Timid, as in she was timid—no, coy, as in she was coy: the fractured skull of the man in the car was—inadequate, as in undetailed: the fractured skull of the korean man in the honda civic—revised, re-appropriated: the funding of the new budget—vague, it is the same budget, there are unlikely to be new funds—timid, as in, she was timid. I remember she was inappropriate, vague, timid, coy, but never Korean. It was my unequivocal memory. My fine memory. We were sailing about in her dinghy, it was a dinghy, no more than a telephone pole for a mast—telephone poles are quite heavy, no, I was not a sailor, not much of a sailor, it was a boat, a small boat, a dinghy? Yes, yes, quite right. She was steering, she was commanding, controlling the eventual course of the boat. Her spelling was subpar, poor, terrible, bad. Her spelling was bad and she was disheveled: yes, messy, eating crackers and cheese—no, not cheese—unmemorable, tasteless, icky (?)—she was eating crackers and wine—used, overused, the whore on the street was used (but compensated, poorly compensated, no, no, compensated poorly, unable to achieve her goals adequately so she met her goals inadequately, even still, errs, more likely, underpaid). Yes, finally, the boat, the small boat, the craft, was listing, listing to the right, starboard, the naval right and she was eating, crackers and beans (!!) beans!!—oh, quite memorable, unlike the cheese and certainly unlike wine, delightful, odd, a character, as in eating beans (?).
The ship, eventually, as is with most of these types of things, sank, went to the bottom of the sea. etc. I saved these poetic explosions, these tempting and piercing investigations into the soul of god, of man, of importance! I kept them. There was, is, very often becomes, important times to claim recognition. I clamored about in hiding for weeks, shaving my ankles, the oddest place for hair to grow, not fiction, not character, like a slob, like dirty clothes and crumbs make hair grow on my ankles, yes, personality, disdain. The inside of my lungs, hollowed out like a log, no, no, like a canoe, no, no, like a cage, no, a cage is hollow. It was hollow. This was the explaining part not the composing part. We were composing, compositing, experiences, treading back and forth up and down the river in our little boat. I should have adhered to her liking, to her insistence, to her advances, but I had hair on my ankles? Vague, again, timid, nice character, obsession, catchy, neat, awesomely neat, but not developed, underdeveloped like bolivia is underdeveloped, like she, the young lass, is still young and undeveloped, not mature, not mentally mature, not physically mature—no, not she in the boat, she in the boat is mature. This is not a time for misunderstandings, obsessions, allusions. I have none. Not of those. We had not determined the course of action for the person, for the navigator—but he was surely well equipped to have many odd character flaws (?) no, character additions, that we could more than likely take advantage of, vault into the next level of creation, of mastery. She too, like him, was certain to have many such habits, routines, much like eating beans, crackers and beans. Yes, she was certain to master these things. These back and forth things.
Otherwise, they were just in the boat. And the boat sank. And she was timid and coy. And vague, yes, timid and coy and vague. And he was a brute.