it starts innocently, stupid stories about drinking a bottle of wine. drunk, your own thoughts seem important enough to write down. "who care's" i'd think, "no one is going to read this shit." and then she does but by then I don't care.
I started to write, drink, think, and drink some more wine. it was work but I had to write so I drank. wine spoke to me about life, rhythm, flow, love. all seemed so symmetrical in my world, a drank and enjoyed ...i began to chase labels. you'd see one, you'd hear about one or read about another but some how some way a label would catch my attention so I'd have to have it, so I would. I would just make it happen. some took longer than others but eventually I learned to get whatever it was a wanted. thankfully, I've since learned to make sober choices about what I need in life
wine and I have done some crazy shit. the story we've started is an interesting one, at least it is to me. from bum, to farmer, to corsair to what I've become. all just stories to you the reader, yet epic tales to those that shared them with me. drunk on divine juice you tend to meet characters. through them I found it easy to become whatever I wanted to be. wine having given me the power to have whatever I wanted, I found myself in an interesting predicament. I could shape the world, if only I could find my authentic voice. that much power is intoxicating, so you have to stay true to yourself. those are my thoughts at least, as I tell them.
but no one reads them and I don't care who does anyway. I just hope my kids do cause I've heard tales of them before they were born. I wonder how much our stories will match-up. that's all it is in life, belief
wine sure has done a number on me, a sacred one
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