Gods and Monsters. Death at sea. (more…)
On sitting next to people.
Whereis our erstwhile hero rediscovers one of his core erotic experiences, being that of a voyeur and recontextualiser of social situations.
I am not a wallflower. Rather, I do not esteem my fellow man (no nor woman neither though by your grins I call tell you think so) sufficiently to put the moves on them. That’s right, almost none of your are good enough for me. None of you are even good enough for me to treat you poorly while seducing you. I made this realisation sitting cross legged on a rough Malaysian exported carpet of North African islamic origin, behind the bales of unthreshred rice, in mama-ji’s hut. (more…)
On the light above decks
After travelling endlessly within the black hold, it appeared as though rescue was at hand. There was no clatter of noise, no stattaco rhythm of sheet metal being pierced. There was no climax of conflict. Instead, a slow tang, tang, of a cold chisel worked away at the portal within the bulkhead, shivvering the chains which bound me to myself. Free’d by an army of muscular Malays, apostate Achenese, displaced Dalits, bulky Bangladeshis, proud Phillipinos, irate Iranians their eyes bulging, atrophied Arabs and lank Lebanese wielding crowbars, crowbars, prybars, oxytorches, thermite, hacksaws, sledge hammers, bolt cutters and jackhammers I for the first time raised my head above deck and instead of being blinded by the sun I saw through a glass undarkly.
It was then that I decided to join the ranks of the conejo men. I decided to inspect the rump of the world for purple swelling, or, at a minimum, some other hole of easy and pleasant access. I decided to fuck the world, I’m getting off. I decided to fuck it until I fell off sideways, and then run. To fuck and run, even if running meant I came back to exactly the same place to fuck over and again. I have decided to nationalise the arseholes, and privatise the pricks.
And it shall be a dangerous voyage! I’ve only shivvered my chains. I’ve forgotten my hat. The sea is full of tentacle monsters. Its uncharted, and nobody’s drawn the headlands for landfall. And so, of necessity I require a log, for my ship, and this is that log. A cat would be fine too, as would a cabin boy, but I’ll fly false flags and change my colours and call on many legitimate ports, and fly true flags and change my colours again and call on many illegitimate ports, including the rare high ports, and I’m sure they shall find me by my reputation.
Location: The scrap yards of India, a top a dismantling hulk, listening to a thousand hammer blows question what freedom is.
Location: Accidentally turned right-side up, and vowing to never be swamped again.
