Wine WriteMaking

Tomorrow, event at AV Winery.  “Taste of Alexander Valley,” you can bet I’ll have my camera equipment on person.  More interested in video, than stills, for some reason.  Did a beer tasting at work, one I’ve never before sipped, with three coworkers–Drew, Beth, David.  Now, sipping ’09 Merlot (8% Petite Sirah, 3% Cab blended in).  All day today, in winemaker mind.  I also reasoned, that if I never set foot in a classRoom again, in exchange for a life of Art, Creating, Winemaking, I’m more than at peace with such settlement.

Did one tour today.  Two people, father & daughter.  Just to hear how they spoke of wine, how the father enumerated memories of dinners with wine, how his daughter is just getting connected with wined moments, made me even more convinced that I need to make wine, just as I want people moved by pages I write.  Speak with terroir; Through it, within it…  I need to write that Something, whatever shape it’s to take.  And produce that bottle of wine, whether raw or “refined.”

Right when I got home, returned to a verse in the Comp Book that I began over a month ago.  Actually, just three days under a month ago, today.  The blog, starting to fade in visits and views.  How do I remedy this?  Tomorrow could be a prime opportunity for exposure, gaining new readership.  You know what, I’m not planning, not right now.  This moment’s for writing.  And sipping this ’09.  Funny, noticing notes I didn’t in my last visit.  Definitely more blueberry, more espresso, dark chocolate, and damp thick soil.  Tonight’s profile, more enigmatic than the last.  Not to say I necessarily like it better, just more colorfully cryptic.  More mystery, I guess I’d say.  Thinking I should blend some Merlot into my eventual Syrah, less than 10%.  But I’d have to consort with Kaz, or Katie, just to be sure my ambition’s not getting upper-hands on reasoning.


Had a dream last night that I wanted to write a novel, some book that would change everything, that would bring me Autonomy, but I couldn’t focus to the point of even beginning.  Couldn’t even write the first word, just kept meandering scene to scene, watching other live.  Remember waking, feeling it wasn’t much of a dream at all.  Why have I not finished a book, yet?  Why am I not writing for a living?  I mean, is it a confidence issue?  Is it an attention issue?  A blend of both?  Whatever it is, it’s stopping now, tonight, with this sip.  IT has to.  Not going to try writing like other authors, muddy mimicry, just going to commit to a page amount.  My writing’s randomly streamed, seamed; various pieces whimsically teamed.  I’ll do that till I reach my page amount.  Page amount?  That’s not me.  Certainly not Literary.  “What’s you book about?” I can just hear people asking.  How do I respond?  What kind of book is it?  A novel?  I guess…  Written the same way songwriters compose on buses.  How poets write lines while waiting in coffee shop or DMV lines.

Meeting in Kenwood tomorrow, 8:30am.  Don’t have to show for tomorrow’s event till 1p.  Thinking of how to manage my time.  Also deliberating on how to finish a couple spoken word pieces.  I think it’s admirably demented how much I think about writing, my projects.  Need to think and concentrate more on winemaking, offer written response to my research, what I learn, new ideas.  This Merlot, telling me to defy everything in way of expectation, regulation, standardization.  It also, only in the last sip,  whispers a coy caramel coo.  With my biz stash, injected into my credit card balance, I have to start over.  Especially if I’m to buy that Sauvignon Blanc fruit from Kaz.  And where I’ll get funding for this vintage’s wine with Katie, no idea.  Maybe I won’t need any.  St. Francis was humblingly supportive with our ’11 effort.  Maybe the same’ll be true this, so far dream-like, vintage.

(5/17/12, Thursday)

fate, a wined warrant

5/13.  More incredibly interesting guests today.  Some, from France.  Bordeaux.  In the library, we engaged in a deconstruction of the idea of a Utopia, or one having their own Utopia, after I called the ’08 Cab my “Utopian Cabernet.” As one of the characters was a Literature major, pursuer, like I.  Home now, 7:20pm.  Do have a new Cab for tonight’s tasting, as I’d aimed.  But first, need dinner.  Leftovers from last night’s Roberto’s visit.  But first before I forget, weather today: cooler, slight drizzle in A.M.  Clouds cleared, a bit, and now [7:24pm], cooler, fog.  Unique this morning, when in XA’s cabin, scribbling verse in Comp Book.

