Monday, June 23, 2014

Hell's heaven....

Good morning ya’ll.
So! Here I am at the marina, the Moorings on the island of Tortola.  All I have to do is wait for the captain to show up. Yes! It is 11 am; he will not be here until 5pm. So if you throw in a few curve balls in the form of alcohol whatever’s; then I’ll be on the water, out on the high seas again. Who gives a flying fuck anyway? Right! You don’t; most likely your neighbor does not either. So who does?  The only one that I know of is the captain, Captain Fred. Because -when he is not on the boat- he is just another husband. Usually this means that he could be considered just a common stowaway. But, if you will, please do not tell Fred, OK.  Also, this island is just so not clean. It smells of pollution. Yet, at the same time, this is where you pick up the sailboat, hopefully the mosquito does not know that you are in town; for, they are lethal this year because they are carrying some ugly shit. They say it is just as bad as dengue fever from Africa and South America. Believe me when I say this; this is just not going island, Mann.  So you will have to “pray” for me, OK. Please address your prayers to the Devil at 666 deep-six way on the isle of persuasions where you go one step over the line and sweet Jesus does not give out time share tours. So, for example, I’m out in the middle of  the Caribbean -some place that I know that you wish you were here too. Yet if you knew what I knew than you just might not want to be here; anyway, that is how I feel at this moment. I’m not out here with a clean slate. I’m out here with others who -because of what they think- undermine my sense of being. Yes! There is always someone who wants to take the wind out of your sails –so to speak.  Fuck I’m out on a sailboat with my wife’s confessor; she gossips all of my wife’s shit. Anyway, life is Heaven's hell so why not enjoy a hellishly good time?  For you see Mann, "that which is life's is ours yet, yours alone." For example, while sailing about, I came upon this dock on the island of Jost Van Dyke in the British, VI. There I entered Foxy's  playground. Yes! I also enjoyed a pain killer or two. Yes! I met the legend. Yes! This is the call of the Island according to Foxy; he knows because he is a legend in his own time.