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When I Was Drunk and Wanted Big Words

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Nothing succeeds like excess. (Okay, I don't really believe that. I love the spare, austere minimalism and the ascetic black and white, the shades of gray, the disciplined, abstemious day.) But anyway....

We are all improbable in our own way, and who can augur the future? I never could have laid out my course in advance, though in looking back it all makes sense, even if it was me flipping a coin (or if somebody flipped it for me). Hindsight smooths the probabilistic waves, and here I sit, having cast the coin, having had the coin in pocket, having gotten change at an early age, the cashier having had a drawerful of metal, the mint having stamped to its heart's content, the metallurgists having had their smiles, the miners having ground fault wiles, the cosmos having performed admirably, elementally. Here I sit, tonight's chautauqua taking place in a goblet of garnet, yea - a very phrontistery of fuchsia. Far be it from me to understate the euphonious manner in which the cork leapt from the bottle, the Olympian olfactory embrace, the bathykolpian brand of this elixir. The wind outside the window - what is it telling me? Am I entangled, unawares, in my ebullience, a ptarmic influence in the decoction escaping my notice? Am I blind to the greater reality, my words falling like amaurotic husks to the ground? Or, that given ground, does it emit the mephitic essence? Is this the supernatural revenge of some aspect of the wine's terroir, rendering the drinker typhlotic to the usufruct of this very forum, to an iatrogenic principle at work? Are we held at bay by external sternutatory Influence, all our self-reliant suppositions trumped by errhine externals? Here I sit, wondering if 'tis no more than the contest of the Ego, Superego, and Id, grinding against one another in tribologic sculpting. Or is a spiteful, chthonian influence at work, stemming from that same terroir? Can the wine be blamed? Can we cry out, apotropaically, to rescue ourselves? Are conscious forces arrayed against us, or are we our own worst enemy? Is there a soil/soul for a wine? And is it only a fancy of Fortuna that I sit here tonight, deterministic tendrils floating around me in a manner that threaten my assumptions? Am I free of myself, or is there no such thing as such freedom? In the end, do all things come to one? Obfuscatory clarity - yes, I know, and peace won't sleep in the transparent bottom of my glass.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016




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Date: 4/14/2017 9:06:00 PM
Wow Doug:) My goal of learning 'one' new word a day was exponentially increased with this piece:) That is some kinda 'wondering' and 'beverage' to elicit such an expansive write..lol Impressive! lynnxxx Brothers Osbourne have a great new song called 'Aint My Fault'. It reminds of something you would write and listen to. I heard it the first time, right after reading your poem on Wine. have a wonderful Easter weekend:)
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Doug Vinson
Date: 4/14/2017 11:26:00 PM
Cheers, Lynn! : )
Date: 12/4/2016 8:48:00 AM
Beertender... I'll not have what he's having;-)
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Doug Vinson
Date: 12/4/2016 8:52:00 AM
Ha! Cheers, John. : )
Date: 12/4/2016 3:22:00 AM
Or, in a month for that matter.
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Doug Vinson
Date: 12/4/2016 8:53:00 AM
Be lucky to get a couple per month. : P
Date: 12/4/2016 3:21:00 AM
Doug, how many of those big words would you use in an average week? :)
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Date: 11/30/2016 8:47:00 AM
I knew I was in for a surprise when I read the title! Very impressive with a hint of humour I might add which I enjoyed!
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Doug Vinson
Date: 11/30/2016 10:51:00 AM
Cheers, Rick, and thank you. It was rather an exercise, and I ain't gon' be doin' dat stuff every day. ; p
Date: 11/29/2016 6:27:00 PM
A very entertaining and creative piece! Decades ago, when I drank such beverages-I was usually out the youthful prowl and wanted a beautiful lady's company and then hoping to let Nature take its course.
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Doug Vinson
Date: 11/29/2016 8:26:00 PM
Thanks, Robert. There is the love of language itself, but to be brutally honest it's hard using all those words on an "almost never" basis. It would be a different thing if every day.
Date: 11/29/2016 3:08:00 PM
So many questions... and words .... it's mind-boggling :) The only one I can answer is "Can the wine be blamed?" Never. lol Very creatively penned
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Doug Vinson
Date: 11/29/2016 4:17:00 PM
Hi Rebecca. You're certainly correct - no way the wine can be blamed. No more than the water, the milk, the heads of broccoli and cauliflower.
Date: 11/29/2016 2:11:00 PM
I would make a bold attempt at answering some of your questions in this chaotic but wonderfully written piece but I think I am vocab-tipsy after reading this so probably not in the right frame of mind to supply any answers that might even come close to making sense. I can however make a suggestion, if at any time I am in need of some big words, I usually pop over to Paloma P's poetry, she's got a ton of them. Nicely crafted Doug.
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Doug Vinson
Date: 11/29/2016 3:07:00 PM
Whoa, the website seems active today. Thanks once again, Chris, and that sounds like a very good suggestion. These word thingies are seductive.
Date: 11/29/2016 2:02:00 PM
I fear I have come down with an acute case of hippopotomonstrosesquipedaliophobia...loved the poem Doug
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Doug Vinson
Date: 11/29/2016 3:05:00 PM
Hey Tim, thank you. I've now got the fear back in me too, so back on the ground with my feet.