I’ll bring the laptop monster downstairs, with a writing movie.  Tomorrow, oddly, I have off, because of a rearrangement in the schedule to accommodate Taste of Alexander Valley, having me work Thurs & Friday (1:30p-10, I believe).  But, I’m going in tomorrow to take care of ends, odds.  Tonight’s the priority.  These pages.  The projects, logs, wine…

Just finished salad.  Too idea-eager to eat the spaghetti calamari that just finished heating.  Tonight’s wine, Cab.  Not specifying vintage, AVA, producer, or anything more.  It’s not important.  What I’m appreciating is the Cabernet Character on palate.  But before I do, wanted to unfold the progress of this morning’s 128 session:  1-page poem, a 20-line verse, 8 lines to finish verse from earlier in month, atop a 1.5-pg journal entry.  All thanks to mocha; Those 3 shots..  Was in a defiant mood with this AM’s sitting, after being exposed to sarcastic remarks on Art, Artistry, those in Creative habits, recently, from one totally bland in all thinking, existence.  Won’t wastes lines on the drones offering such tinny thoughts, but I will state: They can’t do what We do, that’s why they criticize what We do; They’ll never hold capacity to think as We think, as they feel safe in a safe mentality; We take risks in our works, they’re far too timid, secure in their acceptable routine to leap, that’s why they resent Our flight; These devils will always lob insult over the wall that separates us, because there is no ‘us’; That’s all they can do, is not do.  Atop this assault, I want to respect the writer I yesterday met, her passion for words, her upcoming exodus to a writer’s retreat, or conference (sorry, can’t remember) to Oregon.  Respecting her, using her board position for my momentary amelioration.

Time to taste Cabernet, I guess.  Honestly, I just want to write.  And tomorrow, morning… waking earlier than I did today.  Getting my work done at AV Winery, before 10a, hoped.  Then, writing till I hate the act of writing.  But not before I edit, delineate/separate standalone pieces.

8:33pm.  I’ll concede a falsehood, or a misleading omission…  Well, if something was omitted, how could it be misleading?  Returning to topic, I have 3 Cabs to 2nite taste.  And number 1, richly floral; a daring character, eager to confront even the most particular of palates.  This one makes me want to break into the facility, visit my wine.  and I’m not aiming, aspiring to title of “winemaker.” I just want to make wine.  As a writer; scribe through terroir; I want the EXPERIENCE, for the WRITING.  And this pour motives my whimsicality; It shapes my character.  When did I start using semicolons so much?  Remember how I used to slander them, aloud, to my students.  I’m a contradictory pattern bend, blend.  Confusing Self…

1000 Words, Road A.M. [stabilized]

Wasn’t going to bring laptop, but, as I stated in a note I took this morning, I rarely get around to transferring the writing, just ‘cause of my writing style–it being so fast, in-the- moment, streamed.  Time, according to this device, 8:51a.  Knew I wasn’t going to get here at 8:30, as I wanted to, or usually shoot for, since I made coffee at home.  Two strong cups, still swimming in my system.  So, hoped for 8:40a, but was held up by a bike race here in AV, all along Chalk Hill.  Lucky me.  Listening to Thievery, as always, with window down.  Thinking about day ahead, and this Sunday (my home tasting, Wine/varietal analysis).  Thinking I’m only going to do 1 wine.  And the varietal?  Probably Syrah, as I think it’s the most fun to taste, composition-wise.

Quite pleased with the stills I yesterday shot in Sonoma’s Valley.  The music stopped spilling through my phone.  Why does it always do that here, on 128’s side.  May be a signal issue.  Just noticed some vineyard workers to my left, and up the embankment, walking rows of a vineyard.  Never noticed there was one up there.  Should have known…  There’re vines all around me, why I love writing here every Saturday, Sunday so early.  Today, I’m betting, quite busy at AV Winery.  Can’t wait for the tours, the characters, their reactions to the wines, how they describe them.  Okay, music not working on phone, will play songs here on monster…


