I can tell you only a few things really, this boat's dark and I'm fuck-tired. I want to go find someplace easier to live in but I'm in love and where's easy we'll still have to make our own damn soap and we'll still have to fill out forms dear God what disaster has forgetfulness caused me yet today and how many phone calls will it take to pluck me out of the dank sink drain like a wayward angelfish on tank cleaning day. I've got a good heart, too. I want to help out, I really mean it. I want to put my name on the list of volunteers. I want to be a friend of the friends of some organization or movement. This boat, for one, could use a good cleaning, it's got rust like some kind of metal lichen doing a slow creep up the sill. I wouldn't live in this as a house, I wouldn't, but it's so damn jaunty. I like the rocking, I like how it sticks its nose up at the car ferries, floating strip malls keeps a weather eye on downtown, past West Seattle, the fake city, no notice of Bainbridge sirens, their police sirens or just the bridge players - it's too easy and I think we all know, me and the boat and all of us know what's too easy, the way out, the cheap shot, the sell out - we keep trying to sell out but it's a buyer's market this year and so much flash out there - I got no costume, no technology.