A THOUSAND WINES PROJECT

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Wine, but more than wine.. a voice, a personification that wine itself never anticipated would come to materialization— song with varying chords, not subtle and not overboard, but more a loving core, a sense, a sensibility that Jane Austen would wish she’d penned, new letter from the travelled Bordeaux beauty… she teaches and reassures with her gothic romanticism and dark, atmospherically Victorian tonality.  Defying everything while loving what’s defied at the same time.. daring duality, from the fruit ease to the leathered and textural swagger.  Conviction, invitation, lit amour from sip first—

She pauses but then persists with her turn, smile, elevation, oration.  I’m smitten and bewitched and want to stay up for other sips but return cork for next night’s visit.

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wine sketchez

Newly released into wine’s words, world, page, and showing the Equilibrium of assertiveness and coy character I enjoy in Pinot. What it says– Forget the data, forget work, forget the day and sip the fog from that Sonoma Coast octave and stroll. Encircling strawberries and black licorice lapping your concentration and fiddling musical decision– Sweetened wood winks avec sexy narration– she doesn’t have to ask you to follow. You just do. She has me singing, what I see in wine and what she teaches me in this petit vintage that perpetually punctuates its character and ethos, pathos, love-laced logos. Waiting for her to tell me something else, sing in notes new– She does. I don’t have to wait. Not a single breath.

Been too long…

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Light flying persona that reminds me of my interaction with it… meta but not.  An effulgent dialectic meant to sway me with its fruit frolic.  Light but insistent on attention, bright and diligent with its palate organization and orchestra.  A wine quite easy to be lost in, especially if you’ve never had a Vermentino.  Mad in its delicious diction and syncopated flavor suggestions— more narrations and cosmic skips than one-dimensional descriptors or “suggestions”.  Nothing is suggested with this wine, but artful— stated and sewn.

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Glass empty, the aromas and empirical olfactory zooms tell me to take a minute, notice how present they still are.  I wasn’t caught or convinced by her, but further taught, about the varietal, wine, my aesthetic harness to it, her.  Love wth exponents, beyond mortal integers and equations— multi-webbed web of attraction and distinctive place senses.

 

note— Charmé

img_1823I’ve always seen wine as a literary being, not so much a chemical or agricultural product.  The relationships we realize and develop with whatever wines we prefer and chase down are OURS.  Don’t just blindly follow some sommelier or critic.  Don’t let them tell you to like or dislike the character in the bottle.  Approach the story with an open mind, I suggest.  Last night’s Chardonnay still on my thoughts with its slow rolls over my senses, punctuating its prime shapeliness and subtleties.  For a while, right after opening the bottle, I just sipped—  Didn’t look at my phone, didn’t take a single note in the Composition Book, just listened to what it had to say.  I listened to it like my mother was talking, or sister, close friend or one of my children in their own unique tongue.  The communication was elevated, and yes because I enjoyed the wine.  But, even if I don’t like what I sip, I still listen.  I learn from the flavor construction and the tactile composition of the wine’s momentum.  In wine being literary, it’s alive, cognitive, evolutionary, complicated and self-contradicting, musical and unpredictable.  If I’ve ever followed a wine, and let it deliver its thesis before I react, it was last night.  Tellement amoureux.

(4/17/17)

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We as lovers would first educate ourselves.  If you want to take a class here and there, or get some certification, or whatever, that’s fine.  But first, we should educate ourselves.  Go get books, read them with measured embrace, take notes.. always be a student, and your own professor.  Dive into it not even head-first, but all-you-first.  Wine has always spoken to me with humility and curiosity, urging me to be more like It.  If you love something, someone, and wine is more a ‘someone’ than a ‘something’, then you learn.  But it’s not class.  It’s life.  IT’s words and feelings, reactions realities.  Tonight’s wine again made me a lover.. interpreter or so I hope— lost in my dazzle, rouse, rabble— conflict but not so much afflicted.  I’m writing when all I want to do is sleep, and I have tonight’s yours to thank or that.  Heater coming on, rain maybe outside, but the bottle continues to me speak in verse I’ve never before heard.  Teaching me in a full-time sense, nothing adjunct’d.  Keep writing, I tell myself.  I’ve been most purposefully taught something tonight— how wine can yell a different verse, show a different scene and cry with loving absorption.