And why shouldn't I strive on towards less treacherous tutillary seas reflecting a trillion more absorbent stars of reverence and a better tomorrow, long cast oceanic reveries ending in weary waterfalls why? Only there, that mad Ahab outcast storms in riddles borne to soar- no kite ever soared- yet condemned to these strange not-homes of profusely populated tenement towers scattered cross the whole dam panet. His own endless, tidal confusion, this thirsty illusion, thru time and its flaunted trickery, flipping me like a washing machine on steroids. What bigoted entity perpetually pales with sails unfurled towards discovery then quick death of untamed worlds
where I found my girl.