Drinking Red, thinking red.

Unknowingly, I have developed an insatiable thirst for red wine.

I am a drinking man. I love my liquor as much as I love my fag. But red wine....that indescribable allure of a colour, that refineness capped in a bottle, the serenity she offers (when half a bottle consumed...) is very very sexy and appealing.

I must be in one of my periods again.

When I am down, I like to shut myself in my room with my ciggie and wine. I either play the piano or I write. The 'highness' of a red coupled with the melodic tinkering of the keys always soothe the 'bothered' me; the bold or truthful weaved of words never fails to pacifiy my fustrations.

I can't really focus right now, but I am thankful. For I need not be sober to write, neither to come to terms with the demons. Creating a false sense of delusion might just be necessary to recall the strength to go on day after day.

Why indulge in daily realism?

For survival?
For money?
For living?

I can be flying...through the golden field of sunflowers, caught in their yellow scent and all or drown among the pace of capitalism, urbanized and strangled. I know I can be. The moment of self-implosion has to be huge till the point of no return.

I might be so much happier...or simply, just drink another red.