The Whispering Sea
The title of today’s essay brings to mind the works of Hemingway. While I do tend to work in a clean, well-lighted place, this shall hit no lofty heights nor be filed away on some digital archive a hundred years hence. They are just a string of words prompted by an image as my mind wandered far and free.
These words I present are indulgences. Presently as much (or more) for me than any of you possibly reading at the moment. Maybe they are mere mental exercise, a warmup if you will, before the truth of things surfaces from the depths.
They are a deviation from the core of my work, a meditation I shall certainly share sooner than later, though I find the necessity of letting my mind and fingers wander a bit more. They missed the keyboard. You, on the other hand, may miss the point if you skim too quickly.
There are truth and lies in everything you can see with your eyes. Doesn’t your gut tell you so?
My fictions, my truths, are based upon a healthy mixture of both. Rivers of it, in fact, sometimes grand, sometimes mere bitter brooks. Wherever you look, nothing as far as the eye can see.
These words break from the necessary form and function a set of rules requires. In those cases, I must be lucid. Any other time, I can let my mind wander far and free from the rushlight at the end of time to the tumbled, crumbling wizard towers (still active?) at the start of all. A sea of things whispers to me all the time. I suggest. I wink. I nod. I rust. I see the serpentine road ahead that shall take us to places seen only in dreams unknown and nightmares unbidden.
There is a disconnect between form and function when one discusses systems and settings, yet a synergy can be found. Patterns linking (lurking?) within everything if one only takes a moment to jot things down. A tremulus tapestry of pageantry and purpose unfolding before your eyes like a lovely origami swan making its ways down the gutter way, racing the shuffle of countless hobo feet and a grumbling, mumbling emptiness we wish to sate with a firm look to the future and nods to the past and a tenuous grip (at best) upon the present.
Prepare. Learn to swim.
Until next time, I bid you, dear reader, adieu.
