EMotion of the Ocean

Didn't forget about Mr Nichols rhythmical writing on SoGo. His writings remind me of an onion, peeling back the different layers and layers. So many layers of so many things disguised as something so simple.

There once lived a man named Alfred.
No one called him Al.
And no one called him Fred.
But he asked everyone to call him Red.
Even though his hair was dark dark mahogany brown.

He preferred the sea to land. Spent most of his time on boats.
Alone. Throwing nets. Casting. Swimming. Diving. Spearing. Speeding. Cruising.
His hair and skin was always salty and dogs loved him. Loved to lick the salt from his skin.

He was shy and rarely spoke to girls. Although sometimes he would find
one on his boat. A young mermaid perhaps. Who had flopped up on
deck. He would spear a fish and cook it up fresh for her. Snapper
grilled with garlic and lime. Or he would dive for conch and make
fresh conch salad right on deck. The maids liked him on the sea. But
no one liked him on land.

On land, Alfred walked with a limp
and spoke with a stutter. There was a hitch in his gate, a twitch on
his face, and a fly that would follow him all over the place.

Needless to say, land lubbers stayed away. Kept him at bay. Threw him away.
Tossed him like trash. Never paid in cash.

But for some reason, when he left his land legs behind, and sailed for blue
water, Red came alive. Pirate. President and CEO of the Atlantic.
Primary stockholder of fish and wave. MVP of rigging and knots. Four
stars for bravery and a purple heart because his heart actually was
purple.

Maybe someday, the right mermaid, he may hook. Not from
any book. Or fairytale. But a real, scale and fins, mermaid. Long,
beautiful, salty hair, concealing her.... Well you know.

And when that day comes, she will take him away. He will be the Tom Hanks
to her Daryl Hannah. And finally he will get his wish. To live and
breathe among the fish.

your faithful servant,

wild turkey

I know some have given a comment or two, but what do you think? Stretching his poetic legs as himself? Channeling Milch with this rhythmic ramble? Is it about feeling different? Not settling down, land vs. the constant motion of the sea? Or is it about not fitting in. Or that success come when you find your place. Is he getting into some Lincoln thinkin'? Talking about Surface? Or is this Austin?

Is it me or does he seem to love the imagery of women? The ideal of them. And mythical women most of all. Any thoughts?

And about this mermaid. Modest mermaids are not, so why is Austin making them so?

Maybe just want to be Tom Hanks or ride with Splash director Ron Howard in a Roll Royce rollin' in the club. : )