XX / 80
~THE
ART
OF DRINKING
community sociability irritated me, I now find that
the squeal of animated females, the rattle of ice, and
the popping of corks have completely remade me
into an individual of sanguine equanimity. I sit
smiling, a cynosure, basking comfortably full in the
glory of my heritage. I like my new found Utopia.
Bacbuc, Rabelais high priestess of the holy bottle
has baptized me with her allocution that "by wine
man is made divine"; has told everyone of her fusel
beads, and even at the present moment I am being
internally anointed with one of the rarest jewels in
the vinous crown .
a full bottle of exquisite
old brandy squats beside me as I pen these lines.
However, since my inheritance rolled in,
my position has not been without its problems. I
find myself surrounded with people-friendly people
of course--who will all drink any given amount. I
have suddenly been
h~rled
into a vortex of which
I am the vacuum People are drawn to me by forces
over which neither I nor they have any control, be–
cause the same forces have drawn people to the same
centers ever since the world began. The oldest
hieroglyphic records of ancient Egyptian dynasties
bear evidence that the gaudy queens in the land of
embalmed mystery fully appreciated the stimulation
xviii