The Ship

Last night Hero taught me how to build a ship. I thought that never in my right mind would i ever find myself in such a barren wasteland, only to find out that there was ore to make tools and sweetness to the raw meat in my dry mouth.

Sometimes creative ideas pour out of my head like a broken tap. Rarely, do i stay up all night like an insomniacal fiend and draft up options to an ongoing project of stopping and going. Rarely it is this cold and windy in the Sydney spring months, and rarely do i not notice with the darkness outside and the build up of cold in my fingers.

With the joy in their voices and the book in my hand, i opened my mouth and out came a tune that i learned the day before. It sounded like the woman with the little boy who would punch playfully after prayer, and the man with the checked shirt with the 26 year old daughter with the husband who treats his mother like a queen. Suprisingly unsuprised, i knew it sounded like the choir i heard who had been singing since June 1999.

Surely, somewhere along the line, i must've just hit the right note.