Sunday 3 April 2011

Standing At The Edge, Het schip van de Werelddwaas

'We sail my gentle heren, on unlikely seas and without a living wind to drive us. This swoop, this Werelddwaas, our hated lover impossible to discard, such cruelty our passion. Our love an old and terrible thing. Pin mould on velvet stockings. You are with us, tempted. Your concerns drive us. Our ship, our slattern Werelddwaas so grand and proper. Already you can smell that slippery odour, of regretful oils and fever-sweat. Our Werelddwaas so tightly dressed here without and see with my back turned upon her - she eyes you.

'Can she take you to where you wish my gentle heren? Ah but yes, and places you have ill-considered too, alone and thoughtful and all awake whilst others sleep. Come, come – step up and across or else aside we call here only for your need. These tides that move us not at all will turn and then without us. Come, come my gentle heren? All is warm this side of sleep. Bathe in our delight. You are so bright, so brittle. So wonderfully alive. Come, come my gentle heren. Sweet as bad wine and old as good cheese, my love my Werelddwaas has room for another.'

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