nautical theme

{one hundred, fourteen]

You can call me Captain Jack, Joseph, Jingle or Ted; just sayin'.

I would also, save the receptionist, if the boat was sinking...?

Don't you hate it when your wine tastes like cinamon? Have you ever had a hot crossed bun, but they are delicious@ I feel like it would be an interesting thing if I could have maybe some champagne in my orange juice, and a large loveseat with soft pillows and an open window, a sunrise and some hot crossed buns. A shag blanket wrapped around my shoulders, some Chopin playing in the background, and probably some sort of sand underneath me. I have this feeling that this will probably never happen, but it still can be a dream.

They nip my fingers, you know, those geese over there. They don't realise it, really, but they naw at my will, but I let them. I handed them the warm bread from my palms, where they lay in a bag waiting for the cold beak to shake it free from my hold. Their fate is as though mine would be, swept away and folded quietly into the backgrounds and insides of others. The geese mocked me, their black eyes darting from the bag to my hands, and they nip my fingers again, waiting. The world is a fresh waiting game, where we all wait, simmering, for our chance to take a bite.

I want the owl on me now, I told my Grandfather, whose Father is the person I'm getting the tattoo for, today, and he didn't know about it before, and I started to cry when telling him, because that side of the family is very important to me, as is the other side, but my Great Grandfather will be the reason that this owl is going to be on me, WP will be underneath the picture, and I will never, ever forget him. I wrote the play for him sort of, I am getting this tattoo, there's reasons beyond words the impact, but why it's coming about now is confusing.

I think it's the whole strength aspect. He was much older than I thought he was, my Grandfather was the youngest in the family or one of them and he's sixty five ish now, so that means that my great grandfather, who was eighty when he died, would be around ninety now, and to me this just, this just hits me. He's seen the world, he had seen the war and England and so many other places in such a different perspective, and he loved me. I miss him.

I am at home now, and I've been reading again, and I love it so much that it makes me smile so much of the time that it hurts. I love my family.

Take care,

Jake :]