Posted on by Allison Marie Conway

Drunk Oracle (audio)

Pinot Grigio in one hand, cigarette in the other, I am chatting it up with some guy outside of the bar because nobody smokes inside bars anymore and also nobody smokes, but the few left who do are forced to remove themselves from the rest and brave the elements. Not so bad this time of year, though. It’s cold but only mildly so and the autumn air smells of damp earth and freshly fallen leaves. There are a few bonfire pits around on the front lawn of the place and people are gathered here and there talking and laughing as their drinks sink them lower and lower into the back of their minds. The fires are wood-burning and the scent and scene is warm and charming. Twinkle lights strung all around in the many maple trees which surround us along the edge of the parking lot.

The wine is terrible because the bar is a brewery and I don’t drink beer and they don’t have liquor, so here I find myself taking large gulps of this watered down wine in an attempt to soothe my rattled nerves enough to listen to this man I do not know speak about things I do in a pleasant enough exchange. Holidays and gas prices, Thanksgiving plans and the bullshit that is Musk and Bezos and all the other fuckers who have this world by the balls.

It’s not that I mind small talk it’s just that it suffocates me sometimes and all I want is to be alone. He starts explaining to me that his wife is new to working out and she complains it’s making her gain weight instead of lose it and she won’t listen to him when he tries to tell her she is gaining muscle weight and losing fat weight but she doesn’t want to hear it and frankly at the moment neither do I. I think working out is bullshit, too.

The chatty drunk stranger finally makes his unceremonious exit to go back inside to order up what I can only assume is another holiday reindeer pale ale or whatever the hell these beer drinkers drink that I’m repeatedly amazed gets them so damn wasted. I can hear the band playing – some kind of country rock song. It’s just late enough that everybody should probably just call it a night but they won’t because the night holds nothing else for them after this.

I take the last drag of my smoke and crush the cigarette into the tall ashtray full of smooth sand. The glow of twinkle lights has become hazy under my gaze which is how I become aware that I am more than a little bit buzzed, incredibly enough considering the sad state of the offensive wine. When I get back inside, I see the dancing has begun. The volume and glare of everything is way over the top including the lights which are entirely too bright, illuminating a good bit of what nobody really needs to see.

As I am not one to know when to leave well enough alone, I get one more drink at last call and scan the bar for the guy I met earlier. I see him in the corner nearest the band, his hands rubbing on the small slender shoulders of a woman I assume is his wife who hates to exercise. She is sipping a bottled water and doesn’t appear to need to work anything out. My mind makes up a story about the intricacies of her life which I couldn’t possibly really know. I wonder how she does it. Stay sober as her husband staggers and stumbles. Stay fit in a world where everything is too much even as it’s watered down and it gets harder and harder to fit anywhere at all.

39 Replies to “Drunk Oracle (audio)”

  8. Sure, it might have been a bad one, however, you had me at Pinot Grigio…
    Your words, your mind, your narration, your voice… Absolute refuge from the madness that today’s world is! ❤️❤️❤️

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  9. A beautiful face and an equally beautiful mind, coupled with sexy voice… oh my my! Can’t imagine how many hearts you must have broken out there (thankfully not mine, phew!)… Cheers to the ash and the smoke of your cigarette making rounds in the air. 🍺🚬

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  10. Reblogged this on Notes and commented:
    A beautiful face and an equally beautiful mind, coupled with sexy voice… oh my my! Can’t imagine how many hearts you must have broken out there (thankfully not mine, phew!)… Cheers to the ash and the smoke of your cigarette making rounds in the air. 🚬🍺

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          1. Allison (I like taking your name if you don’t mind), My middle name is Ali, hence your name sounds (Ali’s son) like my next version 🙂 lol. I have interacted with many awesome authors like yourself with the same request that I am going to make again to you i.e. please write something about love or show me where you have written about love. My soul is so thirsty to read, to know and to feel it. Better if you’d make an audio of your writing on this subject that I can enjoy sipping orange juice in a gentleman’s club since I don’t drink. (tsk tsk… Amir smiles devilishly). 😈

