In the Roasting Company’s boarders. Love free mochas, nice people. New wine discoveries, their parent winery, or wineries, always fill me with resolve to keep discovering. Especially since starting the 11MKCS project with Katie. The next wine I sip, tonight. That ’07 I’ve been dying to open the last coupe nights. Love the music I’m listening to. Wish I had a glass of the CS right now. Mine and Katie’s, that is. Not possible, I know. Just daydreaming. Need to type faster. Why is time so cruel to me, as a writer, but so nice to wine?
Fewer characters at tables than when I began my crazed types. Another sip of this 2-shot dream... Lovely. Didn’t finish this morning’s, as I had to leave the final half in its cup, in my car. By the time winery visit was over, dead mocha. Saddened, I penned it priority to visit my Literary Lunch’s scribbling spot for another. Thinking that K’s & my Cab need a newly-carved finish. In that, I don’t want sipped to simply state something to the effect of: “Oh...spice, a little blackberry, tannin race.” Don’t want it simplistic, at all. I hope it dazzling. Hoping Katie and I discovered an innovative Cab recipe of sorts.
Ready to close up my written hour-shop. This day, completely of wine, and now my moment-manuscripted recordings. Just calculated, could leave her in 10 minutes and still make it back on time. Let’s see how much Consciousness Stream I can catch ...
Now, thinking of my own winery. My own winery’s feel. Consumers, tasters smiling, feeling something in my bottles. Seeing where they’d pour it, how they’d put the bottle on the table. I see my customers walking around my tasting Room, just pairing themselves with the walls, experiencing their experience. I think they’ll see rushes of the process in their glasses. And so what if I pour too heavy? I want them to have only memorable moments in my Room. I’m sipping it now, my first vintage. Sauv Blanc, Syrah, Cab. Maybe a Malbec, or Merlot. Who knows. It’s all question mark, marks. Kelly would urge me to just leap. Roll the dice. What’s the worst that could happen? You don’t succeed as quickly as maybe you would have wanted. There won’t be failure. There can’t be.
The mocha, waking me for the day’s latter half. Need poetry, spoken word, but can’t take my self away from the keys. Why did I not capitalize “self?” See? Did it again. SELF ... How’s that? Four minutes, then departure. My session, sunk. By obligation, commitment, ugly responsibility. Outside, calling. I apologize to its constituents, ingredients; motions, turns, shades, shapes, sweet scenes. Battery power, fading... Poor laptop monster. Wonder if winery equipment gets beaten like these keys, their screen. Probably worse. Stream, unconscious, now. But not later. Not with the 2007 Cabernet I’ll be studying. Can’t wait. Love wine, its area, invitation. Clocking out, to clock back in. No hyphens. Did I need them? Is it correct? Don’t care. I’m artisanal. In Lit, and now Wine. Sip, sip ... -1:44p
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