Scoundrel at heart
When a ship left port in ancient Greece and later, Rome it was customary to make sacrifices to Poseidon, the sea god to protect them on their journey to wherever they were going, usually by drowning horses or virgins or really anything they didn’t want on the boat. I guess I still do this today, every time I take an extended dip into the sea of spirit. That 80-proof ocean, I sacrifice all of my material belongings, every relationship that I have to the Gods. Every single time, I have made it “home” alive. Or somewhere alive, not usually the classical “home” so to speak, but alive.
I sacrifice my sanity in order to find my soul, and sometimes I sacrifice my soul to find my mind. On any normal occasion, that I drag the ragged tip of a sword and poison ink across a page, to be sent out into the fruited abyss that is the universe, there must be a sacrifice. Sometimes its as simple as time or privacy, other times it is much greater.
Selling a piece of yourself is agonizing, imagine waking up in a bathtub full of ice, knowing that you gave your kidney away to strangers on a whim, for them to do with what they wish. I’m already committed to the point where I know this profession? This calling? Will eviscerate me, but I can’t stop. I love the eternity that comes with immortalizing myself in print for whoever wants to see it. The pay is shit, and I know that no one’s even going to read this until after I’m long gone and not in a position to give a fuck, but this is my consciousness incarnate. This is the proof that I existed, and even if one person in the future reads this only for the novelty of it being a “relic” of the past. Then its like my astral form gets to briefly revisit earth as they picture the ancient nutcase that wrote these words, spun these concepts. They will be forced to feel something.
Touched by me from 500 years away, and presently, immortality at its finest. That is worth a lifetime of pain, loneliness, sorrow, jails, benders, love, loss, and definitely my physical body. Consume my soul from these pages and let the choice to ascend into something bigger than this be my choice. Truthfully, I couldn’t see it any other way, this is destiny.
Follow yours because I can’t stop following mine. Into my watery grave I charge, unafraid of eternity because I know it’s the only “home” Ill find, sacrificing in finality myself to whatever God wants the blood on their hands.
From the ladle to the slave, spoon to the doom. Ashes Ashes we all fall down.
“scoundrel” “dopeless romantic” “scribbler”
Travis Muffhuggin Ryan