Before I introduce you to the thing I am here to post, let me just say, 1) this is another 2 post day. Have a look see at my first post of the day, contemplative… 2) That after finding myself hungry and preparing something to eat, I really *should* have turned the hob on… I’m proper hungry now… Anyway, here it is, an untitled piece. You are all aware of Moby Dick, yes?


My mind churns flotsam instead of polishing pebbles against the banks of my creativity. There is nothing new to say, all this has already been said, if not by me; by somebody else. I drown in the ocean of my bed, dragged down, not by Neptune or Morpheus but by Nedolya. In the dark hours she lurks in the corner, come to rob me of the last of my buoyancy.

I almost laugh at myself in this state, pathetic and weak, seeking the Bear that shows the way home. But I have closed mine eyes tight, frightened Nedolya is my reflection. My fears made real. I flick on the lamp to drive her away. Come then, if I am too restless to sleep I will write and ride the evening waves through. The Great White Son of a Bitch is taunting me with it’s spotlessness, like the Fool ready to take a leap into the unknown. Jealously, I want to share the adventure. I take a stab at the Great White Son of a Bitch but miss. I have lost my focus. I have lost my nerve.

It slips under the bed and as I lean over to catch its tail, I lose my balance and end up on my knees. This is not what I had intended. Singing and clapping softly assert themselves into my consciousness. It sounds like African, but as my ears became accustomed to the sound, I can hear “sweet Lord Jesus” in an unfamiliar melody. As I thrash to keep my head above the waters, a calm comes and I hear more songs of praise, chanting, mantra. It soothes me until I think, what if this is the warmth before the hypothermia claims me.

Panic: I saw her flee from one side to the other. She has a large bag. Nedolya does not believe that my burdens are great enough and strives to add a few more. How can this be when the light is turned up against her? The Great White Son of a Bitch has also surfaced. It spouts the detritus of a million failed words and litters the room with its crumpled and torn children. Perhaps they will form a collective and show me how it should be done. Should. Should. A word of weight replaces the buoyancy aids. I didn’t even notice that one, you sneaky little fucker!

Incensed, I heave up my pen and take aim. Surrender you Great White Son of a Bitch and I swear that we will both be happier for it. See how thin your children have left you. Gobble up my fat words and fill your belly, swell like the tide! Then we will be free to float, faces to the night sky, in peaceful and silent companionship. We will drift calm into another day. Surrender for me, I am too scared to let go. Show me how easy it can be done and I will nourish you with bountiful words.