Monday, June 6, 2011

After Work Entry

Nothing in me to write, type.  Only see myself scribbling notes tonight, but I don’t even think I have the energy, or eagerness, for that.  Nursing a beer.  No wine for the “wine blogger” tonight.  See the bike paths of Sunriver, suddenly.  The lodge, how it overlooks the river, golf course.  Do I prefer the vistas of winter, all those vast snow sheets, or summer’s kaleidoscopic situating of unseen shades?  I am, truly, depleted.  Need another, if I’m to send another sentence at blank space.
Thinking of a lecture I once gave on the significance of a journal, its place in history; how journals, diaries, various logs, lament the past, future.  I will return to teaching.  Wine will always be with me, but not with same gravity as elements Literary.  Not like the page.  Pages.
In re-acquainting Self with Literary modes of furthered consideration, deconstruction, appreciation, I think of all the characters that me encircle.  Starting tomorrow, listing all, cataloguing qualities.  Remember, I’m a spy.  From the Literary world.  Not wine’s angular.  Wish I had time to read a short or two from that anthology leaning against the wall by the door over there.  One character from today: the kid at the coffee shop; irritated, tired, but expertly swift in his concoction of mochas, frappuccinos, lattes, lost coffee oddities.  Nothing too incredible about this character’s motions, but I found it interesting how angry he appeared, yet moved with such astuteness, pride in his works.  Like it made him happy, but I could tell he felt like he wasn’t allowed to indicate elate.
Tonight, I’m thinking of Merlot.  Why, I don’t know.  Its character.  At times bold, others subtle, dark.  I used to drink only Merlots, when I first starting getting into wine, back in ’02, living in San Ramon.  That apartment complex, a character, I guess.  Slightly upscale, but unpredictable.  Still collecting characters, hoping I’ll be one, with one.
[6/6/11, Monday]

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