Take you on a cruise
I remember having told the pirate lady about the lack of mail flowing through these currents and the little interest this sailor had in getting any message across. The sea hadn’t been easy for the past few moths and it gave neither rest nor truce, yet she managed to come by into my rusty ship and made some odd but sweet demand: She wished to find some mail. Words were like gold and jewels to her and what could lie between those written lines represented the worth of her sought-after treasures. She’d been buccaneering these waters long before I had. She knew best.
Another night, another sail through, Field Commander Cohen was whistling up to the stars and throwing the occasional howl at that moon, strumming those gentle chords while the old man Bukowski kept sipping white wine with his maids. He pulled them out of the water every now and then. I never cared for what they did; they were a good crew, loyal company. I sensed these men knew and shared something I didn't quite know yet. I wondered, as I sipped my aged rum, about how passionate they were at sailing this one life, their ability to turn disgust into humor, pain into cure and love into hate impressed me. They could go from one extreme to another, departure to arrival, port to port. Like the bravest sailors, these men were able to turn their own ships around. They were trying to teach me something. I struggled with the idea, but then I listened to them hard enough, tried to puzzle it out and as I poured some rum, I came to realize that it was because of their muse, they had a muse. The evocation of all desires, urges and feelings, inspiration, lust and wisdom, all potted into one idealized person, the marriage of body and soul.
But then I self-questioned, where did they come from then? -
One last sip at this Nicaraguan nectar, old but strong, it has aged well I have to admit. Maybe this rum had a muse of its own too? -Who knows? ...the glass is certainly empty now. I think the pirate lady should earn the credit for having shone her charms over this ship, after all it was her encouragement and desire to have something to read what led these hands to type these words... will they make any sense or deserve any worth? - Only a treasure seeker could tell I'm afraid.
“Good night Charles & Leonard, you guys can stay up all night if you wish, just make sure this ship remains on course, the captain is going to sleep.”
Comments
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them" "
And in both your hands
Hold my manhood like a scepter,
When you wrap your tongue
About the amber jewel
And urge my blessing,
I understand those Roman girls
Who danced around a shaft of stone
And kissed it till the stone was warm.
Kneel, love, a thousand feet below me,
So far I can barely see your mouth and hands
Perform the ceremony,
Kneel till I topple to your back
With a groan, like those gods on the roof
That Samson pulled down.
L. Cohen
Jose Armando: I'm sorry mate, but you just missed the whole point. Not one of Leonard's best by the way.
I'm only sailing. Writing is nothing more than an ugly mistress to me, a way to get out of it and long for that rose of mine. My writing is as empty and as I am. For that I declare myself guilty as charged.
Chat: Muse rhymes with abuse. I d better sail with free hands. U ll need them to tickle the turtles.
I d be grateful if someone had the guts to explain me what literary value is. With his own words.
Literary value is something that doesn't appeal to me nor have I any interest in finding about. What I have found is worthiness in other people's words, but they might not always mean the same to everybody else. You give worth to something and it becomes a part of you.