to Road

12/6/12.  If I were an outsider, in-looking at this Author, I’d definitely acknowledge his love of writing.  But why doesn’t he finish a book?  Telling mySelf I can’t dwell, but I have to.  Or nothing’ll be finished.  Ever.  Last couple nights, yesterday’s eve especially [when I went back into the building to write, after class, for about 30 mins], I’ve had some valuable sheet sessions.. all ink, paper.  Tonight again I’m hoping, after this sitting, and a little more of this 2010 Cab Franc from Imagery, one of the wineries by which I stopped on my little PR tour for the winery.  Black berry, leather, soft mouth, tenacious tannin, no messy bell pepper pummel.  Love it just like this.. a sipping wine, after meal.

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Pace at winery today, quite slow.  Was nice to get out to road, visit other tasting Rooms.  Can’t get Stanford off mind, lately.  Sitting at this table with wine on left side of monster’s keyboard, a dictionary of Literary Terms & Theory to right.  Interesting symbolic illustration, here proposed– The battle for Artist’s attention, wine vs. Lit.  I’ll always choose Literature, writing.  ALWAYS.  But wine, its ever-multiplying dimensions offer fierce contest for my attention, drive.  With my new envelopment in honesty’s emblem, I find wine losing its hold to my passion’s periphery.  This more than likely will change, but for now I’m only thinking of my books.. the pages, words they house.

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The sun setting this evening, putting quite a few pictures into this new phone.  Why does tech always find a way to throw one of its tentacles around my air channel?  Want to see more of these falling solars, in all global parts.  How to I get to the road?  With this book, of course.  Can’t print tonight, with Little Kerouac upstairs, asleep.  So I’ll do some reading, here on screen.  Actually, just did a little.  How I captured where I was in life, where I was job-wise at time, hopefully bolstering to novel.  “AV Winery,” I can only laugh.  Speaking of which, I need to pick up my wine club allocation from them, in a couple days.  Maybe Monday.

IMG_0503Can’t get over how incredible this CF is.  And the price point, more than gentle.  And with my discount atop.. I’m fortunate, I know.  My office, sure to have an extensively extensive wine stash.  Don’t want to say “cellar.” Hate it when people say that, or brag they have some whatever-thousand bottle cellar in their home, like so many did over the phone, on pretty much every call list, while working at the box.  I’ll just have an accommodating stash.  Or collection– no, even that sounds braggart.  There’ll simply be enough wine, of all shapes, in the bx office.  Was in a sharp, sour, serrated mood today, so no new videos.  And to be honest, I want to “stream” my life through words, maybe garnished by a couple photos.  I have NO aim to be a “vlogger.” Being called a “blogger,” and/or “wine blogger” more than I’m referenced as a Writer bothers me enough.  SO, time to remind the wine world–more importantly my READERS–where I am, where I came from, where this penner’s always going 2B.

Already at glass’ end.  Also, already at word target, not that I should focus on that.  [Tech again pulsating tail]  But there was one in mind, number…  Need night’s cap.  May go by Imagery again next week, get a couple more bottles of this Franc.  Need to break out of my varietal comfort corner.  And yes, before you ask, I have one.  I’ve been more open to Zinfandels lately, with caution.  But I’m open, nonetheless.  Also to Chardonnay.  Just poured night’s last glass.  Thinking of the class for which I bought this Lit Terms book.  English 300-something.  Want to say 301.  Taught by Bob Coleman [R.I.P].  He taught me everything I know, pretty much, about Lit analysis, criticism, theory.  He one day in class said, in our little probably 12-person seminar: “I’m not any smarter than any one of you, but I am tenacious.” He had an M.A., like me.  No doctorate.  He didn’t need it.  And I don’t think I do, either.  I know I don’t.  Dad was a commercial airline captain for over 25 years, and he doesn’t hold Bachelors.  Reminding Self again tonight to trust Self, know I’m doing the right thing for my writing, and be sure that before too long, I’ll be writing for my living.

Glass tilt …

10:23pm

Chasing Chardonnay, scribbling

Back in tasting Room, tomorrow.  Right now, sipping a 2011 stainless Chardonnay.  Was surprised how warm it was on the walk around Spring Lake.  Since being home, did some investigation on spots around globe.  For writing, by the way.  That’s really the only reason why I have this travel fascination illness, to write in unimaginably visual unfamiliarity.  The New, what the page needs, as I’ve said so many times before.  Was going to post some verse to this “blog.” BUT, no.  The verses deserve better, frankly.. Maybe that’s the wrong way to put it.

The Chardonnay, now with a more believable tropical tango.  Do I want to produce one, a Burgundy of mine own?  No.  But it is helping with the session.  Little notepad in back pocket.  Should really be writing pen2paper, but I for some reason find Self on keys.  Tomorrow morning, need an early Barleycorn-esque sitting.  Before I’m in that tasting Room, I want 2 standalone’s logged.  Both, of poetry mold.  And on that note: anymore, I just want to write song, verse, rhyme.  Prose, beginning to push me into a black hole of expectedness.  Not what I want.  At all.

