Am I a Zin guy? These old vines, magic in me, mystifying. Writing for wine, or for me? My palate, compromised. These keys, bullied by fanatical fingers. Sip, delicious. Again, the same. There’s no discovery, enlightenment. Feels wrong.
Revisiting my Master’s thesis, “Apocalypse in Wonderland,” makes me reflect on the tasting Room, and these sips, bottles, how they change us, those in enological delight. My character, morphs when red contacts the palate. Alice’s essence, immediately rearranged with the entry into Carroll’s illusionary terrain. The notes in each pour, how they change over the hour, the experience, the moment, shaping my sense of Self. The correlations continue to compound. Exploration, developing with gorgeous peculiarity, or maybe it’s just the OVZ.
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