6/19/20 – Day 21


Out of house, at coLAB.  Beats in ear, about to make a call to IT vendor.  Happy hour over Zoom with Sonic groups at 4…. Thinking I’ll get something for that.  Don’t want to drink through the Dutcher lot too quick.

No one in the room with me.  Not even the guy with the larger private office behind me.  The day, eased but with definite and definitive motion earlier.

Haranguing myself with word obsession and my immediate beat, rhythm, musical quality in writing.  Why… just the mood I’m in, again.  Too much on the laptops distracting me… indicators and alerts, messages, whatever else.  Keeping self in this chair and not moving till an idea absolutely encompasses me.

Current track, with enough, enough to have me speaking, reciting and riming to myself without moving lips.  Just here in my quickest of quips.  Mode of survival, so known to be tribal with these reflective syllables and sentences, sentencing myself to a life of writing.  Even at 41 that’s what I see fo the self, for the wine books.

Tomorrow tasting at a new Room, and possibly collaborating with him somehow.  See how it unfolds, see what the wines say to me, what kind of music they speak to my structure and soul.  Need more Newness, and Dutcher certain appeases that need, with the Chard and Cab bottles bought.

Thinking after here possibly head to Roth…. Or, St. Francis… or somewhere in Sonoma Valley I haven’t been in years.  Was thinking about Muscardini he other day, that mountain Cabernet he used to do.  I’d think he’d still produce that bottle, but I can’t say for sure.  So glad everything is starting to open back up again, and that I can actually think like that… Where do I want to do tasting… I can ACTUALLY go somewhere.

1pm… have to call IT person.  Don’t really want to, honestly.  Want to just sit here and take notes on wine, wine writing…. What the book is to be. I absolutely and wholly notice myself thinking too much about subject and singularity.  Wine isn’t singular, even when it’s one in varietal, vineyard block, or even selection.  Bottle variance, and every sip says a different thing.  Send a different message.

She didn’t answer.  Then got another call, called him back, and now back to my time.  11 days counting today to turn the month around, sales-wise.  And if I don’t, it’s one month.  Planning next month… exclusively in the field, more Zoom calls, more being in front of the camera…. Being camera-ready.  Speak more just as I do in the classroom.

1:14 – Already thinking about leaving.  But I just got here, I tell myself.  Stay in the chair, plan, see things for the next month.  All business aspects and facets.  What I need do and more musically pursue.

1:15 – Two laptops on this desk, backpack and two phones.  My zone. Alone in room, collecting….

1:17 – Doing more of the talk to self out-loud, here and putting self int he teaching mode, like I’m a student in my 1A class.  Not letting self stop or pause, even for a second… seeing myself in my tasting room, small like the one I’m to visit tomorrow on the Sonoma Square.  And tasting through the wines, notes on how the wines have changed, how my connection to them has changed.  Last week I was all about the Cabernet from Sonoma Valley and now I’m much more decided in the Alexander Valley Merlot blend (65% Merlot, 10 Syrah, 25% Petite Verdot from Sonoma Valley, close to Carneros region)….

Freer in everything.  The first wine book, which I’m about to officially start in a second, starts with that… just want I want.  My own wine room.  Others wines I sell and then MY wine, that I make either with my sister or friend Blair, or just by myself somehow.

Wine is everything I want to write.. that Jack Kerouac and Hunter S. Thompson, Tupac Shakur and Edgar Allan Poe, Sylvia Plath of wine writing.  Nothing same,  nothing paradigm, everything musical and free… like a jazz jam session.


Stay in one place, or subject.  Singularity, I grapple on.  Skirmish, as if at a border riff.  Be more a bellwether with my pages.  Instruct self to look further into wine.  What wine is, can be, says, suggests, sings.  How her definition magically morphs and changes…. The freeness in her frame, like a delirious game.

This room, for creatives.  Am I….. don’t self-doubt.  Don’t question.  Just move.  The music telling me to consider the table, the keys I push, the walls and the color of that door, the other one.  Both black but with unique rhythm to each.

In school again.  Feel so. Learning the verse tell and personality layered in my echo, sense, wildness of way, crossing roads and bridges with no toll just valuable eagerness, hunger.  Wine and the world it supports and suggest, knows and questions.

I rationalize tasting.  Now.  How… just get in your fucking car and go somewhere.  Not sure I want to drive all the way out to Muscardini.  Maybe Roth.  Yes, a final ruling… going to Roth.  Taste everything.  But only two bottles.  Be selective.  Be one of those people, those tourists, the ones that say “Can I revisit…..?” no, don’t be that way, not to that intensity.  Just explore.

Me giving self advice, on wine and how to go through a flight.  Will be nice to be back on property. When was the last time I tasted there?  Think maybe… six months ago, maybe more?  Just go, let the day be like an arrow just flying forward for you and more words..  from what I see, live and experience, glass to glass and page to page.  Wine and writing are not the same, not different, not harmonious or symphonic, but compositionally compiled…. Radically riled, inherently wild.

Readying for leave. New belief and composition in my thinking, no mood-sinking.  Start book before I leave seat.  Smiling, I found something, new sing.. new song for wined life, long.