*Written in the sense of a flowing river, words move and change as the meaning of the writing takes a life of its own*
The Memory of that day is clearer then the crystal blue waves in front of me. It is the pennant of my ship, struggling to take on the winds of the raging seas, but yet…
*fights for words to describe the intent of his thoughts*
..I remain unable to sew the holes of a ship I know nothing about.
How long was this ship in service?
Where did it venture to and fro?
How has it gotten here, to this small town of Hlint?
With a purpose to life, but yet no context to anything in that life, how does one go about
*words are torn from side of the page leaving a gap between the previous line of though and a completely new one.*
*half way down the fresh page begins the first memory of Venn, written slowly with pictures as he remembers them. Pictures that must have taken hours to draw*
Venn. Hear me: This is your second chance. For the living know that they will die--death is the destiny of every man--but the dead know nothing. *A sea of inky darkness, still and silent as death* They have no further reward, and even the memory of them is forgotten. For who knows what is good for a man in life during the few and meaningless days he passes through it, like a shadow? *Phantom-trees bow with the currents of the wind, rooted to a black hill* Who can tell him what will happen under the sun after he is gone? Revel in your second time, bought by the blood of another. Stop chasing after the wind: pour out your wine until your cup overflows, and let your drink spill into the cups of others' lives, so that they, too, can be full. *A cup brims with wine* But this would open the floodgates of your heart and it would be wrung, possibly broken. If your prime concern is to preserve it, then you must give it to no one, not even an animal. You must wrap it up with hobbies and luxuries; avoid all entanglements. You would have to lock it up safe in the casket of your selfishness. *A key turns in a lock, the "click" echoing like a bass drum* And in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it would rot. It would become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredemable. *Faces. Hundreds of them. No. Thousands. All of them unclear and undefined, just beyond the boundary of recognition* So shatter this casket and free its tenant. Shatter them all. Your heart is as strong as death: its jealousy is unyielding as a grave, and no river can wash it away. *Water rushes down the black hill, past the phantom-trees and toward a man. Toward a man, arms outspread, tears trailing down his cheeks, a smile etched on his lips. He embraces this wave with open arms, and he is gone.*
*Ends the page and also the journal entry*
