the pirate ship "unmerciful disaster"
…some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never—nevermore.”’
“The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe
I may have missed my stop. Passed my exit.
My sense of timing really stinks.
I’m betting that if I fall, I’ll fall by myself, and find myself waking up at the bottom of an old, familiar ditch. Pit, more likely. Abyss, even.
So I won’t. Easier to struggle mightily against gravity than to climb out of that damned hole again. Easy to say at 11 a.m. on a Saturday when no one is gnawing and rasping at your soul, but I’ll say it anyway.
When you’re tired of struggling, you’re tired of life.
Ursa Minor Beta is, some say, one of the most appalling places in the known Universe. Although it is excruciatingly rich, horrifyingly sunny and more full of wonderfully exciting people than a pomegranate is of pips, it can hardly be insignificant that when a recent edition of Playbeing magazine headlined an article with the words “When you are tired of Ursa Minor Beta you are tired of life,” the suicide rate there quadrupled overnight.