Ran 6.2-something

at the gym, then hurried and readied for class after then going to pickup little Kerouac.  Not talking about anything work or “business” related this evening, just meditation, true meditation downstairs here in the Autumn Walk writing hotel for one author and I yield to my own entertainments, what I calculate and how I calculate it, IT, whatever IT is and I think I might finally know.  So…..  what.  So what.  So WHAT.  I should only be writing in the novel but that’s my problem I keep getting distracted by isolated moments like this one and I flock to my journal like a one-bird flock not knowing if I should fly north or south or try one of the other options.. no wine tonight, why I’m moving so fast, just some sparkling black cherry water (black cherry, I think?) that I bought from the store just down the Road, Piner & Coffey, my new zone and spectrum of running and commuting and everything.  At least for the next few years.  Why am I thinking about writing a screenplay right now?  Yeah, why?  I hate that format, and I don’t even really know how to, so then why try?  I just hear dialogues in my head, the tasting room, and all the visitors, those making or having made reservations and then just the ones that decide to show, think the winery looks cool from the road and stop, park, walk up to door taking several dozen pictures and fucking “selfies” and then moving on to the room where they taste wine and not listen to a thing I say and ask “So if I buy a bottle is the tasting waved?” Why do they always use the word ‘waved’?  And why do they always ask that before buying something?  A guy the other day said, or asked, “If I try half the wines do I only have to pay half the fee?” “No,” I said.  And he left.  But then, you have certains that want to show what they think they know about wine and how to taste it, and what they’d pair with whatever, they want to be heard, the same way I want to as the writer be read.  And everything else in the tasting room– competitions between pourers, those that want to work and those that don’t, those wanting so badly to have stripes and a badge, a baton and that general’s cap when truthfully they’re a mere dunce; jester fool, a tardy-gaited maggot-pie that just moves, moves, and talks talks talks–  Then me, who probably doesn’t work as “hard” as I could but I love the wine, and the people, and the vines and what they’re doing right now, they keep me writing this vintage like never they before have.  I’m enjoying myself, and that’s all I know how to do– so the dialogue I start writing, in stage form, though, to start– so maybe I should do that, then, stage, which doesn’t need to dote on that stupid form that you can download or order by installable disc.

CHARACTER1:  That Howell Mountain’s tasting incredible right now..

CHARACTER2:  Yeah it is.  [sips]  What.. what is that?  It’s like, foggy chocolate or something.

CHARACTER1:  What?  What do you mean, “foggy”?

CHARACTER2:  Like, mysterious or something.  Like, treacherous…

CHARACTER1:  That doesn’t sound good.