[Dated 21-04-1894] I’ve used my last bout of parchment and there aren’t many trees around here so I resort to detailing my account on this sea-tattered sail. Forgive the penmanship, my hope is that they have some sort of writing material in the city. If there is a they, or a city.. Day 347: Due North, hard squalls accompanied by thunder and lightning. The jib’s got a big tear through the middle, but with the rain, I can’t get up to rig the spare and Marty’s broken leg rende

“The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.” Motley, bells and bawdy tales, Strung in a cacophony of dins, Patchworked seams in taunt of Drab wools, sober velvets, lavish silks and skins. He remains ubiquitously unseen. His tongue rattles in rhymes and riddles Devilish wit and nonsensical bore Mocking the preened feathers - Who mock the very wings that soar. Monsters are not always lurking in the shadows. The Marotte laughs in bo

ie. a large snakelike creature or dragon in Scottish folklore: a creature of light(ning) Fear of which does not haunt you, Reach for that which does. Hidden in the shadows Of caves and caverns, Biding a strike On the raucous taverns, Lies the Beithir. A seeker wanders down the corrie, Pertinently warned. Pursuing one who mustn’t be found, The creature revealed, horned Veiled with venom. Flee to the water - The lake! The sea! Before too late, Grieving cries of the Ban

I visit the fig tree each day, In hopes of determining what one can see - Colour, shape, size, precarious positioning on the branch. Worse, I hope to determine what one cannot see - Taste, crispiness, sweetness, succulence. I am not hungry. I sit there, before the fig tree, And wait for one to fall. To wonder or to dread the future is to be transfixed in such a way that only a douse of ice water, a hand on a hot stove - a cruel awakening of the senses - can capture your mind