The beach calls me shore side to watch the waves and listen to them roll thunderous up to meet me there. I am looking longingly at the thebwaters, trying to get in touch with eternity. The clouds overhead seems to be the very thing covering the infinite, which surely stretches before and above me. I am studying a crab. It is dead. The body has been left behind for a while now. I see it like a shell, all crab skeleton, whatever they are made from. The crab itself has disappeared, all that it was.
I lay upon the sand, the waters rolling warm beside me. I am wonderstruck that the waters are so warm, the air so warm, because it's summer. The sun isn't visible to me where I'm laying. The sky hangs blue toward the horizon.
The dead crab sticks in my mind. I think of the bones in my body, all wrapped in this life, they look dead to me like the crab does. As I picture us both, bones before eternity, I have disposed of myself. All the flesh. And where have I gone? My self I have given back, like a meal offering.
The ocean is a place of thankgiving. It feeds a multitude. The fish near the shore are smaller and seem superfluous to those on land. Deeper in the ocean are large fish, some like dinosaurs. Another strange remnant of past worlds. These monsters exist in a deep metaphorically similar to life on land, where men live and do great things. The plenty that feed a multitude never see some of these monsters of the deep. Neither do the multitude see these monsters.
The Wickedest
A woman once said said of her face, "What a disgrace!" She had leaned in to look upon the glass and squinting made the remark aloud to herself. She did not smile, but raised a brow and lowered it, jutted out her chin and scowled, and turned away furrowed.
Her hatred was intense. And so it has been with many women, as of course the fate befalls the fairer sex time and again, expected all to be lilies and roses. She wasn't a horrible beast, and in measure she too had her beauty, but a terrible jealous heart had she, and she spent many mean hours hating a fair and sweet creature, also well known in posterity.
The sweet girl was also lovely to look upon, if not by her sweet face, her sweet disposition, and hatred churned evil inside her rival. For if evil had ever a dwelling place, it is in the bosom of those of jealous hearts. Dreadful dreams of violence betok the rivaling woman, until it happened that she fell upon a conversation in a dreary pub, one mist covered evening. The woman, devilishly despairing of herself, turning ugliness upon ugliness within her, went out wenching, as it were, and took to the pint to save herself the shame. When out of the corner of her eye she saw her hopeless victim, a thin man of collapsible frame, jaunt and weary. What a fool to regain dignity by such means!
When grabbing her mug she approached his table, only to find round about the other side of the table another man, large and dark. They let her sit down. They humored her as men do and she as women, albeit a loss on such poor creatures. Then as the beers emptied and the revelry took its natural tone, the men and woman found themselves quite at rest in their company. For to each is his own, and it takes one to know one.
So evil and guile began to spill from the hearts of each; with one malice and violence, one, self-pity and loathesome comlaining, and finally jealousy and putrid hate. They spoke of imaginings, traps and plans. And by the time the lady had been taken for the fool that she was, she redressed herself with a plan.
Meanwhile, as is often the case, the lovely girl who brought out such violence in he rival, spent days in blissful ignorance, delighting herself in the sunshine filled world. She was a blessing to all and everyone shared in her countenance as in it, demanded a reflexion of joy! She was like a baby animal in spring, and the hunter was hiding in the leaves.
The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray, and so it was this fateful day. For as the rival took her place, with violent heart and sharp object around about which a sweaty palm held shaking, she waited long, and ere long, even as time ebbed on, she shook with cold sweat of anticipation, hoping, hoping for her rivals end. But to no avail, for each and every glimpse she had of the pretty girl, she was worshipped in tow.
What happens to a disgrace when she grows impatient for innocent blood!? She moves rashly. And so she did, upon the girl at dusk, and a child, a boy of about 12. She told herself the boy would be as easy to put down, but she got the shock of her life. For as her hand came swiftly down, so he swiftly knocked her from her feet, and with ease overtook the neverous woman, and with ease stole her sharpened object from her grip-tired hand, sweaty and slick.
Of course she was hanged. As the wicked often are. But such guile she had in her, she belowed and shook a whole quarter hour before the venom stopped pulsing through her veins.
It is said she haunts looking glasses. They say she is still clutching and shaking before her reflection in hell, as her face contorts and shapes like the meanest of gargoyles forever, for her punishment was to behold herself as God never would.
To be a man
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