How am I still up, at 2am? That’s the exact time, currently. Seriously. Is that serendipity, that I walk on the hour’s exact? Not at all tempted to have another glass. I retire. I have to. Thinking of much, in the blending of the blend that is my first book. I’m inside-out, and postmodern. Not sure how to progress with my own fermentation. Literary unfolding to doubtful visionary. Characters in this day’s Room, less than fruitful. Maybe that’s just my cynicism speaking. “Wine journalists shouldn’t write like this,” one could say. And that’s what I hate about mainstream wine journalism and writing. It has to “fit,” be molded to appease. I’m not the character for such. Recall: I’m the rattling rattler in the corner, agitated within his own conviction. I’m here. Immovable, unafraid, eager for contest. Sipping, scribbling...
(Friday, 8/13/2010)
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