PHYSICS OF THE OBVIOUS

Knowing this boat inside and out, knowing no final resting place: what is obvious and invisible at once. Our bodies exposed to this finite world called the boat, opposes the immeasurable liquid machine called ocean. This creaking, rocking boat on a windless sea on a cloudless black night pregnant with blazing lights. Every inch of this boat. Every blasted, filthy inch! Every face, over and over, day in and day out. The same changes of clothes: switch the scarf with the cravat, part the hair differently for days of the week. Every stinking inch!
The fish have all the water they need, all the foul food they can scavenge!
Measuring the reduction of shadow as we make our way. The right and left of the rudder: we are remotely latitude, strongly longitude.

A trail of luminous fires beneath the surface, there is no bottom of the sea. Here, on this boat, there is no daily mail, no newspapers. We change flags according to the static of the radio. The captain makes his rounds. Historians and insomniacs, Marxists and pagans, children and chickens