A remarkable creature is the chocolate star fish. It lives on the other
side: the exotic side of the island. I paddle around in sunny leisure on the
raft of my tongue and am endeared to make a study of its climes, exclusive
habitat, its flowering into courtship with the rising tide of flattery. And
with inspired fascination I make deeper exploration in through the dark ridges encircling
the fissure and long narrow opening where the chocolate star fish always
descends. I like to track it. I spit in my goggles and blow the snorkel free, then
sink in through the crack with flippers on my tongue, kicking slowly on in. Submerging
into the deep surge of those peristaltic currents from which I derive an ocean of
wicked wealth, I arrive at all the obliterated realizations of belonging.
It reminds me of the opening paragraph in Lolita in which Humbert Humbert savours his beloved's name as it is sounded by his tongue and teeth. A trip of three steps to tap on three, or whatever...Ah, what reviewer, critic or praiser won't reed these words without feeling some pang of pain. Not, if they are being entirely honest that is. But the point is we wish to belong, and being too honest leaves us out in the cold. Or, at least that is what we image. Am I saying we?