Reflections in a Glass of Wine

0
643

Reflections in a glass of wine. A writer rides an emotional roller coaster if he, she is worth their salt. Simply no one will read you if you are a bowl of Quaker Oats with Splenda and no apples. You must experience life if you are going to write about life. The two go hand in hand. It helps enormously if you get drunk. Not stay drunk, but just go there, and come home. Don’t drive yourself, that’s folly, go there and back safely.

We all have ups and downs. Writers have catastrophic cascades of emotional disaster. It’s almost bi-polar, if you buy into that sort of nonsense, which I don’t. It helps if you can string words, and spell. Understanding proper grammar is no longer required since proper English was pushed by the wayside by the Hip-Hop generation years ago. All of that having been said you simply must seize upon some subject of general interest to at least some portion of the population.

I never write about sex because I tend to choose subjects that I know something about. I like politics because no one really knows about it, but almost everyone forms opinions. Political opinions are like religious opinions, profound, but never empirically sound. Like dice in a cup, lots of noise, but you never know what’s going to come out. Then, of course, there is loss. Loss is a biggie. The more wine you drink, the more profound it becomes. You cry like a baby over an ex-wife, totally forgetting the party you threw when she left. Divorces are like that. You’re so absolutely sure that the freedom to run amuck will be a pot of gold until you stand back in snake amazement, realizing that your ex is the only one who would put up with you, and now you don’t have her, but she still owns half of you! Another reflection in a glass of wine.

The loss of children is always good, grandchildren are better. Grandchildren are far enough removed that they do not tend to form abrasive opinions, and forgive you of your sins. That, and when they get on your nerves you can always send them home. In my exile I acquired a dog. Dogs are fantastic creatures. Unconditional love, and total forgiveness. If you do not believe that just lock your wife and your dog in the trunk of your car, wait an hour, come back, open the trunk, and see which one is happy to see you.

When the wine runs out you should have run the course of all human emotion. At that point you take the dog and go to bed. It’s always nice if you remove your clothing, however, after reflections in a glass of wine that’s not necessarily a hard, fast rule. I mean face it, you’ve been looking for meaningful images in a glass of Merlot! Waking up alone is a bit stressful, but the dog having to potty usually takes care of that. Do house break the dog, and don’t have a large dog because during the training period the mess does not mix with a hangover well. If you obey the rules you may come up with something you will write that will interest at least ten or twelve other drunks out there, and become another Hemingway . . . all except the shotgun thing at the end, that sucked.

Bill the Butcher
SHARE
Previous articleThe Death of Alton Sterling
Next articleReligious Conscience in the Scrap Heap Who Pays the Piper? Everyone

I write right off the top of my head. I’m direct, funny, and simple. The key word is, “simple.” I have a high school education from Killeen High in Killeen, Texas, and that’s about as illiterate as you can be, and they still let you drive a car. No use trying to slander me. If you want to dig dirt on me you’d better bring a dump truck, because friend, I’ve done it all. If there was anything I missed it’s only because no one told me about it, because if they did, well, I’d have done that, too! I call myself, “A Simple Ol’ Boy From Austin,” because when I fall short I can always say, “Hey, I told you from the start that I was stupid.”

Leave a Reply