8:59a.  51 minutes left to Self, for the page.  Not sure where to go with this session, except to tell you how I can’t wait for Artistic Autonomy.  That’s towards what I’m writing.  It’ll be better for, certainly me, but more so Jack.  I won’t be gone 8 hours, 8+, five days/week.  And Self-publishing, I’m holding back for now.  Doesn’t mean I’m going to halt in allocating pages to this book idea, I’m merely holding off the actual publishing of the work.  Don’t think it’d be responsible to spend that much money on something I may not have adequate time to sell.  So what will I sell, in terms of written works?  Self.  I’ll be the product, the brand.  Why would someone want to purchase me?  Don’t have an answer for you.  Just have to put all channels of my heart into these syllables, and KNOW I’m doing the right thing.

Need new business cards.  Soon, AGAIN.  Luckily, I still have well over 100 to last me a bit.  Oh, just remembered I have a Cabernet at home I could use for Sunday’s analysis.  Completely forgot about that bottle.  That saves me some currency, in my evaporating balance.  Love the song that now plays.  Makes me think of France, Paris, traveling.  Can only imagine the sights that Mom and Dad are capturing, as I type here on the unpaved earth, counting down minutes before I have to “host” people on tours.  I love what I do, now.  But, everyone knows what I really want.  And, being only 17 days from 33, I continue to deteriorate into an impatient dust storm.  But, I’ll write my way through it.  And, I stall to say, this blog will help.  I can immediately release my reactionary prose, verse.  But, there is a deadline.  12/31/2012, 11:59pm.  After that, I don’t know.  Before that date, I will have my Autonomy.  My office.  My crafted Now.

Disappointed I didn’t wake the other morning at 6:20a as I targeted.  But, this morning redeems.  Love this cold air sneaking into this dirty cabin.  When was the last time I had this mini-tank washed?  Just had a flashback of my Literary Lunches on 1st & Main, with this current song, “Illusion (Rollercone Remix)” from the Hôtel Costes 5 Album, or one of the versions, I don’t know.  Either way, I remember having my second mocha, typing angrily, racing to soak into every drop of that 60-minute freedom injection.  Isn’t that more or less what I’m doing now, here in the XA?  Somewhat.  From here, I go to a beautiful winery.  From the Roasting Company, I always returned to a malignantly toxic, vile, office, surround by wine industry snitches and opportunists.  Topic next …


Kelly, recently went to NYC, I was writing the other night.  Her first time on the East Coast, in Manhattan.  The biggest break for her as an Artist.  A gallery caught news of her odd color blends, blurred images, visual voice.  A couple galleries, hosting a collective showing, paid for her flight, hotel accommodations.  Interesting writing about this character, being envious of her talent, progression, travels.  Can’t be annoyed by this paginated presence.  She, I feel, will carry me to what my work needs, that perpetual mobility.  Can’t afford to give her a book yet, with all those paper and copy costs, so she’ll have to settle for a stationary situation on these blog screens.  Sorry, Kelly..

Nearing my thousand.  That was quick.  9:21am.  Time passing cruelly, just like at that Roasting Co, with its airborne coffee essences, walled paintings, view of the 1st & Main intersection, passing characters [tourist, local].  You know what, giving Self till 9:30a, then stopping, cruising over to the Jimtown Store.  Maybe I’ll treat Self to one of those Chicken Salad Sandwiches.  Truck just pulled in behind, to left of XA, only to speed off obnoxiously, using the dirt as annoyance artillery, attaching to air.  Not bothered, only motivated to faster finish.  Back to the paper vs blog issue, just thought: Yes, as I’ve so many times before noted, anyone can write a blog.  BUT, there is only one ME; only one of my voice, style, page presence/persistence.  Just as there are so many musicians out there: So many have demo tapes, indi albums, singles, EP’s, what have… but it’s the ones with unique flight that reverberate with populace, stay in minds, and INSPIRE.  So yes, there are other Literary bloggers, or just writers with blogs.  But they don’t, can’t, NEVER will write like Madigan, Mike.

9:27a.  Over 1k, typed.  No troublesome transfer.  Should get on road a minute or two early to JTown, enjoy more air in this cluttered cabin.  Need that car wash, soon.  Need a nice mobile office.  Just had bikers pass, laughing, one of them saying “I’m getting tired, thinking of that wine already!” The other biker, his right, laughing.  Now, me, leaving.  Love the AM session, almost as much I infatuate with Kelly’s corner.


