Location: the waves, the ocean

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

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Little Ditties

Laddies & lasses I bid ye a fine fond how do ye do? On principle I have discoverd many a thing in my long years on the sea; namely, that the soul of man is suspect. Aye, the very core of yer coworkers & all those ye meet in the course of yer useless hours can be black as the Arctic Circle o'er a winter's darkspell, & what can ye do but endure & suffer through it. What do ye know of it, captain, ye may well be askin' yerselves, yer fingernails scraping the thought o'er yer noggins like jelly o'er burnt toast aye, & verily I say unto ye I know a little of it. The wind speaks of such places, wherein yer coworkers aren't the upright laddies like Whiskey & Crow's Pussy & Mulebeard, nay, they be of a different ilk altogether & one that as me eyes see it drives after meaninglessness like the old Spanish gentleman after the windmill. Aye, fer a draught of prosperity they'll tell ye, or for the nectar of worldly success, but 'ave ye given pause to think, if it's worldly success yer after, why aren't ye aboard me ship? We plunder, aye, & pillage & take what we see & ere the day is done we've a pretty booty stashed away & some to give beside. Aye, word spreads o'er the waves like a dread gale & though we be primitive in the eye of many, we know of the lands that touch our oceans. Aye, I know it well, for me Elanore labors still in her father's whiskey distillery, aye, her sweat pouring forth & her spirit crushing slowly like so many ashore. This life to which ye consign yerselves, aye you, what of it? For all the warring & mutineering & bloody turmoil of the seas at least me lungs pull in the briny musk of seabreeze. Me freedom looks like bondage to ye, like an anachronism or some manacle to a foregone past, but I assure ye this world thrives laddies & lassies, & me within it. I would to the shore, & one day, when me bones prove brittle, I'll dock & stay & spell out the letters & sip of the same golden goblet each morn. Until then though I war on & naught but tide & hellweather may pull me down. I'll sing on me lads, aye, I'll sing of the Pirate's Dream, of the bounteous episodes yet to unfurl, of the lofty banner of Dagger & 'is unafeared crew as we sail the aureate seas. Sound the trumpet, for onward shall we sail, & believe you me laddies & lassies, "we'll drink & sing of the day when the ship pulls into bay, where the ladies do where gold berets in their hair & their laughter sounds pleasant & gay. " Such was a tune me pen writ some months back & such is the Pirate's Dream. Sing it, laddies & lassies alike, when around ye, in that fabled place called the "office," yer peers display the worth & weight of tardark chips of coal. There is glory to be had elsewhere, aye, so let elsewhere be yer home.


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