MiembroPeeringFromTheCosmos

A combination of works of mystics, philosophers, pyschonauts and some works of fiction.

The story begins as the protagonist sits comfortably sipping coffee in a large yacht emerging from the ocean and into the bay. The sight of land is now on the horizon when suddenly the entire boat that once so carelessly sailed the open sees came to a grinding halt on the bay floor.

The captain busts out of the helm, seemingly nervous and completely out of breath. "Listen, uhh.. here's the thing.. Yeah, we're stuck! We've barreled straight into the floor of the bay and I'm afraid we can go no further in such a vessel. We must take to the small life rafts to continue on down the river. We've come so far now, would it not make sense to see it to the end?

I'll lower the boats, you grab only what you'll need once we get down river and meet me on the poop deck."

"Eye, captain!"

So I packed up all my things I knew I'd need when I got to my destination, put on my favorite hat and took to a life raft.

"Well, here's departure!

... Listen, I'm not gonna be coming with you on that little boat, I have to do something with my beautiful ship here. So you go ahead, I'm going to wait around and hope a tugboat passes by, or maybe the guard will come through in a few days. Either way, I'm going to wait here, but you, I don't want to hold you up. Godspeed!"

So I set sail, or at least floated on in the choppy bay in a small rickety boat that would seemingly capsize at any passing wake. I'd often times sit sprawled out on that tiny ship when there was no current, rocking back and forth hypnotically and just wish I'd had one of the slick little motor boats. (The kinds that send me violently swaying back and forth for a minute or two as it zipped by.

I'd be there by now if I did- wind in my hair, obligatory brunette at my side with her arms wrapped around my waist, laughing conservatively as I flashed my gleaming smile, later anchoring the boat offshore where I'd drink tanqueray and tonics and receive the best blow job of my life under the light of the moon. But that would have to wait.. right now I had to figure some way to speed up the process and get down river. So I took the stuff I brought with me in that little boat and had to evalutate what would make a decent paddle. I finally settled on crafting a makeshift paddle from my suitcase and a large piece of driftwood floating by, securing the two with the fine clothes that I had packed for when I would finally reach town.

I continue to paddle through the bay, getting closer to my destination, paddling with the strange olive green suitcase from the thrift store and my sunday's best wrapped intricately to fasten it to the driftwood. But alas! The mouth of the river was at hand, as I approached the river I tossed aside my paddle and let the current take me down stream. Ahh, the bliss of the current! With my hands anchored behind my head and my face to the warm summer sky I allowed the river to carry me toward my destination.

All was well until I started down a narrow stretch of the river where the storm of days ago had now left large trees fallen in my path, after days of maneuvering around these fallen roadblocks and only traveling a short distance I decided I could no longer use the life raft. I'd have to drag it to the sand, leaving with it my collection of precious blues records and my guitar, sans case, which would now be my flotation device.

So onward I went, arms wrapped around the empty case, floating once again with the current, weaving in and out of fallen trees and jutting rocks. After a few hours in the river the once buoyant possession that I clung to had become soggy and wet. The walls of the protective case began collapsing and no longer kept me afloat. I had no choice but to turn belly up and let the one thing I had left keep me afloat to my destination. So face up I floated with the current, occasionally stopping at the more shallow points and walked along shore in attempt to dry out my soggy, waterlogged body. Every now and then as I waded along the skirt of the river I'd meet people along the way. Some with poles cast, some playfully swinging from a rope attached to the old trees lining the river, and occasionally meeting people who were also floating down the river just like myself.

For some time I had taken to one of the coastal towns, where I'd set up shop for a little while, getting a normal job, buying back my wardrobe, and shacking up in modest little homes lined with lighthouses and other nautical attire. The monotony of that life would eventually wear off. I'd be left waking up to face my day and resenting it from the very first waking second. The same old job, the same old uninspired faces of my co-workers, waking with the sole purpose of waiting out the day until I could return to my few hours of leisure after work as the sun would set. It wouldn't last long before the current of the river would beckon me and I'd drop the small accumulation of stuff and responsibilities that I had ammased and take back to the river.

So once again I am face up to the sun, floating down to my final destination where the river dries and I have no choice but to take to land. I am told though that once the river stops there is a marvelous town at the end. Here you can grow old and wise at the foot of the calm steam, once again sipping coffee outside a quaint cafe, watching the sun come up on summer mornings, but for now I am content just to be back in the river, en route to that final uncertain destination and when it will come.