5/6/12: Album/Book Co-ferment

Clocking in, 8:35a, on 128’s side.  Five minutes late, but I’ll let it go this time.  Wasn’t going to bring laptop, after posting over, well over 1000 words to blog last night, and not getting one “Like.” It’s my fault, completely.  Shouldn’t be throwing that much “product” away, into a blog.  That should have gone into a book.  In fact, after this check-in session, I’m going straight to my latest book effort.  Going to blend in a little of BOOK1, here on desk top.

Lots of bikers out today, cycling up hill, eventually to drop into Alexander Valley’s heart.  Can’t let mySelf stop talking–I  mean writing.  This mocha, really working.  Morcheeba playing through phone.  Spent close to two minutes getting music cued through that evil little tech piece.  So, would have clocked in earlier.

New schedule at AV Winery, having Thursdays & Fridays off.  Much better having two days of rest, WRITING, adhered.  An even more sizable cyclist squadron passes.  Today should be hot, giving the leaves, vines, eventual 2012 fruit more rudder.

8:41am.  Just opened BOOK1.  See some passages that I could use for this latest book effort.  With my “branding,” coupled with the reality of Self-publishing [in other words, me paying for everything from paper to binding to all else…] keeping all my releases under 100 pages.  But over 50.  And, I want every release to contain between 40-50k words of content.  That’s what I’m thinking, right now.  And I know I keep saying ‘I need to get serious about releasing writing beyond these blogs’.  But this is different.  I want to rebel against the expectation that I’m going to “blog” something. [And I didn’t know “blog” was a commonly accepted verb…  Just my point: what social media, the immediacy of the internet, wine’s greedy INDUSTRY, and bloggers (those without conviction, confidence to Self-publish actual pages) have done to language.]  I want to be seen as one always releasing publications, all Self-funded, sold.  Meaning, all consumer direct.  Like painters, other Artists.  Like Kelly.

Beyond what I told mySelf I’d do, in terms of word count.  No matter.  Well, actually it does, as this is all being “posted” to my “blog.” It’s fine, I keep telling Self.  I want to share these moments, with those willing to read them; with those who actually READ.  More cyclists.  Never seen this many on a weekend morning before.  This has to be suggesting…  What?  That I need to be outside; That I need to be mobile; That I need to escape; That my writing needs to escape [DEFINITELY]; That I need to be truer to Self, as Kaz suggested; That I need to…  WHAT?

My music stopped.  Ugh, now I need to remedy the stall, which will eat into my typing time.  Why I can’t just enjoy the quiet, this new office spot of mine, here on 128’s side, I don’t know.  Maybe these cyclists are telling me  I need to drive around, look for another spot.  Okay, now the quiet’s getting to me…

Again deliberated ending the other blog.  And I meditated quite extensively on its execution.  But, I decided to let it stay alive, be a more visual blog, with more photo and video presence.  Today, elevated temps in Alexander Valley.  Put in vacation mode, making travel ever more appealing, especially since I overheard the winemaker tell others over the phone how he’d be gone all next week, returning for bottling of a certain wine, then leaving again for three weeks.  And my sisters, in her travels…  I need the road, just as London’s characters did.  Right now, sipping an ’08 Cabernet, Alexander Valley.  Producer, completely unimportant.  Percentages, also irrelevant (yes, it’s blended).  If people have a problem with that tone, sentence sack, just remember I’m an Artist, a nomadic diarist scribe, completely disinterested in approval.

Wrote a poem today.  Or rather, finished one.  Again I’m thinking of the other blog site.  What is it doing for me?  And what do I want to be known as?  A “wine blogger” [whatever that is], sales/marketing clown?  OR, an Artist, one sovereign, completely in control of his vessel, its voyage, dependent only on Self?  You know me, you know what I’d say.  But that’s not warrant enough to kill 1StopWineBlogShop.  You know, I thought of 1Stop’s concept while working at the box.  In the morning, walking from my car to Their whorish office, just as I was done crossing that little bridge, stomping down those three steps.  Thinking that way, with Them in mind, people who in no way stand sincerely passionate in wine, only fancying material, money, push me to fantasies of brutally murdering my own blog.  But no.  I won’t let Them follow me further.  This ’08, telling me to remember how in-control I am as an Artist.  These pages belong to ME.  Not Them.  Not anyone.  Not even to Wine.  Not to any inspiring subject.  They’re mine.  Mine.  The purveying penman’s.

