Chutes and ladders, dead legs, a fog, a tunnel. These have been drinking days, disoriented days, curious days. Not particularly different than previous days, in that respect I guess. We sailors on the HMSRT are used to the derangement of the senses, truly a fine sport and noble endeavor. Why, some say the sailors of the HMSRT must be cockeyed to truly see, and that's a fact. Twenty-seven percent cockeyed at least. Thirty-four percent is good. Indeed, one starts to get good at things. Forty-six percent...Well, that just won't do. Far too much, I'm afraid. Use some discretion, please. What are you, an animal?
Of course, there are so very many ways to brow-beat the brain. Slap the brain around a little. A little shakedown because, really, when did the brain become so arrogant? Such an entitled fatcat, the brain. Well, you know what? The brain's late on its payment. This is a rough neighborhood and the brain's gonna need a little protection. Next time the brain might not be so lucky. This is a real nice place you got here, brain. It'd be a shame if something were to happen to it...
Alright grabbing hands, reach for those tiny implements of oblivion! Tiny bottles of sweet smelling gases, tiny rivers of Robitussin. You must follow those rivers to the sea, my friend. Tiny pills washed down with flower beer will make you weak in the knees, will make you slack jawed, will make you lose your quarters at Ms. Pacman. Ms. Pacman...Such a tease, what with the bow and the heels and the marching pretzel and all. Sorry, what? Tiny arrows that start in the brain and work their way out the mouth. Yes, you have been running your mouth off lately. Time to be quiet. Time to close that mouth.
Here's a tip: Tell your friends to go on ahead. If, whilst on your gin-soaked journey, you happen upon a magical Velcro House, it's cool. The Velcro House welcomes you. The Velcro House knows that times are tough. The Velcro House forgives you for not calling and not writing. The Velcro House knows that you are forever reaching just beyond your grasp. The Velcro House is not here to judge. The Velcro House thinks those pants make you look taller. The Velcro House- well then, there, now, you get the idea...

The HMS Royal Tears. I say, I say, The HMSRoyalTears! Aye, what has become of her? Run to ground? Tripped up? Stuttering? The mouth is gone, but the brain, with its affectations, remains. The heart is beating until late June, when it will then set out for parts unknown, leaving the shoulders and wrists behind. Not much of a body left, the shoulders and the wrists. But, again I say, you know what? The shoulders and the wrists are super, thanks for asking.
New songs are coming, but we need a singer. And a practice space (again) and your infinite patience and fantastic goodwill. We'll take jealousy too and all repressed attractions. Thinly-veiled contempt is also welcome. We'd be remiss to exclude blind lust and obvious disdain. Aversions can find a home here, but leave your grudging acceptance on the back porch. Ladies and gentlemen please put your hands together! Once again with feeling.