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  11. Hello dear Allison. I am listening to your words. Your soft and tender voice awakening my sleeping pen. I dreamed a place and story last night and it would need a woman view and touch. Words should make us think, wander and pray for me.
    “I found you in the Jazz club dancing alone in a silky dress, closed eyes and moving bare feet. I watched you danced to the lonely jazz, your hips, legs and shoulders falling deep into the magic of the music. I observed you from a distance and I drank the Irish whiskey and I wrote to my journal. “Baby girl, dancing alone. Maybe sweet, maybe a lover, maybe the devil’s embrace. She knows, she needs only the soft jazz and men, were just in the way of her dreams.”
    I order three fingers of Tequila and I looked into the Jazz club mirror. I told myself. Today you died in 2004, my friend in some shitty war and I drink alone. I raised the finger of tequila and I drank her down. I felt a soft touch and I heard a gentle voice. She whispered to me. Here in New Orlean in the midnight hours. We can drink with the dead and they will listen soldier.
    I turned and I saw the dancing lady and I looked into her eyes, wild like the stormy sea. Thank you kind lady for the generous words. She took my journal and she read the few lines written. She smiled and she told me. I like being called baby girl, make me feel young and pretty. I like the bar poets and I like soldiers who do not seek attention. What are you doing in New Orleans on a Friday night alone?
    I touched her face, my hands rolled through her long ginger hair. I told her. I love New Orleans. You can disappear into her and become invisible. I love the silence more than the noise now. I have become cold, so damn cold dear lady. My name is Johnnie and you are so beautiful, so kind to talk to me tonight. She laughed at his words and she told him. You are pretty too and I believe we need coffee and some eggs. I live near and my name is Allison, wasn’t New Orleans born, but New Orleans had stole my heart and soul. I smiled and I told her. Please raised the finger of tequila with me. My friend Don would of loved you. He loved those women filled with fire and who were fearless. She took the finger of the tequila, we touched glasses and she told the sky. To Don, we hope you had found a better place and we remember you. We drank the tequila down and she smile. She said, time to escape the Jazz Club. You need some TLC and I feel generous.
    We went to her place, small apartment near the downtown. You could hear the music still. She brought coffee and some eggs. She sat between my legs. She laid her head into my lap and she sang a song.
    “Was a man so brave, so handsome. He told his lover. I will fight war and we will marry when I return. You and I. We will dance and drink for a million year. The man returned, his body broke, his eyes dead, his mind scarred and he left her world with a shot of a shotgun. He left her a few words. I love you my sweetie, I love you so. I die on a battlefield and I am no-more. Please forgive me my love.”
    He caressed her hair, her hair and her shoulders. He told her. Thank you for being kind to me dear Allison. She smiled and she told him. I will wash-up and be back in a second. He watched her walk away, her long legs, curvy body and beautiful face. He knew. Wasn’t for him. He lost the need for company and he decided to leave.
    He went toward the door and he heard a voice. She whispered. Please Johnnie, stay with me. She was wearing a silk nightgown and the kind light allowed him to see her canvas of perfect body. He told her. Where would we be, if I stayed dear Allison? You are a man wish and dream. I am leftovers. She went to him, took him to her bedroom. They fell into satin sheets. He watched her eyes become more gentle and she undressed him. She stood on the bed, released her nightgown and she slowly danced to the sound of the jazz in the distance. He adored her feet, legs and moving breast. He caressed her feet and legs. She straddled him, rubbing her breast against him and allowing her hair to touch his face. He told her. You must be a dream dear Allison. I don’t believe I am with you tonight. You are a kind woman.
    She smiled and she whispered. All of us had learn sadness, all of us had learn tears and all of us had learn loneliness. A fortune teller told me yesterday I would find my true love with the liar’s moon above. You and I. Just the same in many ways.
    She brought her face near his face. Kissed his forehead, lips and neck. Her kisses made his sleeping heart awake. They fell into a wild dance of loan and borrow. He remembered salty skin, wild movements and demanding kisses. They awoke at noon and he caressed her face, her neck. She opened her eyes and she asked. Will you escape me or stay? I told told her. If you want me to stay dear Allison. I will stay. She smiled and she whispered. Today we will find the sea and I want you to write a million words for me. Can you do this Johnnie. He kissed her and he told her. I will write a million words for a beautiful and kind woman, you are.”

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    1. What an absolutely beautiful story you have created, dear John. It warms my whole heart to read it. 🥰 Thank you ever so much for spending time in my little world of dreams and visions and melancholy romance. I’m so grateful you enjoy, that it inspires you to pen such lovely thoughts. 🕊🌹🙏🏻🌹🕊

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            1. What could be more kind, more generous and beautiful, than telling an author you find her work worthwhile. I am deeply touched and so grateful you find it so. Good morning, dear John, from Pennsylvania. Wishing you a richly inspired week, my friend. ❤

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