How do I want little Jack to see his father.  That’s what’s constantly rushing through my consciousness avenues.  I want him to see me as a commander of Self.  One who has no strings.  A Creator.  An Artist.  Like my brother Kaz said, “Be true to yourSelf.” I want Little London to see me as one practicing such cerebral sensibility.  Now, downloading a video for this other blog…  So, while I wait, I refuse to stress.  Just going to sip, scribble.  A little tipsy typing, for me.  No work tomorrow, but I vow to wake earlier than ever.  So early it’ll physically pain this writer.  That’s what I want.  I want real sacrifice as a scribe.  IF it’s real, it’s really real.  No falsification.  Especially with such a beautiful wine in my glass.  Can’t appreciate the elixir’s shade, as the glass itself is red.  All my “normal” or “professional” glasses are in the dish washer.  Should have better prepared for this session.

This glass, my last for night.  Hoping to produce something that’ll take me to a final page, as I thought this morning, as soon as I woke.  I honestly opened my eyes, say early sun, in its tired voice, sky position, through partially parted blinds, thinking of “last page, last page…” As in, a finish line.  For a book.  Knowing I’ll be done with something, at some point.  Then, begin writing the next book.  Open another bottle of Sonoma County Cabernet…

Typing till this page’s last drop of space.  That’s my immediate finish line.  The video I’m uploading [hate that term, so tech twisted], so slow.  Mr. Capote didn’t have to deal with this nonsense.  Blogging, “social” media, other vile immediacies.  Thinking of tomorrow’s morning coffee, the following verse.  And that’s all I’m allowing my Self to write.  Poetry, strictly, from me, candidly; not at all, or maybe exclusively, slurringly.  [4/19/12]

The Manuscript, Recent

No photos in tonight’s entry.  Why?  ‘Cause I just want to write.  No social media, no visual, just the lines, sentiments.  Jack on my right, watching me type.  Just waved at him, but he looks quite bored.  Today in AV, 2 tours.  Thought many times about a book, the upstairs cash.  The Capote movie still in this monster’s interior.  While sipping this ’09 Cab, I just try to see my book on shelves.  And it’s a book I’ve always wanted, not a blog.  I have one of those.  Well, two.  Three, if you count mikeslognoblog.  Need binded throws.  No more wish-listing.  Another glass…

My sister, about to go on road for work.  I’m envious on a motivating level.  If I were her, I’d be writing each night in that hotel Room, detailing each frame in my lark’s film.  She’ll be in transit for 2 weeks, or at least that’s what I thought I heard her say.  Just want to be in other areas, ones far, writing.  And my book, coming with me, whichever one on which I’m working.

Watching little Kerouac sleep.  And I think of what that guest last week, think it was last week, said about one day your child’ll be too old to hold.  A horrible thought, as I love little Jackie right now, his involuntary arm lifts; his smile, coos, astonishment glares.  But I know he has to age, just like wines from any AVA, of any varietal.  Now, to ’09 Merlot, Alexander Valley.  Why am I so obsessed with that zone, now?  Because I work there, most likely.  And he’s awake, my little one.  He groans, as if upset with my connection to this monster laptop device.  I don’t blame him.  I’m unnerved, too.  I stop in sips, to stare at his space.

