Ode to Poseidon's lil' bitch

Words unspool from my hands in an incandescent stream as I think of you, friend, and your snarled existence -- wrought with permutations, responsibilities and intricate stratagems. Whenever I am tempted to entertain the notion that my life is hopelessly complicated -- as is often my wont -- I would be well-advised to look to you and your impossible burdens.

How is it that you shoulder them so cheerfully? Which cuts deeper, the fury or the blandness?

Or perhaps to you they are not burdens? Ah, but that would merely underestimate your deep reserves of stamina and patience. And anyway, I believe that you pilot a ship assailed by storm upon storm, though you weather the castigating waters with a smile.

Worry not, amigo. That vessel is stronger than even you may dare to believe. And it's headed for calmer, more nourishing waters.

Behold the spirited commander! His port calls with a siren's persuasion! The rain slashes his steely gaze!

And so forth.

"Methinks he relishes the fetid squalls," I remark to the foul prostitute on my left. "But he tires of the diffuse wetness that can be felt as vapor in the atmosphere or condensed liquid on the surfaces of objects; dampness."

She nods knowingly.

This entry is getting bizarre. So I will conclude on an uplifting note.

Believe! When you navigate that wretched boat out from behind the dark, turbulent wall on the horizon, wiping your face and grinning with satisfaction, know that I will stand at the dock with a bottle of spiced rum, mirroring that audacious countenance.......

Ahoy.

I am listening to: Caesars - Paper Tigers
And I am feeling: Zesty.