The Barolo Escapade


A BAROLO ESCAPADE

 

In the best interest of the over extravagantly priced vacation home, I cup the slabs of the freshest recent victim upon the marble fucking countertops; Fuck it, keep the deposit; I AM IN THE FLESH.

To the wine cellar I deliriously and unhealthily wander, wondering if anyone was going to join me, be with me, ACCEPT ME. But time is ticking like the curse it had become; Being brutally blunt with me;  “You are fucking alone!”

 

So, to the wine cellar already, reminiscing about the hot, rich snatch I once hungered within, and the thought of all of their after world moisture, fucking within the moment.

 

“TO THE FUCKING WINE CELLAR!”  I sense the collection is superior, fixating upon a vintage bottle of Barolo that pleads to be plucked; Grab the “Iron Fist in the Velvet Glove”, a fine Barolo, and get upstairs to get on with your diseased feasting.

Yes, that obsessive, carnivorous disease had begun to haunt me, consume me, control me, making me the heathen I had BECOME.

“Best make sure I indulge deeply.”  Out of the wine cellar, back at the tattered marble kitchen counter, properly beginning to decant my fine Barolo, I begin to poetically throw piece after piece of new human I had been preparing down the gullet.   I am ill now, wandered in the forest well after the mid night hour and it DEVOURED ME, making me false promises. I would feel nothing. I see into my own regret and anger, as I progressively begin to chomp more and more obsessively upon each salty, bloody piece of recent kill.

“OHHHHHHHH!”  I bellow in semi sharp evolving pain, grabbing for a crystal glass to hedonistically throw back my Itailian delight;  Barolo, aggressive, seductive, course, rustic, elegant. I nose the glass and timeless juice meticulously, taking in each profound scent and essential character; Acidity that pairs perfectly with that that hearty entrée with a sublime tannic mouthfeel.  Earth, depth, exuding  a forever memorable persona.  I begin to become one within the fresh flesh, cursing the outside illuminated moon, giving it the cursed finger; exclaiming things were going to become one with me; THE DEMONS SOMETIME PREVAILS.

 

barolo-vineyards

dvd_salem

 

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