NOTES ON DROWNED 1
What would a "rhythmic alembic" look/sound/smell/feel like?
Drowning places you in an environment that is "natural" yet you are not equiped to exist in it. You must adapt or evolve.
When I was about seven or eight my family lived in a friend's trailer on the shore of Loon Lake. Dad was rennovating our house, modernizing a classic 1900 bungalow with wood paneling and sliding doors. He was doing this with his navy buddies and so it was decided my mother, brother and I would be better off elsewhere.
The trailer was small but so was I and I remember being happy if Mom wasn't quite so pleased to deal with ants and sand and a cramped kitchen. I went swimming and fishing every day, got sunburned and smashed pennies on the railroad track less than 100 feet from our door.
There was a sunken mailboat on the other side of the lake and we'd row over to it to stare down in the murky water to see the faint outline of it's yellow hull. As far as I knew it had always been there, no one seemed to know enough about it, or its demise, to give me a history. I was fascinated, it was like a ghost. A ghost of communication.
Where do the words we speak go? Do they drown or is there a vast dead word office somewhere?