Is the inception of a voyage the end of an abstract nothingness
and beginnings of conscious life like driving to town and buy the papers
I remember a song: “set sail at the sunset” can hum the rest but have
forgotten the words I see in front of me with eyes closed
A red sun and calm sea, this is not the crossing of Styx after sundown or
is my immaturity making fun of me again you can`t sail to Afghanistan?
I could sail there on a balloon and land when the Taliban shoot hole
in it and we can drink coffee smoke American cigarettes and laugh.
The problem is you can`t look at women in in Afghanistan it is a shooting
offence, they do read the Guardian newspaper in Afghanistan too.
So I will sit here and wait not to cross the river but to sail the oceans.