Just because you drink wine, doesn’t conclusively denote you know wine. And just because you identify POTENTIAL notes, and can scribble those traits in a journal you purchased in a gift shop, in no way knights you as a “wine writer.” Wine, respectably complicated. Writing, a transcending equation with no solution (and anybody seeking a “writing solution,” or formula, can never be a writer...writing is about the variables, embracing and expanding from lack of predictability, convention). Writing about wine, requires undissembled motivation. Forgive me, reader. I simply have protruding fangs for the fashionable, those addressing wine, writing, writing on wine, because it’s “the thing to do.”
9:31p, and it’s still of moist adhering air. Oven, this Room. Wish I could fly away, with the witch on her broom. Maybe that’s why I’m rattling, coiled, agitated at passers on path. Songwriters: writing “songs” makes not you a figure of the pen, worthy of readership, “listenership,” if there such a reality be. I sip, sip, hoping a chill with through the screen screech.