Gunbloat Diplomacy

Nov 21, 2011 22:00

Six men above deck, 14 beneath. 10 ton south seas frigate. Mission: flense supple mosses from the rockface that slumbers amid deeper trenches. Finesse required. One must be dedicated to truly understand the circumstances of the day. It's all multiplying and communicable. Sick, sick, sick, better. Pull your man up before the lampreys get him. Pull your man up before it's just another wet rope drifting in the brine. Funny how things change.

I don't believe in the following:

FDIC insurance
[So my fake electronic money representing hypothetical future value is backed with a promise to invent more fake electronic money representing hypothetical future value? Sweet!]

The moon
[Have you ever even seen it? I haven't. Because it's goddamn not real.]

"Good" cops
[Come on.]

Anyone who has ever given me a business card for any reason
[Come on.]

Staph Infections
[If you think this IV is coming out my arm for any reason then you have another thing morphine.]

Life is too short to get bogged down in meanings. It's better to believe in as little as possible so as to conserve space. Zero: the shape left by a rock plucked from the desert floor. The cool absence that follows what was yet is not. Perfect emptiness. Peace and quiet. A trephinated world.
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