excerpt from this morning…

That will be an experience, one writeable. The estate last night, so dark and threatening and everywhere, appearing larger than it is or maybe just how grandiose and expansive it is just magnifired by not being able to visually assess it. It was like a pool, or river I was in but could breath, but no sight– that added to the story of it all thought, I have to admit. I wanted to walk around, hike with only flashlight, and see where I landed. And he’s down here with me, playing with the ruin, the toy pile and luxuriates in his known province. Saved my grades while he re-stacked each character in his toy cannon. And now, I’m totally committed to Fall, clear head and clear vision. Make sure that everything about the reads this coming semester are maddened– need coffee, more of it, keep the story cartwheeling into its own depth. Rereading Crystal’s story and there’s something about it I want to fiddle with on my own, something subtextual but I can’t pin it. Why do I want to? Go with initial impulse, sensation or tickling– well, it’s exhaustion with what she does and that she does it for someone else. She wants her own winery, or label– small, distanced from anything corporate and she also wants to be known as a writer, one of small pieces. She hasn’t the faintest compulsion for novel. Her masterpieces are her bottles– the Chards Cabs and Zins she’d produce. That’s her latest menu vision. She wants a small counter for her Room