Buckets (Stronzino)

There are many traditions upheld by citizens of every city, but these traditions become even more entrenched and gain a mysterious quality when a city has been around for hundreds or even thousands of years. The ghosts of a place never leave and their legacy serves as a placeholder for those who can't see them. The little rock piles that gather all over Istanbul at the hottest time of summer surely aren't the work of wraiths and dead emperors but the tradition of placing these stones is a relic of history. Same with the fish carcasses that are discarded on the outskirts of London when the first flowers of spring bloom, which always face southeast, defiant to the channel and Europe beyond.

Well I discovered perhaps the oddest practice of all. Where else should it be but the Immortal City? Devious popes and magnificent barbarians, shackled fathers of world domination and galloping defenders of home and beauty; they all lived here. And they all drank wine. Lots and lots and lots of wine. The barbarians would drink to a mad rage and battle their bonfires with unseen fury. The fathers cast spells of infatuation and vile cannibalism on their wine and let it course through their shaking bodies.

The alcohol would grip them and change them. And then it subsided. But it wasn't pretty. It made men into demons. It conquered giants. [It killed Alexander of Macedonia] And sometimes it found its escape, forcing the men of old to expel it with force. It happens today--it's called vomit. Usually this means one has drank too much, but in the days of old it was a sign, not of physiological reactions but of the juice's desire to leave the host, whether out of fear or disapproval. The occasion of the vomit was well-observed and marked with gravity.

The places of these occurrences became significant. So a list was made. And if a man was to conquer the demons of the spirits, he had to achieve the vomiting ritual at each of the places in question. The list encompasses dozens of locations around Rome, some that still remain as they were long ago, and some that have been built upon. But even the ones that have changed remain the (un)holy sites of evacuation that must be had as well. I gained access to the list and have embarked on the quest to elevate my soul and eradicate the source of the tragic flaw. Below are the places that I have checked off my list so far. Understand it is just a beginning of a lifelong journey, one that I undertake with every ounce of reverence.

>The Institute of International Affairs

>The United States Consulate

>The corner of Viale Trastevere, in clear view of G.G. Belli and the river

>34 Via dei Genovesi, just behind a 12-century synagogue

>In a basement, several hundred yards west of the Spanish Steps

I have achieved only about 5% of what I set out to do a few months ago. I will draw on the might of the pagan hero, Heracles, in the coming months and drink wine like only a god could.

Join me.

Updates to follow.

Regards,

Starlin Kubarius Castro

"The stars shine without the sun because the night calls to them."