Sea Nots and Flapping!

Teetering indebted, stringing into the system of borrowing invisible monies, that will not only chase you - haunt you and convince you subtly to choke yourself. You try to build a bigger boat upon it, with it, but we all know salt does not skim over the seas but slips deep into it. I'm throwing away "nots" in the guise of salts, letting the sea grip it and keep it. And I'm doing this because I'm giving into my own delusions of grandeur, un stopping the flow and embracin naivety in my own veins, puffing wind into my pipe dream. Because I firmly believe that it can take sail and skim along smoothly, charging against the waves. The delusions can benefit man by inducing cloudy enough thoughts to make him cough on talking about it and finally take that risk, to actually breath it. I wish to make my business in stories. Stories to hook you into the stimulation of tale that welcomes you deeper into your own forgotten imagination. The drug dealer and I have much in common: dealing a form of escape. I will strive to fill American bedstands with copies of my books, dog eared and battered, evidence they served as bedtime stories and may dance in your mind as new mythologies. If you tell me that there are many who do not make a livelihood dealing stories, I will retort that many have and do. Look at your fellow on the train, engrossed in a book, missing his stop! And then tell me that America is not ready to be intoxicated with a new and wicked tale. If you wish to continue to fight on the side of nots, you can join those nots as they are gripped by the sea! And I will turn my attention to the little vessel, rocking gently and flapping my sails so the next given puff can let it boast its shape and cut apart the nots that still yelp as white caps on waves that still wish to work against me. But the vessel of mine is gaining momentum and will sail where it pleases, to any port I can find: where I can unload to the hungry imagination. And I will enjoy every second in the process of flapping the empty, yet open and crisp sails. In the end all I can control is the flap, and my enjoyment of the flap. I cannot control the wind. But I rest assured and capitalize on the fact that as long as the Earth maintains an atmosphere, the wind will come around. The vast ocean I am enbarking on causes me to tremble, but it does not hinder the exhilaration when even a small gust incites the glide of my ship and the collection of these small victories steady and quench the tremble.