The Gorko Gazette

Fear Cringed Eyes—Somewhere Near the Cockroach Coastline

Quisquous navigation tends to happen. Especially, out on the waters of the gulf—black floats anywhere the eyes can’t see. Designed perfect for peril. Just the way the jaws of the universe intend to function. Right where you don’t want to be when engines with suicidal tendencies plunge into the next life.

Left for dead. Brutal sting, you barter with God. Decisions made, and we were to blame.

Well, if I was a splitting-hair type of dude—which ain’t my style—too fine in the tooth, the big picture doesn’t get its due—you could point out culpable vehemence, like handcuffs, line-ups, and the simple, swift judgements, that just want somebody dead.

I’d rather find a solution. Red was dead meat, anyway, and on dry-land, I wouldn’t have to watch the slaughter.

We were out for the day with big catch dreams in our eyes. We sliced and cruised open water on Red’s slightly used boat. He’d just bought it brand-spankin’ new a few weeks ago.

That was earlier. Now, I hated boats, and fishing, and the lives we could (and should) rescue were our own.

So, we skipped otiose minutes & discussion. It’d still be dark, but a new morning was rising on a horizon we couldn’t see, and our drift gave the bad vibration that our direction was not where we wanted to be, when the universe barfed the sun into our hemisphere of the sky.

Of course, Red’s gal went straight to the chatter that makes ya want to hit a jaw-bone so it shatters. There are times, when blame serves no purpose, just shut the hell up, walk bold through the strife—some people have no panache for the dark and desperate plights.

‘I thought you said you had the motor tuned up,’ she spat, irritated hands, mania gestures.

Which was a cheap and sly jest. A manipulative chance to point fingers, really make some smarter-than-you pellucid observations—accurate & useless. The hit-hard truth that’s hard to argue, especially after-the-fact, and people who don’t notice the moment really enjoy talk like that.

She was scared, as we all were. And those insecure fears are always easier to express with cruel, kick-you-while-down composition. It’s a solid move. Divert the self from coming-to-grips with its own reckless terror: that it can’t control the end of our days.

Keep calm. That horse shit is for grizzly bears, alligators, and Great White Sharks, apex predators that are only here to feed the hunger of their needs and keep eco-systems in check.

For the rest of it: cool your edge and give your all to survive. The hard pound of a heart eludes the reaper, gets more days to thrive, and no sweat, there will be more wrecks, terrifying moments when death breathes warm and close, down the back of your neck.

The Mass-hole looked like I did at Red—big eyes that cringed with fear.

Nightmares come true, out on the abyss. There are things under the dingy water that slithered up from hell and bide their time.

Red stared, forlorn and silent….he had that look like overboard held better chances.

---

ABOUT THE ARTIST

YOU MAY ALSO LIKE…

Image: LCRS-outboard.gif