I think perhaps the great David Hume must've had headaches too, for temples held in vice-like grips make good bedfellows for doubt and skepticism.
When massive crab claws (most certainly unearthed some Lovecraftian abyss by the force they can exert) squeeze my head most tightly, the pressure can like grapes crushed beneath heels and toes produce an acidic but addicting drink.
God and Christ and unbelief are smooshed beside my boiled brains and hazy eyes, spurted out and pulped (skin and all) and left to ferment in a cask for 2 years (give or take a month or so). This process will produce unerringly a potion best not quaffed by the faint of faith.
They say that David Hume was a connoisseur of these variegated vintages and the hangovers needed to produce them. It would seem that I've inherited the palette, and accompanying production line.
Heels up and bottoms up, good friends. Here's to the vintage of 2009.
No comments:
Post a Comment