What have I done? Tragedy in Three Acts: The Story of Decadence, Part I
— How to Become Homeless and a Beggar. Decadent drams are going to ruin me. I
told you about my credit cards. Apparently, the third one wasn’t entirely
blocked; there was some cash left for this post-Bolshevik, brutalist Bolshoi
bottling. Of all the distilleries, Glenlivet, somehow a symbol of
industrialisation and mass production. According to the 2026 Malt Whisky
Yearbook, Glenlivet leads the list of distillery capacity with 21,000,000
litres of pure alcohol, neck and neck with Glenfiddich. Is this the drink for
the working class? Let's see what the comrades have manifested.Nose: The syrupy class has returned from the gulag to take over the
government and fight the system. They have become denser, wiser and richer in
experience, not money. All kinds of sweetness have gathered and become
concentrated, with dates, baked apples and grade C maple syrup taking the front
line, followed closely by Comandante Che caramel. Milk chocolate is taking the
aristocracy by storm. Crumble and cherry plum cake sound the fanfare. Sticky
toffee, Turkish delight, nougat, fudge and shy shortbreads throw Cacao-Molotov
cocktails. I like this version of the capital. Hegelians won't like this
whisky.
Palate: I sense the dialectic of materialistic sweet and altruistic spice; neither has total
hegemony. Together, they transform into a black, bitter, counter-revolutionary
espresso. The bitterness is constantly suppressing the sweetness. The
bourgeoisie tries to distract you by powdering your senses with cacao, nutmeg
and cinnamon. There are hints of Cuban cigarillos. Conservatives would call
this nihilistic, modernists would ask where their freedom to disagree is, and
postmodernists would say, 'Why bother?' Structuralists would say, 'There is no
style; it's the system you live in.' AI says, 'Ah, you’re right. I’ll
change that.'
Finish: Internal contradictions linger: the sweetness of fudge and
caramel, the bitterness of strong coffee and dark chocolate. There is no
equilibrium; the sensations are constantly overthrown until eternity. I
disappoint everyone and am constantly doing so. "History repeats itself,
first as tragedy, second as farce." - Karl Marx
91/90/89
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