This winter's rain spoiled the vine, We can produce only bitter wine, From these inundated grapes, We're in for lesser takings, In this here liquor store, I saw today ten customers, Headed for the door. Perhaps I should jam the knob? To keep them milling 'round the shelves, Or may be, sell the art and ornaments, And till, counter, doorknobs, To keep the payments coming in. This summer, we'll be thin.
Wine on the Vine
By Dove Grey | One step forward, two steps back. | 16 May 2020
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We can say by metaphysics that our lives are planned and predictable, though seeing the events and situations in our lives in the reality of what they are ontologically there is no interpretation of them that implies greater meaning. From a nihilistic point of view we do not have any lives and there is no meaning. So this is about my views on life.
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