Down to the Sea

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The News from BardHaven will be somewhat silent for a bit as I will be away for the weekend, commemorating the day 41 years ago when I was first spat into meatspace, naked and weeping.

I ask my dear readers to forgive me as I go down to the seashore for a couple days to lounge hedonistically by the pool, besiege a young boy who has made his bastion in the ruins of a true Crusader fort, take various boat trips up and down the Mediterranean coast and generally be useless for a little while.

Regular postings shall continue again Saturday night, once I am more reconciled with my new age.

The Blood of Poets

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Even before I first tasted true Absinthe at a dinner party in Prague 15 years ago, I have marveled at it’s exotic and romantic reputation. For those of us who grew up American, it is “The Forbidden Drink”. The Green Fairy is said to make simple men run mad and to cause the gifted to practically explode with creative and/or degenerate impulses. Indeed, my soul tells me that the drink of Van Gogh and Rimbaud must be something EXTRAORDINARY. To this day I always keep a sealed bottle of good Absinthe in my home…just in case.

I can’t say my dozen or so encounters with the drink have made me any more creative or degenerate then I was before. It does make a wonderful conversation starter at parties and casts a certain intellectual, decadent light on any cocktail party, and as the article I am reposting here explains, will soon be much easier for my Yankish readers to obtain, regardless of America’s somewhat hysterical laws against it.

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