A complex message seemingly welded into the very fabric of my bones, akin to a giant concretion of snow and ice, has been accumulating mass since my earliest recognizance. Had I the gift of classical refinements such as music, painting, pageantry, etc. perhaps I may have composed, rendered, or performed myself a ballast against this mental maelstrom, but alas, I possess no such talents, and the growing clamor threatens to carry me away in a great tempest of unstructured cerebration. But now, at last, the disquiet may be channeled! It is on this day that upon my bodily introduction to a certain Barolo Chinato (contrived by one Giuseppe Vajra), the totality of my vapours, megrims, humours, etc. dissipated in a transitory moment. After toiling countless years in search of the crowning medium in which to deliver a sundry of hitherto indecipherable concepts, my consciousness is finally relieved of that burdensome adiposity. Eureka! It is in my preservation of agricultural and botanical specialties and the preparation of aromatic chemique that I now perceive a cure. The treatment for my malady, you see, is in the fashioning of a relatively new pharmacon known as “Vermouth”. Yes! I will make Vermouth!