10:42pm.  Much too late to have poured this much Merlot.  But I’ll be fine, as I’m armed with caffeine downstairs.  Plus I plan on a visit to the coffee brothel.  Need that morning mocha like I need money for Life overhead.  But do I have enough for a visit before payday on the 20th?  Hope so.  Let me check the German mug Mom and Dad gave me, where I keep coin.  Just brought it out of the compartment on the desk’s left.  Brought out the Plath entry collection, too.  Miss her face on the cover.  She’s so recherché, demanding in her subtleties.  The other day, someone asked me about Plath vs. Kelly.  I thought it an insulting probe, so I brought up wine in the interchange, of course.  What else would I use to divert.  The Petite Sirah in this Merlot, I think only like 8 or 9%, speaking with more force.  And as I watch the Capote film, with Mr. Hoffman, my book assumes its own character.  “You need to focus, Mr. Madigan.” I appreciate the respect it voices, but I’m unfamiliar with its voice, so I try to ignore, resign to poetic flexes in my Comp Book.  Songs wave exotically.  My apathy stammers.  [4/17/12]

autonomy meditation — 4/9/12

Put a little more money in my startup stash.  Not touching it.  And not adding anymore.  Using all current funds to keep bills, balances inline.  Refusing to spend 1 cent on writing.  Literally rejecting the whole notion of overhead.  Going to start from less-than-scratch.  Well, that’s not entirely true, as I’ll be upgrading one of my blogs for video footage’s purpose, and my pandora account for uninterrupted sittings.  What should I do with this cash I have upstairs?  One thought was to buy a new camera, but I want to scale back the amount of visuals into this “blog.” As REAL books and logs, diaries/diarist writing, don’t have pictures, I don’t want these writings to in any way be trumped by a photograph, no matter how beautiful.  So if all I want to do is write, why do I have to save any money, especially with the poetry, spoken word, verse?  Will write my way to an office of my own, soon, so that’ll be paid for by writing that cost nothing to produce.  Business cards, hardly an impacting expense; Actually, I paid for the last 250 ordered [new version] with change I had accumulated in that big beer mug Mom and Dad bought me in Germany [think it’s from Germany].  Still can’t think of any overhead I’ll need to seriously consider.  Pens, paper, Comp Books, memory sticks…  Yes, overhead, technically.  But enough to have hide-away rolls of bills?

Not sure what to do in my quest for Autonomy.  You could argue that this is ignition funding, to get my wine-themed biz in the air.  But how?  What?  In what shape?  Me, at loss.  Going to forget about that money upstairs, consider it spent, GONE.  Going to stop writing about, meditating in its topic.  Neither in sight nor mind.  I’ll come back to it when fate so intends.

Going for a run in a matter of minutes.  My first in weeks.  Need to run more before driving to Alexander Valley, set up routine and time schedule quite serious.  Early A.M. jaunts would be great for entries, spoken word verses, or just speeded poems.  Write about my runs, as I used to in mikeslognoblog.  Speaking of the inaugural blog, or log of mine, I’d like to someday soon return to its moments, see what standalone’s I can pull, gather, perhaps for performing, reading at mics nearby.  The song I’m listening to right now, a remix of “Take It All Away” by John O’Callaghan, has little Jack completely stunned, interested, enamored.  He continues to sound at me, as if to say, “This is the type of music you should have in your Wine Bar.” So, should I research more, starting a Wine Bar?  Not sure that’s wise right now, to be honest.  And frankly, I’m hesitant to engage in anything that’ll take away from writing.  I see Self-subsistence as a scribe, first.  Then, when I have my own office and all monies have stabilized, excelled, then I’ll look at such ventures.  But, I won’t stop thinking of my tasting Room when I hear these songs.  So motivating how my little friend in front of me reacts to them, dances with cooed confidence.

2DO 2NIGHT:  1) Finish verses in Comp Book; 2) Print 3 standalone’s; 3) Enjoy thoughts, dreams of Autonomy, possible usages for upstairs cash; See Self THERE …

Silver Oak, 2005, Cabernet Sauvignon, Alexander Valley

Not what I expected at first, to be frank.  There was a shortage of charisma in its nose, mouth, finish.  Even in its color.  But, after a couple hours of shaking, air, it slowly came around.  Nice earthy notes, herbs, wild fruit.  The finish had its tannic sparks, but nothing excessive.  Even still, it wasn’t what I expected from a Silver Oak, but I’m still sipping it.  One aspect to this to this bottle, after hours of being open mind you, that engages me, is the noses now-floral overtones and how they propel the fruit in this sexy spiraling pattern on palate.  Interesting experience with this bottle.  Thanks to the gifters!  Wonder what else they’ll throw my/1Stop’s way…