Want to be chained to my studio, like Kelly.  Never being able to leave.  Have the projects, their pieces, dominate me.  Here I am wishing again.  Boring.  But I have to keep writing, letting you know what’s on my mind, if you’re interested.  It’s writing.  It’s always the Writing.  Literary Autonomy.  Like always.

At loss.  Once more.  May need a break from the page.  Definitely the one typed.  Again, just to convey what I’m encountering.  What I’m encountering with the wine, now, more of a hushed peach/vanilla/orange lift.  Interesting.. didn’t know Chardonnay was capable of making such shape.  Maybe I should produce a Chardonnay, really follow in Katie’s steps.  No way this could have gone through ML.  And thanks to the Wine gods.  Didn’t want another Chardonnay bottled apocalypse.  And that very much could have happened, picking this with storming randomness from the shelf by the other white wines.  Hoping I surprise mySelf, eventually.  What if my label was to be 100% Chardonnay.  Like five different Chardonnay projects, completely master the varietal.  Tempting, but I’m not passionate enough about the varietal dance with that cuddled sway.  Then, with this sip…  More pear, green apple.  What is this wine thinking, I’d like to know.  Should be sipping this by a pool, in Spain.  Or Florida.  Actually, I think this would best pair with a resort in Costa Rica, with a view over an borderless jungle.  My first plane, just days away.  It has to be, at this point.  I’ve written too much to just die another writer.  Definitely over the amount to be mucilaged with the baboonish sobriquet  of “blogger.” I’d sip this Alexander Valley white Dijon clone on its own.  I don’t need food.  Wouldn’t.  This would be enough.  Think I may have a new blip, serene on my wine screen.  One more glass, before clocking out.  Tomorrow morning, I’m hoping, won’t make me pay for this extra, generous, pour.  I need songs FINISHED.  And in little time.  Sip, sip …

(6/19/12, Tuesday)

extended wine couplet

3/17/12 – 9:46am.  Barrel tasting, Sonoma Valley.  For sure this time.  Feeling tired from the wine I had last night.  Mom brought over some incredible Chicken Cacciatore-esque dish over.  [See?  I said “over” twice…  Too much bedazzling Sonoma County wine.]  Paired well with the Pinot they brought, but even better with the 2010 Sonoma County Chardonnay.

Glad the rain’s gone.  Wasn’t at all enjoyable driving to the offsite pouring in Fountaingrove with the drops screeching down on my windshield, vengefully.  Can’t remember the last time I saw it rain that hard.  Was nice pouring for those guests, though.  From all over the country.  Kansas, North Carolina, just up the freeway in Sacramento, Alaska, New Mexico…  And again, that’s what wine’s supposed to do, bring unfamiliar characters to the same stage.  Didn’t have time to write at the hotel, but I did scribble quite a bit of valuable notes into the mini-pages while at St. Francis.  Have  a new article for 1Stop, that I wrote between pours.  Speaking of which…  Think I have another new idea.  Need to write it down before I forget, before this slight hangover disrupts my attention’s reach, further.

Looking forward to the crowds today, and I will have my video camera on me, for capturing glass tilts, conversations, my co-workers in their roles.

11:14pm.  Now, just thinking about the day, the wines, the characters.  Kelly, consistently on thought.  Why don’t I just write her a novel?  My Creative attention span, maybe.  Can I change it?  Tonight’s Chardonnay, leftover from last night, calms me.  No hangover tomorrow, I’m sure, as I’ve stopped responsibly, enjoying the transference from early sips, the Burgundy brilliance.  Me, finally free.

3/18/12.  9:54am.  More barrel tasting frenzying.  Writing rushed.  Don’t like this time squeeze, but then I do, very much.  Last night’s Chardonnay, produced by Prof. Katie, has me, the writer, thinking of an article on Chards; what the styles are, those trending, pairing potentials.  Think that’s the first Chardonnay I’ve sipped here at home, and for night’s cap, in well over a year.

May buy another Comp Book, make a project out of it.  Just notes, scattered paragraphs, whatever the ink paints.  I have too much reliance on this little monster, my flashy, “pretty” laptop.  No one would need to borrow it, ever, no one could hack into it [speaking of the new Comp Book, if I lost you], it would be REAL writing, not a preponderance of types.  That’s what real writing is–PEN, PAPER, INK.  Just as graphic design is not real drawing, or painting, at least in my mind.  What if your computer crashed, then what would you do?  I know, back everything up on a stick or whatever, or an external hard-drive [is that hyphenated?].  But what if that fails at the same time, or shortly after?  What if you lose you memory card, or stick, or chip [have no idea what people use, think I may have one somewhere here in the desk’s innards].  Either way, I’ll stop by the drug store just a block from base, snag one on the way home.

