Upcoming Releases from Monastrell Books:
One Year On St. Pete Beach
Intra-Coastal begins vividly as a crime/beach/drug memoir, but becomes something much more.
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I discovered your simply OUTSTANDING Monastrell Tetra-Pak three years ago in Baltimore, MD. It was a cloudy day in late September and I really should be- oh, sorry, I was thinking of the lyrics to "Maggie May". Pardon me. It was late September, and I was being hunted by Baltimore Police -now I've got it- in connection to a stabbing incident. For the last three weeks, as a matter of fact, a man named Detective Fontaine had been investigating me about this incident that I had sworn to them took place in a dark alley just off the 400 block of Lanvale, which I remembered as the location of the shooting of Kima Gregs in the eleventh episode of The Wire's first season.
The truth is that I slashed my own arm open several miles north in Roland Park, with a serrated edge J.A. Henckel's "EverEdge" steak knife - purchased at Macy's in a set of 13 blades that same summer- because my girlfriend was standing in front of the television and refused to move. I'd been trying to enjoy your Monastrell -which as I said, is in the top ten best Monastrell wines I have ever had- while watching Ken Burns' documentary about prohibition, which had debuted on PBS that same evening.
The girl was laughing at me, and I had reacted quite badly to her mockery, using the knife to shut her awful fucking mouth. I nearly bled to death into a black Hefty garbage bag during the ride to the emergency room. I received nearly 50 stitches, in three layers, while flirting aggressively with the nurses there.
1.) all i could think about while incarcerated was laying my hands on another box of your genuine Jumilla-sourced varietal, the world's first ever Monastrell-in-a-box, and
2.) it was to Florida I escaped only days later, by the skin of my teeth -those police still scouring the backalleys (not just Lanvale, and not just East Baltimore, but West, North, and South Baltimore alleys as well)- for my good self.
You see, it was Florida, the Gulf Coast, to be exact where I wrote a book about my troubles and founded a publishing company using money earned selling windows door to door and the name of the company, dear, beloved Y+B Wine?
You inspired me to DO something redemptive, to pull myself together, and accomplish my original goal, which I had for so many years lost sight of: the publication and dissemination of my vulgarian and criminally oriented "prose poetry". I am an accomplished "prose-stylist" you see, and I demand nothing less of myself than I could of any hard-living "working fellow": honesty, and superior endurance.
In these motha-fuckin streets down here, where tourists routinely vanish, having been taken in by thieves and hustlers who prey on those vain and naive middle-aged chaps who feel a sensation of a lost calling in these dark and mysterious waters, one must keep his wits about him...but for me, this can be difficult, and I can not always expect genuine cognizance from myself, and I do believe the problem lies in my flagging morale.
For one thing, Y+B Monastrell, as well as your recent red-blend, which I am well aware uses my sworn favorite grape in significant quantity and to what I can only imagine is a significant effect, remains unavailable to me here, and I'll get back to that in a second.
It was on that late September day, the city crawling with detectives on my trail convinced that my stabbing incident had far more to do with some unsolved murder, one of the 963 they had been saddled with as sworn officers of the law that year so far (that number was to nearly DOUBLE before Christmas arrived, and then another 47 between the Yuletide and the New Year), that I ran to The Wine Source on 36th Street, the site of my original Y+B Monastrell purchase, to obtain as many of those wonderful Tetra-Paks as I could afford with the 3 crumpled and blood stained 20 dollar bills wadded up between my sockless toes and a less-than-comfortable black biker boot, probably the left one.
Only 3 remained on the shelf, but God as my witness I swept these into my small cart with trembling hands and hightailed it, with a large Burger King cheeseburger, to a small wooded area several blocks north. I was certain that the cops would find me eventually, and whether I liked it or not, i was going to prison for a very, very long time. I knew damn well this could be the last wine I ever tasted, and my only solace was in knowing that I had some top notch junk food to pair it with (ribs or escargot would of course been preferable) and a reasonably well-concealed spot in which to enjoy it all. The box format made me impossibly grateful to you for introducing Monastrell to the world in this oft-maligned and still misunderstood format.
I made myself a bed of pine needles and fortified my makeshift hut there behind the Giant Supermarket with garbage I collected from a kicked-over wastebasket. The sun was setting over the ridge, but it was already dark there in my sanctuary. I prayed to the lord, please give me freedom only so long as to drink all three liters of this dead-knockout of a boxed wine, and forgive me for eating Burger King.
So here I am on the beach: it is 90 degrees currently, and some dolphins are launching themselves out of the water much to the delight of some subnormal children who have set up camp just to my right. They may dream of those preternaturally intelligent fish tonight, and maybe 20 years from now, this beach will help them to consider their turbulent and lonely formative years with fondness. All I know, in this moment, is that the Chilean plonk i am drinking, a boxed Malbec I purchased at Target for $17, is no substitute for even the most mediocre Monastrell, and sirs, yours is anything but mediocre. What must I do to procure another 3 or 5 or 8 boxes from you? I want to try that blend, and I'm sure your Shiraz is exceptional as well. What, i ask you now, and you must take me seriously, WHAT CAN I DO? Are samples out of the question? I am over 21.
President and Founder, Monastrell Books
Madeira Beach, FL