Sipping some Chardonnay. For the scribed foreplay, you might say. Still waiting for the footage to be uploaded. Not going to bed till it does. After this, video will be placed sparingly, into entries, if at all. But the blog only has a matter of months left to live. The TV, boring me. Nothing Literary about it. And I mean NOTHING. Writing movie required. Be right back.
There. Something of substance stuck to the screen. Not sure how this varietal and I got together tonight. She’s evasive. Bold, then shy. Not sure I like that lack of steadfastness. Irregularity in presence. But I’ll sip anyway. It takes me away. To MY house on near the lake. Wouldn’t have a dog, like Mr. Rainey. But I’d have that quiet. Focus. Idealized isolation. No tasting Room herds. In fact, NOTHING industry. Only me. Prose, poetry.