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Sharing the Hate, Spreading the Pain: On Drifting

by on May.29, 2008, under Articles, Sharing the Hate

When rolling on the tumultuous waves one has quite a bit of time on their hands. There is time to stare into the water and take in a reflection. A reflection of how one sees themselves against the currents and tides. There is time to be at one with nature and the surrounding environment. There is time to plot a course, and stay true to that course with the tools at hand such as paddle, sail, map, and compass. There is a whole lot of time, because as per the usual time is standing still as I continue to move forward.

Cupping the water gently up to my lips, the water tastes of despair. Despair tastes very bitter. Bitter is one of the tastes the tongue can specifically differentiate when tasting food such as salts, sours, and sweets. Bitter supposedly triggers a response in the brain that one should not eat the food since it is poisonous.

Yet, here I drift on my raft tasting and consuming the bitter water. Ironically, I consume this water knowing it cannot quench my thirst. Knowing that that the water is poisonous to me. The bitterer the water tastes, the more I am sure that I travel on the right path. Such is the penance a necromancer pays to practice his craft. At least this path is kept warm by the black trench coat I wear with the regal deep purple liner. I must remember to practice my spells, and memorize those arcane movements with speech patterns to protect me from the self-righteous and good. They are out, and close. I can sense their presence.

The water might as well be coffee, alcohol, tea, lemon, ginger, horseradish, or any number of bitter foods that we consume on a regular basis to challenge our minds to eat poison. Stupidity is its own reward at this point. Is this a case of stupidity, or of one on a Stoic path of conviction? Is conviction itself a rationalization of stupidity and following tradition? Can one see the sea from the height of the crested wave, or only the next pier that one is about to crash into?

Is this another case of drinking too much, or not enough? Since the bitter water cannot quench my thirst, the answer to that question is irrelevant. Many irrelevant questions lately. Many answers without the proper questions. Since the answers do not match the questions, the journey to find questions for the answers propels me forward. A self-destructive thought briefly passes through my mind that if I were to just punch the raft with my Katana this all can end. This all can end so quickly, but then the journey will be over. This journey has just begun, or has just begun to continue. This journey will end, and yet the answers will never have questions. A multiple choice where there are no wrong decisions, because the question was never made clear. I have answers, probably not to your questions, but I have answers nonetheless. Let me pull from my pre-written note cards and hand you an answer to the question I think you are about to ask.

Not that puncturing the raft would have any profound effect either. I would simply drift wet and float, as opposed to being able to lay comfortably and take in the surroundings. I would exchange warmth for coldness, and be no better off than I was before. When I arrived at the next wall, I would salvage planks and build a new raft, only losing energy and time in the process. The self-destructive thought passes.

Wait a second. I do not even remember departing the mound. I do not even remember abandoning my post where I so vigilantly watched the damned burn in an eternal pyre of misery. Where am I? Why have I left my place of comfort to drift along these poisonous seas?

Since when was leaving the sanctity of the inner psyche a good place to venture forth? Is this how a necromancer becomes a lich wizard? Did I ever want to be a necromancer in the first place? Might as well finish the task at hand though. Stoic conviction propels me forward, and there is a new target on the horizon. The stronger the water becomes, the closer I am to that next port.


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