Thursday, February 11, 2010

[Unfinished] Compilation Effect II

Unfinished
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[11 February 2010]
Thursday, Monday>>Dark:30
Subject: Fleet of Bottles
CC: D.E. Machina (demachina777@mail.com), ...


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Data Record XV
Fools. We came for fortune and knowledge, but we received disaster and fell prey to the ignorance that avarice affords the young and stupid. Now we find ourselves marooned, and all hands are at the ready to do the work we've come to do. I know not whether our fear is more of the Cap'n or what lurks within the jungle's dark heart. Either way we blister and bleed to escape something. Father, hear our cry for help.

-D.E. Machina
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POSTED
Henceforth all bilgetalk and gossiping concerning the plight current state is forbidden. Reg'lar work hours are expected. Any man caught arousing fear or concern amidst the crew will be given over to Admiral Matter and his nine-tails.
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Ship Fiddler's Notes
Motivate through the toil, draw attention away from state. Cap'n's orders to give temp. pleasure till escape possible, till then keep mind off. Feel notes through, need lyrics esp. Anyway out fine, hands dry and cracking from work.
Song Ideas:

Sweatin' blood, breathin' rum,
blistered thoughts, speech gone numb,
hopeless hands, battered backs,
sleepless tents, fearful axe.
Cut and chop and clip and cleave,
to find what it is the gods did leave.
Perhaps a song a map a word or track,
to save our souls and bring us back,
to no more feed our shovels loam,
return to a dream that we call home.

Lovely lady, seductive siren,
our love is in the stars like Chiron.
Sing me nocturne till dreams take me away,
till my fears your sweet hymn will allay.
Your wish is my word, my work, my way.
Your happiness my humble, hallowed hope.
So work you men! Work till dusk!
Work like only tooth, claw, or tusk-
can drag you away from this your goal,
for when it ends you can return your soul,
to your well beloved lady of the dawn,
to tell of the strife you have undergone,
but to see her starlit eyes once more,
to tell her you leave it to other men to explore.

Give it to the whip,
give it to the sun,
give it to the captain,
let no man turn and run.
Give it to your mate,
give it to the sea,
give it to your neighbor,
let no man deny this decree.
Give it to the jungle,
give it to the night,
give it to the gods,
let no man damn the light.





Cap'n's Log; Entry XIII
My men have toiled for days now after some shadow of hope. They know not for what we seek, and I fear to tell them lest they realize they're hope be in nothing rather than something. I've instructed the fiddler to play by day rather than be another hand at the shovel. A spruce of melody by day and nocturne by night will keep their hope in place until we can find some sign of direction.
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Data Record XIX
The search continues. To the unobservant it would seem sunlight causes cheer to our men, and moonlight - hysteria. Something deep within the jungle recesses beats by dimlit starlight. Only the moonlight and the wild creatures have gazed upon whatever this thing is. As for us mortals, we sit in tents mumbling prayers from fear. We came upon a wrapped up book today which the Cap'n insisted on taking to his own quarters regardless of my claim to it as the camp scholar.





Cap'n's Log; Entry XIV

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