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Notes12/27/2019
Floyd
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Floyd
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By the dark rivers of the great tobacco leaf
In the old southern states somewhere on a warm and humid roof of a straw hut, they rolled out a colossal tobacco leaf and poured barrels of very old whiskey on it, then sat down in the shade of the barn in the seeping heat of the swampy sun.
Soon mists of hazy vapours were pouring tenaciously over the edges of the old barn, heavy aromas sank on the people in the shadows, painted monstrous pictures of enormous duration. There flowed slow-motion rivers of malt darkly from arms and branches of the countless veins of the spicy leaf, sweating the heavy essences of whiskey, flowing viscously like brown syrup, reflecting the sunlight iridescently, hallucinating the smoke of the cigar, red-orange glowing and glowing. A parchment that only frays and crinkles due to folds and creases, sending scents, but never dries so much that it breaks or burns, that never completely scorches the damp-warm heat, persistently rough and consistent over seemingly endless hours.
This tobacco is originally dark and does not stick, the hooch evaporates and the malt is not honey, its leaf has the size of the state of Alabama with the shoals of the Louisiana swamps, where you sink into flavors with the people in the shade, the nuances change in countless ways.
Soon mists of hazy vapours were pouring tenaciously over the edges of the old barn, heavy aromas sank on the people in the shadows, painted monstrous pictures of enormous duration. There flowed slow-motion rivers of malt darkly from arms and branches of the countless veins of the spicy leaf, sweating the heavy essences of whiskey, flowing viscously like brown syrup, reflecting the sunlight iridescently, hallucinating the smoke of the cigar, red-orange glowing and glowing. A parchment that only frays and crinkles due to folds and creases, sending scents, but never dries so much that it breaks or burns, that never completely scorches the damp-warm heat, persistently rough and consistent over seemingly endless hours.
This tobacco is originally dark and does not stick, the hooch evaporates and the malt is not honey, its leaf has the size of the state of Alabama with the shoals of the Louisiana swamps, where you sink into flavors with the people in the shade, the nuances change in countless ways.
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