Studio’d, me. Sipping freely. Poetry with a sip’s sea. Not giving anymore of Self to this social media kool-aid. I write, recite. Scribble and sip, at night. People invest too much synaptic sequence in who’s their “friend” in these infantile digitized social sheets. It’s humorous, to me. At this year’s close, I put the blog down. Books only, in 4ward. Same with Facecrook, Twit-slur. Both, time DeathSentences. I’m a writer, artist. Had enough of the wine “industry’s” drama. My link lies in ink, paper. These devils won’t push my pen’s tracers to vapors. Me, colluding conflict. I love the wine, people loving wine, Humans loving Humans loving wine. Not the industry. Ever.
And I’m going to be scolded for speaking with such upright and bright veracity. Fine. Dad told me, “If you don’t think for yourSelf, others will think 4U.” I want to be challenged. I’m doing this for wine, for the Humble Consumers, like Mom, Dad, Sis. The characters that simply love to sip, sit, savor situations. Ones enamored with status, or any kind of elevation, should select direction opposite, as my vengeful selection is spawned and lit. More of the ’08 Cab’s capital into my core. Love to all that wine and its scenery love. Obsession with currency, a digression to blurring breeze. Not me. 4ever in wine’s poetry ...
[6/25/11, Saturday]
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