Tried finding my memory piece, but can’t.  And I don’t want to throw away time on a frivolous excavation.  But do you see what I mean, about technological dependence as a writer?  Now I’m completely frazzled, with concentration severed…  Dug one more time into the overwhelming clutter of one of my cupboards,.  Found it.  Going to “back up” [right phrasing?] my writings.  I’ll be typing later, after the barreled stage.  Wonder what Kaz is pouring.  The Lenoir?  That ’07 Syrah?  Or will he break out the Tempranillos with the contrasting yeasts?  Excited to be surprised.  Still love his wines, his approach to winemaking, his views on wine life.  Profoundly and universally Artistic.

Sun, struggling to get through clouds, through the blinds in front of me.  Had a thought, but lost it.  About wine…  Kaz…  Tempranillo…  Can’t remember, have to move on, type on.

Now I remember.  No wine tonight.  Although it massages me into a spirit freer, it also excellerates my relaxation, intentionally or inadvertently blending it with the purest form of laziness and exhaustion I know.  I don’t take back the Chardonnay sips last night.  But, if I would have ahad one of my sparkling waters, or a Diet Cherry Coke instead, I wouldn’t be so behind on my writings.  Haven’t updated my word log in days.  Shame.  I criticize the box for all its ridiculous policies and Stalinist statutes, but They made sure our logs were done each day, no fail.  I’m further shamed typing “no writing logged” for a span of 3 days when I know I wrote.  Maybe that’ll be an effective motivating mechanism.

7:08pm.  Back from winery, tasting a few barrels.  Loved the wines, as did everybody else.  My Kaz crew and I even engaged in a little blind beer tasting, which was my first if you can believe.  Kazzy had a couple wines so new that even I had never even heard of them.  One of them being the 2011 Pinot/Sauv Blanc Rosé, which was amazing, like nothing I’d ever before sampled–EVER, anywhere.  Was hard to get past the intense cold, only made more fierce by the indignant wind’s chill.

Luke and I kept pouring, with me shooting footage, taking pictures, and tasting what he recommended.  One urgency he had was to blend the ’07 Syrah with the ’09 Petite Sirah.  Hypnotic, naughtily, and it’s wonderfully entertaining to play with the percentages.  Was in more of a Literary mode today that a journalistic one.  Met new friends from the Wine Truffle Boutique, and saw one of my favorite Sonoma Valley chefs, Mr. Steve Rose, owner of Vineyards Inn, just down the street.  I mentioned how much I love his calamari, and sure enough he only a few minutes later brought some by for us all to enjoy.  Never get tired of it.  Before the barrel event began, he had some paella prepared with some sauteed garlic clove internally-garnished bread, pairing magically with the ’06 Red Said Fred.

The wind kept with its vision of chilling us all to our skeletons, so Kaz called us all inside the tasting Room, where we poured the featured wines of the day plus others we usually put into guest glasses.  I spoke to a few guests about their favorites.  No surprise, all over board.  No consensus.  It was as though each of Kazzy’s wines had their own loyal militias, I remember thinking behind the bar, only minutes from 5p.  Then, thoughts of the writing, of my character, this new Comp Book, my wine in tis barrel, invaded my concentration.  What do I do with her in pages?  She’ll tell me, when she’s ready.

A tasting Room, of my own.  Thinking now only 2 varietals.  Sauv B and Cab.  Don’t know if I’m connected enough to Syrah to produce one.  In fact, many times I find Syrah an aggravating varietal.  Too loud, too wide on palate’s mid, and just too attention-seeking; Not much seduction, most of the time; little finesse, swagger.  Thinking the money I set aside for Self-publishing the chapbook may be put towards a purchase of fruit.  Is that what I should do?  Wine, controlling all my thoughts, all my writing.  I’m obsessed.  I don’t want to be an “expert,” as the learning’s intoxicating in a way the wine could never be.  I want to remain an invigorated novice, always on a mission to decode my adored bottles.  Right now, day’s end, sipping Racer 5.  “Wined out,” as some tourists’ll tell me.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll pop something, give mySelf a set of tasting equations to solve.  Like that ’09 Petite Sirah today.  From nose to its formulated formation of a finish, I’m a newly and freshly-motivated Me, like after reading a Joyce novel, or a Plath poem collection.  Tonight, in bed, going to write till I pass out.  Tomorrow, a day off.  So I’m in no rush to fall into sleep.  A joke, a waste, this whole sleep concept.  It’s a hole.  A close relative of death.  So why would I rush to it when I can write?  I’m thinking all pen2paper when with the pillows, sheets.  Clocking out, returning for a push to 3 pieces, 3000 words.  Nothing else more I want that to write.  Well, Mr. Jack’s well-being, total merriment tops any of my aims, facilely.