10th June: Georgia O’Keeffe, the smell of wood and drinking alone.

One of my favourite songs is Splendid Isolation by Warren Zevon which begins with the great first line: “I want to live all alone in the desert, I want to be like Georgia O’Keeffe.” It goes on to talk about putting tinfoil on the windows to keep out all the fuckwittery of the world and simply being there, alone, in the dark, dreaming. It’s great. As with all things Zevon wrote it’s a perfect piece of art – although unbelievably made even more perfect when performed acoustically on the remarkably titled “Learning To Flinch” album…..

First in Log Cabins, Highland Village, Nova Scotia 146
(This site now has a theme tune. It’s HERE. Click it and read. It adds a majesty to the crap I write.)

But I digress: the thing is it could be taken to “touched by god” levels of perfection had he just added a verse about the magnificence of drinking wine, all alone, in a big room with the lights turned off, laid on the floor, listening to your favourite song on repeat – over and over and over and over and over again – and being ever so slightly aware of the mask of drunkenness starting to descend as the mad, mad world goes on somewhere else. It’s my dream to do this – win the lottery (or have one of my ‘creative ideas’ go big) and then just fuck off into the sunset with a rucksack stuffed with wine, tinfoil (for the windows) and a baguette. And finally turn up ‘somewhere else’ and stay there being all Howard Hughes.

(Mrs Drink Wine today would have to come along later no doubt. In a taxi or something.Just to ruin the Splendid Isolation by suggesting I put shelves up or something.)

And what has all this got to do with drinking wine today, like right now, in this very moment to feel the ‘power of now’ and all that other new age shizzle?

Well today, in 1639, in Fort Christina (Wilmington Delaware) they (Swedes, no less – not Americans) built the very first ‘American’ log cabin. And, actually, thinking about it, I’d be quite to retreat to Slap Bang In The Middle Of Fucking Nowhere in a log cabin and become a recluse there.

Today I shall drink to that dream, to Bacchus and the Swedish people with axes. (Oh, and of course, to Zevon and O’Keeffe.) It’s going to be a glorious night.

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