Sunday, November 30, 2008

Everything will probably be late at night.

I would like to build an airship, with the help of my friends, a lumbering beast of fabric, wood, & steel - brass lanterns, a shipwheel, polished decks, quarters & quixotic turbines - and become a skygypsy. A wanderer of the aether. Land where I wish, when I wish, if I wish. Survive in the clouds, like a lusty pirate of yore whose realm is not the bordered sea but the endless oceanic atmosphere.

I would like to pack a bag, create a sword, dress as I like, and fuck brushing my teeth. I'll tell your fortune. I'll tinker, weld, sing, juggle, cook, or psychoanalyse. I'm observant & ambidextrous. I'm covered in ink. I have a marvelous moustache.

I see no reason why this can't work, save the improbability of building the damnable thing.

If she ever comes into existence, I shall call her the Queen Mab.

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