(no subject)

[falcongrrl]

Well, me hardies, it be long since I writ a word er two in this accursed log. Too much grog an' too little time fer thinkin' makes fer a happy pirate, aye. Seas be calm fer now, and that be all ye can say, seein' as how the weather's apt t'change afore ye know it. Aye, that be both metaphor and not, as Adrienne Rich be fond o' sayin' in her pirate poem, "Storm Warnings." Aye, weather abroad 'n' weather in th' heart alike come on, regardless o' what ye be fond o' predictin'.

Still, there be booty in th' hold an grog in me glass; me beard be gray but me arm an' me plank be as hard/y as ever. I be content, 'cept when not. Months pass, and sometimes th' breeze be blowin' o'er the bow and ye look an' there be th' sun, gold like a piece o'eight and ringed perfect. When it happens, ye best be yellin', "Land ho!" Not 'cause there be land in sight--nay, just 'cause it be fun wreakin' havoc with the crew fer a salty sun sea dog like me'self. 'Specially after a mite o' good rum.

So, leave th' tilt o' the deck under me feet and the spray in me beard and th' glass in me hand - for I be a pirate now and alway, an' ne'er you mind th' scamps an' scalawags an' thieves about. That be what make it all worth doin', fer any pirate worth his salt.

Pretty pictures in me head? Aye. Still there, mate. Dreams be alive...but it be work keepin' this boat afloat.

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[circuit-four.livejournal.com]

[John Cleese voice, flustered:] Ah. Yes. Well, that's all very well and good for you Cambridge types. (rustles papers)