of writing at winery today, for this small release. Also, new notes for tomorrow lectures, concerning Capote. Faulkner, next…
Harvest, still in motion. Not sure I want to make any wine, believe or no. Want to stay full focused on my writings. Once they free me from the machine, then I’ll return to barrel. But maybe that’s the wrong decision. No, it definitely is. I should practice, every vintage, till I’m free, selling my own bottles from small label [‘whoso’]. (8:14pm)
9:52pm. Into Pinot. Sipping quite slow. Not even going to promise that I’ll wake at 5-something for a run. I’ll run immediately after dropping off little Kerouac. My goal, five miles, fast as I’m able. Need some music, soon. Tired of the TV. It’s poison. Going to look for some critical pieces, essays, on Faulkner, Capote.
In mode to just enjoy this Pinot, after transferring 1600+ words to ‘project 41’ [I’m now it dubbing]. Drizzle this morning, water drops on car. Heard for first time in months it seems that sounds of drops in drain on other side of condo’s wall. Seasons in shift. Just hope my Merlot doesn’t get damaged. Also thought this morning, while driving Jack to Lisa’s, that I should put more older entries into this first chap, and maybe the first few chaps, than newer works. Only racking pieces that have sat on blog for a year, or more. Rule4Self. After a year, sitting unresponded-to, it deserves a page. Or even if it DOES get a reaction or 2, 4, 7, more. I don’t care. My writing, ALL of it, deserves page.
Film. Anti-Literary, at its very best, Capote said. IS that true, fair? Do I agree? With today’s films, or movies [as they don’t deserve the word ‘films’], YES. To both questions. that’s why I’m writing books, ones short. Praying they never see translation. And if they do, I’m to be involved from translation’s first sheet to final.
Pouring next glass after this entry. Thought of descriptors today, how silly they are, after I called the ’11 Estate Cab “too permissive.” After I said that, I thought “What?” What does that mean? Why do we get so bizarre, obscure, elevated, self-indulgent with language when it comes to wine? So many people don’t read [at least anything quality, of reflective worth], certainly don’t write, have love of language. But when it comes to wine, unexpectedly they’re syllable saints. Makes me laugh. Makes me mad. Why does wine do this to people?
It’s only wine.
Poured night’s cap. More than generous. Perhaps detrimentally. But I haven’t had Pinot in a while. Looking at Harvard’s English Department website. Would love to speak there. Posting on Pedagogy Blog after this. This writer/professor, much in character.