the sun, a yellow dwarf

note: this post is intended to be sung in my deep and sexually arousing voice, whilst in the wine cellar of king's co(l)le(rid)ge.

(i) see the sun sinking like a ship (that i need to right), like i right foundering dissertations - though of course the sun is not as important as the merest passing fancy that flits through the mind of man.

hey gal, let's make hay-gel when the sun shines (one of those passing fancies which are more important than the sun). [hay-gel: putting a paste of straw mixed with dung in your hair to keep your hair out of your eyes, and make you smell attractive (to country folk).]

sun-beating love,

beater

x 0 x 0

ps: the aroma of those truffles is really penetrating, but i am still not convinced that food is an aesthetic ex-pier-ee-ence. oh damn. i (w)rote that already. wine fuzzes mybrain.

wine de day; or, whine of de de

i direct your attention to: 'Particular roles: Wine Steward'. pretentious? soi? certainly not: art matters more when i'm drunk, and nothing matters more than that. let me tell you a little mo(o)re about this roll/role and what it entails: the cod-ledges of boxford university, among which memphis is no exception, are renowned for their extensive cellarage and celery. that's what the whine wracks are made out of: structural(ist) celery. that's what makes the glass green. the celery is used for its 'weeping' properties; kept damp and dripping, so that the glass of the wine bottles is infused with its green.

drunkenly,

slurrer.

x ooo x ooo

(hehehehehehehe)