Starting the writing. Enough fiddling with inept wifi nonsense. Mocha2, with me. Brisk, on the other side of those windows. Letting consciousness tumble like intently vengeful elephants. Looking up, at the bean bar. Don’t understand the machines, their language, functions, place. Sip, one... Thinking of a thief, to barrels, to sample. What I’ll be doing tonight with the sister/winemaking professor. Need to start tasting my book, in its barreling document. Why am I so afraid to edit, read past writings? Has to stop, especially if I’m ever to survive, subsist as a scribe. Just noticed, earphones in ears but no music. Song 1... Putting me on a drive, Highway 29, with light rain. Stop for only one tasting. Rutherford, or Oakville. On a Cabernet quest.
My tasting Room, was just thinking, has to have a theme, on some level, that has nothing directly to do with wine, but pairs well with wine. Have music, Literature, books. What else? Oh, obvious... Local art. Looking up at Jewel’s pieces again. Would love to have these above, on all sides of, the bar. Not sure how many random collectibles, trinkets I want spread. This song, putting me far from pattern. A scene sequence, where each second seeps discovery, renewal.
Can’t remember my clock-out time. Going to start packing at 12:37. That gives this writer 39 minutes more, of mocha and manuscript. Logged off internet. Too distracting with all its failures. Just noticed, new employee at café. Jewel, in her swayingly atmospheric, scenic kindness shows her apprentice locations, solutions, routines. All with smile. How does she do that? Interesting, humbling, varietal, Jewel. She’d be a Syrah, blended with a little Mourvedre, Alicante. Dark but bright, complicated and clear, mathematically artful. She, definitely page-worthy. Need another sip, or maybe not. Getting too comfortable. Today’s Literary Lunch shift, I see more difficult to end than all others.
11/3/2011, Thursday
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