I Have A Tendency To Pick Up

Wine Talks; Ask Anyone. The Oracle At The Street Corner; The Uninvited Guest At The Wedding Feast; The Holy Fool. It Ventriloquizes. It Has A Million Voices. It Unleashes The Tongue, Teasing Out Secrets You Never Meant To Tell, Secrets You Never Even Knew. It Shouts, Rants, Whispers. It Speaks Of Great Plans, Tragic Loves, And Terrible Betrayals. It Screams With Laughter. It Chuckles Softly To Itself. It Weeps In Front Of Its Own Reflection. It Revives Summers Long Past And Memories Best Forgotten. Every Bottle A Whiff Of Other Times, Other Places, Everyone...a Humble Miracle

My Heroes And Heroines Are Often Unlikely People Who Are Dragged Into Situations Without Meaning To Become Involved, Or People With A Past That Has Never Quite Left Them. They Are Often Isolated, Introspective People, Often Confrontational Or Anarchic In Some Way, Often Damaged Or Secretly Unhappy Or Incomplete.

Children Are Knives, My Mother Once Said. They Don’t Mean To, But They Cut. And Yet We Cling To Them, Don’t We, We Clasp Them Until The Blood Flows.

It Isn't Just A Village. The Houses Aren't Just Places To Live. Everything Belongs To Everybody. Everyone Belongs To Everyone Else. Even A Single Person Can Make A Difference.

The Battle Of Good And Evil Reduced To A Fat Woman Standing In Front Of A Chocolate Shop, Saying, Will I? Won’t I? In Pitiful Indecision.