Random Journey

Random Journey Is the inception of a voyage the end of abstract nothingness? Or the beginning of conscious life as driving to town buying the papers. I remember a song, “Set sail at Sunset.” humming the words. A red sun and calm sea, this not the crossing of Styx after sundown ss it immaturity making fun of me again you can’t sail to Afghanistan? I can sail there in a balloon and land where the Taliban shoots holes in the sky smoke American cigarettes, we can drink coffee and have a natter. The problem is, you can’t see any women like they do not exist. It is like walking without crutches on a broken leg. No one reads the “Guardian” in this part of the world. I sit here and wait not for crossing any rivers but to sail the seventh ocean.