Not int he mood to write tonight. Just enjoy this Kunde Rosé, sip away and love with this light low. Heard a plane pass overhead, of course think of Dad, his career and life and the life he provided us. Oh… still have more Rosé in little Govino wife bought me. Ms. Alice, deservingly asleep upstairs. Funny how today evolved, thinking this morning it would be reverb of yesterday but then directed toward something reflective, something inspiring in that office, writing the copy for the winery, looking out the window, co-worker and I both listening to our musics, talking about music, and me sub rosa realizing I need to be and write more musically. In fact, right now I’m putting on Hutcherson… and one of my favorite tracks to my senses strolls, “Delilah”, relaxed, finally. Have to be at winery early tomorrow morning but I don’t mind at all. More material and more story for me and wine in my totality.
Where is the poem I wrote earlier? Oh, Comp Book, of course. So that’s two, two days in a row. At a minimum, one performable poetry piece everyday, for the rest of the writer’s life. People messaging me and I can’t respond, as I’m too into this low light in the family or living room, whatever this room’s called in the building plans, Hutcherson, and my wine. Only, “only”, 10:50. Will be up for a bit after this entry, sipping and researching, posting and planning. Oh what a victoring day, more than (I would have to say) Wednesday. Didn’t run today, but so what. I have story. I have pictures. Memory.
Deep pull of the wine and I’m in clouds with Bobby and Jack, Plath, Hemingway, Carver. The stories should only be short. Thinking of one, of a high school music teacher, years ago touring the country for pennies, but he toured. He traveled. He and his band, four members total. Piano, sax, drums, bass— they went to wherever would even give them a ten minute set. IT was their life, the jazz, the sounds, the reactions from crowds. And again, this writer finds himself in music’s IT. It’s everything, even visually, like the shade and tint of this Kunde Rosé, it sings something, something I can’t sequentially set in sentences, but it’s musical— everything from the acidity to the color, texture and fruit arrangement and complexion. Listening to this song, I think of the words back and forth between my coworker and I, the love of music and a life generator— regardless of genre. I need be more of clef, of chord and effect. Reading to crowds, asking them to be free in their spoken spree, completely.
Today was positive, profusely positive. And I credit wine, the winery. I remember sitting by the coworker and telling him, “Oh my god, your view…”
“Yeah, it doesn’t suck,” he said.
I had to smirk and lightly huff, as I’ve had the suck-views. The insurance office in San Leandro, the clerical gig at the wine brokerage in Fountaingrove— I’m more than prosperous. I’m “there”. I always have been, I realize. Shit, I need another glass, celebrate… Chanceux.
Realized to revolve in the same life for my babies like that Dad and Mom us tethered.