Zombie Wine

Wine is a living thing, Cicero always said. Not this wine. This wine’s dead.

It’s worse than dead. It’s undead. This is zombie wine.

 

Notes of fetidness. Pond scum. Battery acid. General stagnancy.

Notes of zombie flesh. Of roadkill. Of gangrened flesh.

 

Can wine catch cancer? Can wine catch gangrene? Can wine rot, like a corpse?

 

Clearly pressed by zombies. By zombie feet.

 

Something must have died in the barrel.

God died in the barrel. And wasn’t resurrected.

So we’re drinking God’s corpse … Makes sense ..

 

There’s some vast cancer, spreading through all things. Through the earth! Through all the terroirs of the world.

 

Has someone poisoned the wine? Like they’re poisoned everything else.

Maybe it’s our palettes.

Has someone poisoned our palettes?

 

Maybe we’ve corrupted the wine. Due to the state of our souls. Like is known by like, and all that.

Then it should taste good to the postgraduates – they’re not corrupt.

Very true.

Postgraduates, retching.

 

The corruption of Cicero’s wine is part of a more general corruption. All of nature’s turning bad. It’s all going rancid. It’s some attack.

 

There’s a lesson for you here. Postgraduates – you, too, could turn bad. You, too, can go rancid.

 

Terroirs of Hell. Of cursed zones. Terroirs of the worst places on earth.

Of Heligoland.

I didn’t know they produced wine there. Unique.

Enwitok. Bikini Atoll.

Chernobyl wines. Fancy that.

Russian black markets. Cicero knows people.

Wow, radioactive wines! It’ll be the new thing, after natural wines. They’re actually supposed to cure us of radiation poisoning, it says here.

They’re glowing, kinda. They seem to pulse.

They’re supposed to cure of us of radiation poisoning. They work like homeopathy.

 

Grapes of literal wrath. Produced only in war-torn countries.