A day of encompassing poetry.  No prose, as promised.  Only now can I let Self swim in sentence.  Back to work, come morrow, in Alexander Valley.  I was told we may visit some gifted library bottles, from another winery.  But we’ll see, and I’m entirely excited even at the prospect of palate contact with the bottle questioned.  Rain may be returning later in eve, which would be wonderful for finishing the spoken word song I started writing this morning; Think I only have 12 lines to go.  Wrote the chorus this afternoon.  Not posting this to blog.  It’s music, song.  Want it to be real writing, on a page, like wine in its bottle.  Tangible, not virtual.  May write more in bed, start a new poem project.  All day, had rhymes, meter floating in my vision.  Dominated by musical writing, words.  Not my day–it belonged to poetry.  I was steered by meter, verse.  Felt sensational, to be dominated by song, my songs, a song I’m writing.

Highlight of the day had to be when little Kerouac woke this morning.  Never seen him laugh and smile with such frequency, force.  Would have finished my song if I hadn’t heard him cooing, sounding for his father.  Little Jack controls all aspects of this author.  Thinking that when I do finally get whoso cellars airborne, I want to name a project after him, one I do year to year.  And speaking of winemaking dreams, realities: Mom, during her visit with grandma today (a Kerouac visit), told me that Professor Katie said to tell me to be patient with our project.  All we can do right now is wait, which is precisely the struggle with this instantaneous writer, when it comes to a winemaking life.  Wait?  How do I do that?  I want to taste, especially now that ML is done.

Tonight’s nightcap, completely rare for me.  A Snickers and a chilled glass of milk.  No wine tonight.  First, no bottles were open, wasn’t in the mood to pop anything from the small salvo I have.  And, I wasn’t of mood nor mind for wine.  And when I say “wine,” I mean beer as well.  I plan to be up late, even though I’m due at AV Winery’s estate in a morrow’s morrow.  Want to get a couple more standalone’s written.  They’ll be shorter, obviously, than the one I began this morning, which brings 3 verses and a short chorus.  Want to read to crowds.  Want to perform, sings, interact; hear cheers, screams.  Artistry, life for me…

About to read through the current issue of Rolling Stone.  Springsteen on cover.  Rockstar poet, me.  A wanna-be, I see.  But one day.  Want arenas overflowing…  Think I hear rain, drops in the drain, or gutter on the wall’s other side.  Approaching word limit.  Just fantasizing tonight.  Tour dates.  Onlookers singing along.  Soundchecks.  Wine in my hotel Room, writing in a rime log.  Much of such verse won’t be on any ridiculous blog.  Too artful for wine’s road.

[3/30/12, Friday]

Lancaster Estate Winery, 2009, Sophia’s Hillside Cuvée, Alexander Valley

We all know 1Stop’s a fan of Lancaster Estate.  And this ’09 Sophia’s is ample justification for that proclivity.  95%Cab, 5% Merlot.  Yes, a young wine, but less than hour of decanting removes any cranky instability, and there isn’t much anyway.  Chocolate, mocha, espresso, sweet leather, butterfly-like tannins forward the intellect of this wine’s elemental arrangement.  Right now, I’m sipping it on its own, to enjoy the Art in the bottle.  And that’s precisely what resulted from this new wine club member release.  [Yes, 1StopWBS’s a cheerful LE Guild Member.]  Love how the nose, after about 40 minutes of air contact, reshapes itself to offer floral notes intermingled with the raspberry, cherry.  Lovely.  Feminine, forwad.  Still sipping.  And only $42 when it’ll be available for pouring in the tasting salon.  More than “consumer-friendly,” a price like that for a ravishing wine like this.

Saved a little for the next night, about 2.5 glasses worth.  The profile was even more engaging that the night prior.  More present were the notes of spicy plum and raspberry, and the chocolate-nudged vanilla.  Lovely tannic frame with each sip.  Definitely have to reorder, keep a few of these on hand at the 1Stop office.  Pairings might range anywhere from blackened chicken, or spiced red sauce pastas, to Sicilian sausage pizza with some kalamata olives.  Versatile vixen, this ’09 cuvée.