entry 3

5:31, I have one beer floating around my functioning.  Tonight, I engage in wine, a blend of Italian and French types.. see how the characters tussle.  Printed another poem, wrote one right before the dentist.  OH, and no cavities, no pain while there.  I’ll admit, I’m happy, I’m stable and even with this second day in the 6th month.  Tonight, I’m–  You know, the promises and prognostications have to halt.  Never mind.  I do intend on drinking wine, wishing Self to Road, seeing what I’ve never seen, taking pictures with whatever camera I have.  I do wish for one of those advanced cameras.. but I’m a writer, I don’t need one, device of any type, prestige or price.

Back at the winery tomorrow, and I only hope to taste from bbls, or tanks.. taste the wines in their incandescent immaturity, as that’s where there’s truth, no interference or intrusion.  Now, 9:59PM, I sip one of the blends from the winery, and it’s catching me, but I like what it makes me think of, like the Road, the hotels I’ll see, what fiction I could make of my observations.  Yes, I know what my form is, simply recording what I see, like Kerouac, but what if I went to a “genre”, vivified in the dour; what Poe did, only with more imagist compulsion..  The vacation home in Tahoe, filled with otherworldly menace, unoccupied for over a decade then bought by a wealthy New York couple, and when they arrive to spruce it, they’re accosted, imprisoned, followed.  Like Ligeia, but with more dimension, joust.

 

And another story, about a killer who only targets certain people– managers in the food, beverage, and wine industries.  The victims go missing for a while, then are found, illustratively severed.. a message to both reader and those executing certain methods, manners.  Certain messages and warning need be manifested in certain milieu and mold.

 

This blend, definitely taunting me.  But I can outrun it, at least tonight.  Ligeia, her intent, her urges, her longing, now about me…  Everything in the wine world is tangible, so immediate, so consumable, soon gone.  What about what remains, reverberates?  Why isn’t that heralded?  Why are so many smitten by sips, and not by the scribbles of great scribes, like Mr. Poe?  I’m sickened by today’s society.. have been for years.  Hope I haven’t vented too much to the students.

 

Ms. Alice, out on couch.  Poor girl, working so hard.  Even now, at this hour, she “burns” DVDs for her students.  She sleeps, and I listen for the completion of each disc, skip in to inject another for copying, or “burning”.

Final sip of blend.  Wonder what winemakers think when they sip their bottles at their “peak”.  Our books, never “peak”.  There’ll always be a first time for reading, and the page is always intact, in one way or another for a premiering reader.

 

seconds lost so much so

this morning

encouraging a lost

new medicine

new day, a payoff

it’ll have to do if you expect most of

what you wanted