Tuesday, October 16, 2007

The Foundations of The Sea

To succeed, planning alone is insufficient. One must improvise as well.


It's a lot more difficult to write when you find yourself drifting on the tides of contented ennui. When after all the storms have been and gone, there you are, lying on your back under the terrible light of truth, just another piece of flotsam, at the mercy of the currents, with not a wave in sight, not a cloud in the sky, no reefs, no sharks, just you and the endless empty above...

There's only one way to go.
The place that frightens you the most.
Down, down, down, into the dark depths below.

I write a note, attach it to the raft.
It tells you I love you. And you and you and you.
I sign it with a smile, that I used to use when I was a boy.
I sign it with a smile,
but I don't read it back.

Then I prepare myself for the fear,
as arachnid night begins to crawl across the sky,
extending its legs one by one by one by one,
crawling over the seas, its underbelly
peppered by silver scars, each one a ghost
of possibility, far out of reach, if you're
afraid to extend yourself, or afraid of the web
which follows its passing,
catching each and every dream
and leaving them twitching, stuck,
feverish in the desire to escape,
the desire for freedom,
the desire to fly, fly, fly.

I'm afraid of spiders. But I'm far more afraid, of what lies beneath the deceptively smooth surface of a cold, grey sea. Because to look up is to dream, but to look down, to look inside, is to face the nightmare of the unknown.

Here I am,
on my raft,
which I have made,
which is my choice,
alone at sea,
far from land,
this raft and me.

Out here,
there's no one to see
me look young and doltish,
when I hold my nose and
close my eyes tight -
and leap off the raft.




Let's see what's down here.


  1. Who are you? You're very strange.

  2. You say it with such wonder, and lovelies.

  3. Deft drowning bog blogger...