Blogarama
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Location: the waves, the ocean

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

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

'Twixt Famine & Fighting

Ere five days 'ave passed without a word, I sit before ye now, only to say that naught has transpired but anxious stasis. When ye sit back & lick yer wounds & think over the years of travail & wonder at the next impasse ye become bedeviled with the unsettling call of sentiment & hopeful despair, don't ye? Behind ye lay the ruinations of warring, the wounds that left ye scarred, the sunken brigates what left the forecastle stuffed tight with bounty, the long & oft forgotten hours wherein ye sang a tune of yer lost love while ahead her specter awaits ye, if not in this life then in some other. & the hopeful despair is its own breed, 'twixt famine & fighting especially, right there laddies? Ye hope, but hope is risen of despair, isn't it? The end of wanting? Hope after a better life, after a plentiful bounty, after the push of some momentous change in current or sighted land, & then go on & shit in the other hand laddies & see which'll fill fastest. We while the time away awaiting something unforeseen, & all the while the forms that fill our horizon prove delusions & vanish like a ghostly squall. So she goes, laddies, so she goes.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Dirty MuleBeard said...

Laddie, one may find himself oft depress'd on th' high sea, chin downturn'd, pensive and fatigued, being separated by ocean from modern pharmaceuticals. So much water, but rum the only consoling fluid. Oft I have choked down an entire bottle of rum, only to find no relief -- in this state I have sprung of th' plank into the brackish waters, plunged my tallywhacker into some bohoemoth whale's airspout (like your lost friend of the last entry), and expunged my scurvy manjuice -- still no end to the pangs, the hunger of a man's bearded soul (aye, my soul is bearded). When the rumfog lifts, I find meself inev'tably in the crow's nest, the ocean winds caressing my beard, granted a new perspective.

Find the crow's nest, laddie. And when ye scratch your backside, don't use the hooke.

3:51 PM  

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