Location: the waves, the ocean

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

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Long Since

A cheers to me chappie along the California Main, whose post ye see above all of me garbled warblings, aye, the Exiled Midwesterner himself indeed. & while the goblets be bright & raised on high let us drink to Long Since, aye, whose mutton chops transcend the biped designation what good god has put 'pon him. Aye, this morn' we drink for all of our maties, claimed by scurvy aye or alive & thriving 'pon the azure waves! We drink to Crow's Pussy as he walks the plank in jest & to the sorry young laddies what've breached that cruel fate, aye, & for the lassies a'port & for me Elanore ashore. There be much cause for drink, lads, if it be convivial & spirited as 'tis this morn. Me Elanore furnished yer true cap'n with a fine musical gift this year, aye, & his gratitude like the fabled biblical cup or the depth of me treasure chests runneth over. I've said before what this 'ere blog's done to me, aye, made a preacher of a pirate, but believe ye me laddies I preach of piracy & naught else but its dear lessons. If they be lofty, then lofty they be, & likewise if the devil dances 'pon their rickety foundations then the devil's handiwork they be, for here on the high seas we see neither god nor devil nor messenger between but the sole sickly spirit of man. & if 'is lessons aren't enough for ye, if man's depravity & soul & gratitude & mirth isn't enough, if the earth & sea have not given unto ye some small wonder, then yer life merits a revision, lads. Aye, wonder there is a plenty, & awe & slackjawing besides, & in the bottle or out, a pirate can see it swiftly & pounce 'pon it like a cheetah might a small & sickly mammal of the Sahara. Aye, agape is the world & ripe its possibilities lads, & I must to pounce!


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