His Devotion is to the City of Fun

So I saw him, I met him by association, of being in his presence. I knew him instantly because he was an open book to be read, and I was a pen waiting to find paper. He was drunken and slovenly, not picturesque and fantastic as some might portray him. He was dirty and unshaven and that was not at all attractive. His coat had holes and he did not wear them like badges, he covered them and grabbed at them because they let the cold air in and gave him chills. His singing was terrible. He was The Captain.

His beard was neither long nor red. A scruffy mess of autum leaves, but pulled into strange wirey moss, covered his chin and neck. His voice was gravel and whiskey and adventures untold all swept up in the salt air. He gestured about as though he had an audience not a boy observing, unknown, from a distance. He talked as though he had the fire in the palm of his hand and dripping from his lips, not slowly dying in front of him on another of any freezing nights in my home town. He represented everything that I vowed to hate, while being the essence of anything I could ever aspire to be. It was revolting.

I followed my footsteps in the snow every day, straight back to that same place. He was a wanderer who was rooted. He was a breeze trapped in a bottle. It was sad and I felt like maybe there were sometimes when Superman just wasn't fast enough and the world had to go on spinning just the way it always did. The Captain never worried though. He taught me everything I've come to know I dissaprove of and hate myself for doing too.

One day, I saw him down by the docks, men and all. He lit his ship on fire and stood and stared as it fell. I asked him why and he said sometimes there's nowhere left to escape to, and you have to stop looking.

He said sometimes you've already found it, and you just couldn't stop the habit.

He said sometimes love is strong motivation but weak adhesive.

He said sometimes this is as good as it gets, and it's pretty damn good.

He said sometimes it's time to thank the sea.

Then he left and I forget what he told me last, but I know it was a mystery to me until I learned to start seeing through my eyes and not my pens.

He didn't know everything, he asked me all the questions, and I already knew the all the answers.






"Oh and you, you'll be as famous an ocean
They'll try to name you but commotion,
Oh it will ravage in them whole."