I figure I am not alone in finding “kindred souls” on the decks of the KBS Scrivener. I will admit, much to my embarrassment, that I actually LOOK for new posts by vic-k. While I find the admission of the afore mentioned activity much to my discredit, I think Mr -K and I would get along pretty well if forced to share a bottle of his precious Jameson.
There are a few other names that get my attention when I see a post attributed to them. Some are insightful, some are humorous, others are just friendly. Each name has a clear personality (none that I dislike so far).
I believe that I am not alone in appreciating the other participants on these forums. The vic-k thing… I might be alone on that one.
The foolish eunuch, even at this very moment, sits cowering in a corner of his brain, over on the Psychotherapist thread, way beyond the palliative/therapeutic reach of Mama Jameson`s embrace. Even my precious Absinthe and Laudanum tempts him not, as he awaits the outcome of the meddling with the unknown, on the aforementioned Psycho thread.
I have been there and while I offer no opinion of my own, I fear the violator for reasons best left as conversation pieces for my skeletons.
Someday I will need to obtain this Absinthe of which you speak so fondly. I have a line of inquiry started with the local dealer of spirits and should have access to Jameson. I leave it to Mrs to determine its quality as I personally prefer liquors distilled from the various Jamaican cash crops. I do know that the “Green Goblin” that we poor schmucks in the northwestern quadrant of a global map have access too is not the “real thing” (recently legalized).
[i]"We share a common bond, dear lady. I, in fact, am addicted to a viciously potent brew of Laudanum and Absinth. And I do not mean, the adulterated Absinth that can be purchased legally in the Gin Palaces and back alley hostelries, frequented by the lower orders. Oh no, what I refer to, is the real Absinth; that green goddess, that toyed mercilessly with the minds and souls of the artistic and literary intelligentsia, of the 18th and 19th centuries, before destroying them and casting them aside, like old worn out dish clothes.
My illicit supply, comes courtesy of an inscrutable gentleman of Oriental Extraction, who owns an emporium (in Chinatown at the heart of the Metropolis of Manchester), selling useless tat and ephemera, as a front for his real business; the supplying, to miserable wretches like myself, that, which we so fervently desire. It`s only the regular imbibing of this fiendish concoction that enables me to cope with the vagaries and vicissitudes of modern life. Whilst paradoxically, helping to hasten its sad denouement."
Unfortunately Monsieur, RED BULL, will give you a better rush, than the rubbish being legally peddled as Absinthe, today.
Every hear the phrase “white lightning”? Wock should be more familiar with it than he cares to admit. My genome hails from a section of the “good ol’ US of A” that has more surfaces at a 30deg incline then 10deg, where every man has a rifle, shotgun, bow, and spinning rig in the back window of the pickup, wives know that beer is 4 of the 5 food groups, and “white lightning” is a family recipe.
Granny (great grand mother) ran hooch during the prohibition and ran a brothel. She shot her brother (who died of the wound) and used “the boys” (my father and his brothers) to mind the still. If I remember correctly my dad and his closest brother spent a week in jail before they could post bail.
Suddenly my mental state makes sense.
All that to say the following: Yep. We don’t get the good stuff. Looks like a good reason to ruin your side of the planet some day.
Monsieur, one simply has to know the trick of it. A reasonable amount of the aforementioned aperitif (I prefer the Pernod variety of it, given that they were the one’s responsible for its popularity), exactly dosed with a correct lacing of wormwood (thus obtainable from a hardware store or other place of common poisons), shall give you the original spirit in its exactement.
The magic of the Absinthe is just so - an overdose of ethanol and aniseed (70% is the general by-volume level), meted with a vaguely hallucinogenic rat poison.
Like all things alchemical, I must advise caution on the wormwood. Too little, and you’ve wasted your time. Too much, and it will fucking kill you.