And I’m sipping Sangiovese, from my buddy Mike’s label. Loving everything about it.. and I know I’ve found my subject, in wine, winemaking.. making the ground come to life by way of a grape. It’s amazing when you think about it, really. Tonight, in class, while the students reacted to Walls’ book, I could only think of what Walls shares through her pages.. everything she saw, was exposed to.. how she had to battle Life. And what am I battling? Strangely, wine’s industry, still. That other winery, wouldn’t budge with their $15/hour and 90-day waiting period for benefits. Well, neither would I, as I told India. So now, where do I go? Well, to my own office, of course. Took a notebook from the department’s supply drawer, this evening. Wrote a couple lines in it.. and have to put together a book– now, it’s dire. The industry, where it puts us.. we don’t have to accept if we don’t want to. The guy I saw at Palooza the other day, once a TR employee and now with his own label. Like Dad has ALWAYS said: “If that guy can do it, then so can I.” I’m not settling for nonsense, and I won’t be kept down. This wine, made by Mike, delivering a thickness to its palate.. and a theatric pulse to its “finish”. Why do guest always comment on that.. “Oh, this has a nice finish,” one guy said the other day, I think he was from Ohio, or Utah.. or the tannins. “Tannins… Tannins… This isn’t as tannin-y as the other one…” I’m not saying there’s a way to talk about wine or a way you shouldn’t, I just don’t think it should be over-thought– or ‘OVERthought’ as I write for the students. This Saturday I’ll have a writer’s retreat, here at home, and I plan on going further than I ever have with such a night, having more pages proofed and printed than I ever thought I could in a single night. And I’ll compose new material, don’t worry, I just want my book to take shape– and no excess fictiveness. I’ll write the True, the true truth. And I’ll enjoy wine, interpret its steps. This one, Mikes: bold, forward, yet subtle and poetic. There’s scenic circles in this bottle, music too. I love it, frankly, and this is the type of bottle that only emboldens my passion for wine, how it gallops across a palate, how it recites to all senses, even ones that haven’t been discovered or categorized.
What do I get mySelf for dinner this Sat? A steak, somewhere, I’m thinking. Create a scene here in the condo.. clear this nook table, open the wine, play some of the jazz J.K. would enjoy, and have my tasty tableau. IT, will be perfect, I promise my Self.
Still feel the runs from the last two days. I’m hoping to fit one in, come Wednesday. A ten-miler. Let’s see… I want to feel alive, more alive than I’ve ever felt. And with this age, thirty-goddamn-five! No more applying. I’m doing what I want, recite to MY Beat–