March 21, 2006
adrift: mescaline seas I
note: these are the first of two entries by Commissioner Lance Scepter chronicling his fearful days adrift on the Mescaline Seas - Prof. Boy
Log Update: November 26, 2004, 9:16pm: First night adrift.
Complete darkness, expect for a blue flicker far off the port bow. I fear it is the Alexis flames of Kentucky. We grow closer to her hypnotic burn with each swell. The dark gallows of America, again, agleam with persecution. Emergency flares have all been fired in futility. Ho-ho’s all eaten. No one else on deck. I have not the courage to venture below. A constant gurgle beneath the planks, a mechanized swallowing against bone. Please forgive me, Zeus, for my cowardice. We’ve crested phase 46.
Log Update: November 27, 2004 11:51pm: Day 2
The tunnel of night has ended. My will to survive was pillared on the knowledge that light would come. It has brought little consolation, for now I see the fear that in darkness I only imagined. The barge has drifted into an inner-costal seaway, approximately 30 meters wide, slow gray current, but a constant dragging towards the Blue Flames. The shores are sheared cliffs and thin beaches clogged in the green sheen of razor bramble that plagues this portion of the country. I have no doubt now that we’ve entered the inner water ways of Kentucky. Alexis toys with my fear. Her blueness, sweet flicker, an unremitting beacon. Her fatal blueness. The Alexis Flames of Kentucky, the tomb of the brave, the hopeless, and adrift. Legend says that in her bosom of fire reside an eternity of southern existence.
Supplies are running low. I’ve found Major Scientist’s burlap sack of dried yellow split pea soup. Water from the river is vile, but drinkable. Of more concern is the coffee cache. It is empty. I’m sucking the spent grounds like tobacco, though it lacerates my intestines like shards of shale.
I pace the decks endlessly. My beard grows thick with the passing of hope. Below deck, still the incessant gurgling and grind. My fear of the Blue flicker horizon is only surpassed with what I suspect lies below deck. I’ve descended only far enough to activate the bilge, for the barge has slowly been taking in water. The coal bin runs low. Soon I’ll have to pump by hand.
I don’t know how much longer I can hold out.
Your faithful Commissioner, Lance Scepter, Rudder Boy, Acting Captain, Bilge Pumper,
Posted by dougrice at March 21, 2006 4:22 PM