Yesterday’s writing, I’ll post later.  Just wanted to get in a quick note before work.  No Starbucks this morning.  Too much from budget, too much from life’s already-stolen time.  Another hot day expected.  Managed to finish a 16-line verse last night.  But that’s it.  The run/walk, or “walk-jog” as Dad calls them, caught me finally.  My legs, still a bit sore, but nothing anguishing.  Days off, tomorrow and next.  What I’m hoping to to do: write.  1000 words, each day, see where it me takes.  Looking through the pages of the book idea, see I have some ardently sovereign pieces in there, ones I believe worthy of readership.  Need more poem, though; more verse, more song, more rhyme.

Had to scratch nose, just wasted five seconds.  Wasting time, probably what slithers under my skin quickest.  Anyway, I’m atop the mountain today conducting tastings.  First time.  What’s the worst that could happen?  If anything, it’ll provide me a chance to see how the setting at that elevation influences character connection with wine, with other characters as well.  Wonder if the coffee’s ready…

Not yet.  In little notebook, only rhymes, all day.  Prose, frankly..  I’m just bored with its shape, any it’d try to take.  First sip…  Alive.  See mySelf only having to get to my office.  I’ll be the only one in there today.  All I have to do:  finish the last two chapters of MY book, then read the sample chapters recently mailed to me from a writer in Burlingame, near my old neighborhood.  His writing, from what I remember in the two sample pages I requested, then later read… interesting; like a Poe-curved Joyce warp.  Shorter paragraphs than I like, but still looking forward to seeing how he sets up a novel.  Not sure I have any coffee in office, better stop by store.  OR, I could get something from Pete’s.  It is Father’s Day, and I’m on no one’s clock being with own office, FINALLY.

Fantasy.. better than wine.  Better than the coffee, any vacation or travel.  It’s free, already ever-present.


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…

Track 6 — Collection

Collecting mySelf, written scatter, while little Jack collects himSelf in front of me. Is he dreaming?  Hard to tell.  Day off from the AV Winery.  Feel a little guilty not working today, but I was told it’s fine.  So, a day to collect on a number of fronts. The chapbook, moving along.  Just moved over 1000 words into its borders.  This morning, finished an entry I began yesterday between calls, and a 20-line verse.  In Comp Book.  See Self on a bus, driven from gig to gig.  And yes I’m using that word, gig, intentionally, as I want these syllables more symphonic, soulful.  Never stop being fascinated by bands‘ and artists’  stories from their tours and travels.  I’d write about everything greeting my lenses, from a motioned vessel.  Windows, views, passings.  Crowds, reactions, feelings from performing again.

Love this sitting, beside the little thinker.  Right now, although asleep, he’s posed as if in midst of solving something.  What?  Does he want to write something, if he could?  Such a fascinating little character, this son of mine.  A son.  I have a son.  Didn’t write about him until the early morning of his birth day.  In fact, a series of paragraphs to him, more than a half-day before we actually met.  Why, I don’t know.  Guess I needed to see the character, or be in his presence, or be in the presence of the precise locale where I’d initially become forever linked to his being.  Any sense?  Confused?  I am, too.  Either way, I started to write about him in the exhausting hours at the hospital, between 1 and 4am, listening to music, and, OF COURSE, sipping the most fighter jet-esque coffee the nurse’s station had to offer.  He’s still with lowered lids, this little varietal, my wee charismatic blend.

Speaking of wine, all that’s vine-y, the Particular Palates are coming over tonight.  A delayed opening of that sparkling is sure to occur, and I say “delayed” as we were meant to do so the night of little sir’s birth, but never got around.  Too smitten and enamored.  What wine do I want to open?  Not even sure what I have in there.  Pretty certain there’s an ’08 Merlot from St. Francis, can’t come even near to speculating what else.  Either way, will be nice to taste with them again, talk about what’s aloft in their wine journey (besides the fact they’re traveling to Europe in a few weeks, the Swiss Alps, I think).  Jealous.  Again, I need a trip, a wine/food trip the very same.  Sorry to ramble, reader.  This is what Mr. Jack Patrick does to my momentum.  I could just type forever with him here in the room with me.  He makes it a Room.  One for the session.

Have to see what I have in that little fridge.  One moment…  So, an ’02 Sonoma County Merlot, S.F.  An ’03 S.F. Syrah, Sonoma [’03? … Yes, checked.], and that ’07 Alexander Valley Cabernet, Stryker, that I scored recently.  So we have options.  Dying to see how that Merlot is holding up.  A little frightened of the Syrah.  But, it’d be good to see, taste and learn.  Just noticed, I’m starting to use the word “and” more, instead of cataloguing with comma swarms like I always do.  I’ve successfully annoyed my Self with my writing style.  Excellent.  Anyway…

Haven’t done too many library tastings in my day.  Don’t have the time, now.  But, once on the road with my words, I’ll be sure to order older vintages.  The way wine develops, how it changes shape.  Sometimes it’s not pleasurable what shape you taste, but either way it’s an experience.  Like a book from favorite author, that’s how I see it, coming back to my vinoLit perspective, which I’ll never abandon.

2:31pm.  Coming back to page, I’m a little tired after lunch.  So nice having a day to Self.  The mini character, still in rest.  Me, could use a coffee.  Glad I didn’t remit another $5 for a mocha.  But I’m sure I will tomorrow.  Wait, why do I say that?  If I want to put that money towards the writing I should, will.  But they’re so good, especially with only 3 pumps, so it’s not excessively syrupy.  Yes, I should get one, as it’s expected to be pretty busy tomorrow with tour-and-tastings, and regular tastings, tasting Room pourings.  With another winery’s exposure, I’m learning more about winery functionality. And not just for the writing, but for my label, when it leaves ground.  And, with music always through my spot’s speakers, it would never go under, my little Parisian Café.

Clocking out.  More gathering of writings and Self needed.  And just in time, as Mr. Jack may be coming back to consciousness’ cradle.  Too tired to continue work on the chapbook’s primary piece, a 15,000+ word novelette.  Or maybe I’m not, can’t decide.  More agglomeration, more freewriting.  Quick scribbles.  Could use a glass of that AV Cab right now.  Its makeup, I’m sure, will push me back into my project, show my types new stripes, strokes.

Where’s the Comp Book?  Want it with me when I taste 2nite.

3/2/2012, Friday