is it the beginning or the mid-life chrisis of an alcoholic when one frolics home through ample fields of young university adolescent grain in a stupor of alcohol induced post-marriage (en francais s'il vous plait) fumes rummaging through a mind lost in mink coated fatigue? the question today is whether i am an alcoholic the rather unsubtle joy at finding a treasure trove of a not-quite-half-empty whiskeybottle on my kitchen counter throws me into extasy and agony the realisation lingers and like a gentle thingling sensation upends itself rears its ugly head and desperation leaves me through a limbo of unrequited dismal abhorrence of all that is rigid and all that is flexible. help me find through paths intwined with regal attire the truth of the rough peasent that sows and thus reaps only what he is able to. run around the cable to the other end, unplug the nut that squirrel-lord-o-terror holds in his arms. clamps like steel surround the sound lurks like an evil gory detail. intestinal gorges and deep-deep backside rivers course through me...