Blogarama
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Location: the waves, the ocean

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

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Wave & Shore

Aye me lads I bid ye good mornin, though the skies be grey & the rain be tappin' upon me cabin. Here aboard me brigate the planks draw out in slick patterns & beneath our feet & pegs we feel something substantial, aye. Days though come & pass, & from time to time a pirate feels a bit lost, a bit like the speck on all the swirling seas that he truly be. A man'll give 'imself entire to the pull of the tide, to the sway of a gale, to the rocking of the boat as it cuts the sea in two. Aye, at times the thoughts they slow & fade as a bygone eddy & the sunken eye will fix 'pon a sail & ne'er waver, but glare thoughtless at the vast blank whole of the thing. As easy as 'tis to be spirited, 'tis as simple a thing to bow one's head & let fate take ye where she will. A pirate must think 'pon such things lads, fer the idle time is great, & the pull & pressure of possibility is ne'er too far a bay. Life's riches, for they be just that lads, life's riches are rendered from its blankness, from its erstwhile sadness like a calf from its cryin' mother. Aye, happiness is born of sadness, lads, so when a storm afronts ye & yer eyes be fixed upon the looming grey blankness, let yerself know that it be natural, that it be necessary, that no mirth is fixed nor sorrow nor hope. Life will take ye where she wants, lads, & one man can tear at it all he wants with hook & dagger & teeth, but ere long the sea will speak her peace as we say. Aye, some dampness draws o'er me mood this morn, & the skies be cold & grey. Me temper seems a loaded cannon & me crew would do well to keep its bloody distance ere one of 'em'll sing the whalesong from the other side of the sheen. I think of Longsince at moments like these, aye I do, fer he is an edifice in the face of a gust. Aye, we should the boulder be that parts the flowing water, but time conspires to let us waver & falter, laddies, & some morns it pisses 'pon our miter caps. So she sings, the sea, & what is a simple pirate to do?

2 Comments:

Anonymous BeardBeard said...

When I find meself in a sim'lar mood, I make haste t'the cabin, aye, 'nd adorn me parrot with jewelry and a small wig, 'til she is an insatiable beauty, her little beak shimmering in the oil lamp's aurora. I may watch an entire afternoon pass, lost in her avian eyes. Aye, my lad, 'tis a dreamboat I sail upon.

11:44 AM  
Anonymous BeardBeard said...

That dirty, whoring parrot!

12:07 PM  

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