We have to go where our most whim-blown instinct and voices tell us. Wine, or wherever. Wine stresses truth to self. Wine stresses and punctuates individuality, and denial of what sinks us or tries to distract us from our aims.
At all turns and corners we must announce our convictions, or not be afraid to if we’re forced. We can’t let ourselves be distracted, or diluted. The symbol and literary climate of wine shifts me one way or another as I allow it. How I interpret her, what she says, how I respond, all entailed in her paragraphs. There is no other translation other than a universal and prominently peripatetic one. On which ever Road, writing whichever notes to self. We need be fixated on self, on ourselves, what we want in our stories.
Go where your most reflexive and unplanned of pulses prompt you. That I see as the only shape of true wildness and liberation in living. Don’t feel’s though you have to commit to a category, or pre-drawn spot or course. Aim for more travel, not singular destinations. Write yourself letters, promise yourself happiness and the jaunt of joy you deserve. Disconnect from ALL diluent and pollutants.