wine school
We went to the Hunter this weekend, and drank a lot of free wine. Let's see if I was paying attention...
A light summer's day. Birds are chirping, the sky is blue, there's a soft breeze blowing. White mood, green grass, airy and free. How about we crack open a verdelho?
Rugged up inside by a log fire, the odd whiff of smoke curling about the room. Comfy, warm. Firelight flickers on empty eyes. Am I drifting off with a cabernet savignon sitting next to me?
I'm sitting in the Arthouse Hotel, sketching the nude model in front of me. Trendy Newtown music fills the background noise. The guy in the cape and beret is up front. Dressed like that, he has to be doing something brilliant. My friends are chatting as I try to draw. They're talking about Jazz, someone isn't a huge fan of The Basement, Soup Plus was too much like a place where the homeless would get free meals. That's not me, all I want to do is draw. You're sitting next to me, I haven't seen you in ages, you forgot the name of one of my best friends. I wish I could feel like teasing you, but you seem too distant now. My wounds were still damp the last time we really spoke together on the phone. I struggled to shift my body enough to switch the lamp off after you hung up. Bright light shone through my eyelids. I do hurt. I was battered inside out, and that's when you chose to go away. Now we sit here. I keep thinking that once again we'll be the best of mates, and I'm not good enough to keep that from taking hold of me. The present turns into the time that I miss you, that I miss what we had, however naïve it might have been. The present turns into the time that I wish we weren't pruned back before we knew what we'd grow into. I can't draw any more, I sketch a mess.
I got off topic. I was going to say gewürztraminer.
A light summer's day. Birds are chirping, the sky is blue, there's a soft breeze blowing. White mood, green grass, airy and free. How about we crack open a verdelho?
Rugged up inside by a log fire, the odd whiff of smoke curling about the room. Comfy, warm. Firelight flickers on empty eyes. Am I drifting off with a cabernet savignon sitting next to me?
I'm sitting in the Arthouse Hotel, sketching the nude model in front of me. Trendy Newtown music fills the background noise. The guy in the cape and beret is up front. Dressed like that, he has to be doing something brilliant. My friends are chatting as I try to draw. They're talking about Jazz, someone isn't a huge fan of The Basement, Soup Plus was too much like a place where the homeless would get free meals. That's not me, all I want to do is draw. You're sitting next to me, I haven't seen you in ages, you forgot the name of one of my best friends. I wish I could feel like teasing you, but you seem too distant now. My wounds were still damp the last time we really spoke together on the phone. I struggled to shift my body enough to switch the lamp off after you hung up. Bright light shone through my eyelids. I do hurt. I was battered inside out, and that's when you chose to go away. Now we sit here. I keep thinking that once again we'll be the best of mates, and I'm not good enough to keep that from taking hold of me. The present turns into the time that I miss you, that I miss what we had, however naïve it might have been. The present turns into the time that I wish we weren't pruned back before we knew what we'd grow into. I can't draw any more, I sketch a mess.
I got off topic. I was going to say gewürztraminer.
posted by Gene at 9:28 pm
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