The metaphor of tires, I say to myself learning I’m well over 2k words for the day.  The rotation of the tires.  The beating and biting they take on the Road… Road, travel, Kerouac poetry, music.. the only truth.

Journey’s I’m going to soon take, exploration of manuscripts, whether at a taco shop table (yes I’m more than likely going to get that beer soon), or wherever, doing whatever.  Rotation, development of character.  I’m bored of Sonoma County, everything about it.  Even the wines, I have to say… will I be in Oregon soon?  No, this will always be home.  I don’t want to be that parent that constantly moves his kids.  That’s not right.  Want them to know Sonoma County as home, but have homes elsewhere.  There’s the Sunriver home yes but that’s Mom and Dad’s.  I want a coastal escape for us… look later, wheels in mind turning and turning tireless to real estate up there.

Driving to new creative scape and takes.  I’ll start that new site tonight, the site and potential business for wine and vineyard photog.  The tire’s symbol… it wares, it fades, need be changed.. CHANGE, character and story.  Who knew I would be covered in so much composition and philosophy, in a tire shop.  

It’s not a metaphor. It’s an order.  It’s a reprimand. What has taken me so long to notice certain wheels need to stop turning, that aspects need be taken out of the functioning, so the malfunctioning ceases…?

Turn the wheel, this direction, the one. I’m in and now setting still chewing this gum under my mask and waiting for the new tires to be put on.

Neal in that tire shop… me at these keys.  Thinking of old friends, wine… people I’ve met in the wine world.  Wine is a wheel I can never remove.  Its revolution are what make me more new and imbue truth into my identity’s rue.