Location: the waves, the ocean

Hoist the sails, raise yer bloody goblets, ahoy & onward me laddies!

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

A General Statement of our Disposition

Aye, a worthy & overdue form of communique this, when all around the waves be crashing & the whales singing in their bellowy monotone. I've lost count of the years this time, since last Elanore & I took in the breach of the shoal, uncorking a fine rum & whispering forgotten diddies to one another. Ere long I'll forget it all, leastwise if the rum tends its duty. Here, it is only Crow's Pussy & Whiskey & the crew entire, shoddy & bandy-legged, given to scrimshaw or scuffleboard or dreading whiskers in the style of old Blackbeard. I've dipped my own mustachio in scathing wax, fer something to do, the hours drawn & taut afore a treasure peeks out ahead, & why not? It is only life, however strange.
I listen to the parrot sing against the tide-wind & listen to the deep resonant thud of wind socking in the sail & death seems closer, closer, closer while on a far shore beyond or on the other side of the white fence my Elanore works the distillery in longsocks & a hairnet. Would that shore & sea collided! In the clarion call of the seashell I thinks I hear her singing.
I must away, the sea, she calls, the crew she mutines!


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