musings in a cabin, in the middle of the carribbean sea, on a rocking ship, never stop to think the sheer size of this vessel, of the power and grace, just raw power from this ship, and what we are, or pretend to be on its face. too much writing, too many forms, too many shapes and sizes, afraid of someday writing what shouldn't be written to places that everyone can read, and write to as well, afraid? of what? of being honest? of being truthful to myself and to others? what is so scary about that? what about etiquette, and looking out for others, and their feelings, but what about honesty and truth and there being something, that abstract idea above us, little tiny people, something greater than us, something worth dying for, like religion, for my god, how bout for my love, for a belief, for a stand against something i deem evil. gallantry and martyrdom, sainthood, sit ins. it's still around.