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↑ Vantage pt for Jay Levine at tippity top of crow's nest before he jumped.

Das Boot: the first and perhaps most profound of the Dreamscape categories in that it describes not only the day-to-day adventures of a Caribbean escape, but also a moment that was much of a fulcrum or a rubicon for everyone involved, both a gathering and a dispersal. They were all twenty-four or twenty-five years old, an age where everything in the past seems like prologue and the next turned page is where the story really begins. There was a lot of debate about what comes next: plans hatched, destinies reconsidered. And soon after: Sebastian heading for Brazil, Christoph to Argentina, Helene to New Zealand, our pal Jayson and Natalie both to New York City. And the more we studied these pages, the stronger the urge became to apply allegory and deeper significance to everything that was written. And although 'reality' strongly resists such neat and tidy structuring, nonetheless here it is.

-- Eds

Das Boot i (13/33)

December 13, 1990

Choose a different dreamscape

For the 1st time, I scribble beneath the cold glow of electric light. Why? I suppose the powers that know have deemed the batteries suitable to hold a charge through brief usage. In many ways, I am deciding even now as I scribble, not as pleasant, as warm, as personal, and last (+ least) as smelly as the previous kerosine method to which I may or may not (likely not) momentarily revert. Still, the advantage of sufficient illumination (but not quite — as the light hangs directly above me and is, therefore, blocked from direct contact with the words which I scribble (I LIE! – I have shifted position around the corner of the table allowing the light to strike the page obliquely and fully), so I guess my sentence should end: “…has been granted to me.”

Morning had us up + out by 7:30 through the most blustery seas yet (by far), with waves reaching queasy dimensions and producing marked feelings of unease deep within me, and (in Natalia) a marked desire to upchuck ‘cross the gunwale. Pitch + Yaw + Roll +… through turbid waters, frothing sea, full sails, full steam ahead: a glorious, rolicking broad-reach all the way to Illicit Bay where we all snuggle into our respective berths. (Mine, by the way, has switched itself from the cosy + encapsulated room w/sliding door to one side of the U-shaped couch which encircles the dining table). (This induced by Helene’s arrival and usurpation of the [her old] room).

Altho admittedly found my reunion w/Chris (excuse me, Christoph, Please!: re. Sebastian) left communion to be desired (brotherhood… hmmm…) today found us conversing + chuckling over old memories and new concepts. So, that’s good.

And it appears as though we soon set sail for the Carribean waters we all know + love from picture books, postcards, dreams, with turquoise water and shining sand. Union Island, some distance south of here could prove most receptive to our rain-forest weary bones.

But tomorrow, first, we return to Tulmaka Bay, home to Mr. Dexter who has already made it quite clear his desire and intention to cling to his St, Alamé berth with tooth + nail + besides leaving us all close to hysterics on more than one occasion, provides solid comradeship and a happy smile at all times. So why, I ask you, not?

And what shall happen for X-Mas? Nattie needing transport to St. Lucia on 22nd (eve, for morning flight next day), and myself needing transport to St. Lucia on 25th (same flight, different morning), seems that St. Lucia would be obvious locale for festivities. Or else (idea sprang from numerous angst and longing [vague]) I change flight to 23rd w/Nattie, allowing Sebastian and Co. to return here (St. Vincent) for X-Mas w/bro and sis. All of it dubious and nebulous. We’ll see….

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