Written during the Festival

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?
She didn't know where she wanted to sit. Where she was seemed amicable. Any other person would have thought as much. The people were acquaintances, the air was crisp and cool as it travelled the length of her windpipe and filled her lungs, and the view...glorious. The sky above her, vast and grand in its presence and it was over cast, crowded with elegant interwoven clouds. A team of birds flew their triangle formation across its expanse. She was comfortable but she was not comfortable. What does that mean?


The narrow staircase was strong, despite its age, and the yellow grip tape made her feel certain she would not slip. The handrails cooled her palms and the old pump sent vibrations through her roots to her core and rattled her soul. It wasn't as amicable here. She glanced back towards the pump. This machine had seen much and many. The pistons were strong and relentless in their continuous thrusts into the firing chambers. It frightened her and excited her. She could go down there, below deck to get closer. It did not look amicable. There was not a soul down there, it was forbidden to go there. The floor was wet with thick, black grease and the air was noticeably cooler on her skin as she extended her exposed hand down into the emptiness searching. For what? The fumes seemed to singe the hairs on the inside of her nose. It turned her off and turned her on. What does that mean?


No she wouldn't go down there...people were watching. To the rear of the vessel she moved, the Captain was loud in here, it was a small stale smelling room looking out to where they had come from. The red leather topped stools had no backs on them and there was a girl there who reminded her of a better version of herself. She could sit in there. It was amicable. There was no one else in this room that she knew, she liked it that way. Why didn't she sit here? Any other person would have. Perhaps it was because the stools didn't have backrests? I don't think that's why she moved on, but she did. She was searching for something else, something that didn't remind her of herself. She was lost...she knew exactly how she had gotten there though and where she wanted to go. What does that mean?


To the front of the vessel and she is deafened by the piercing whistle of the steam that is desperately trying to escape that dark place she had visited. Nothing should be trapped in there. The pressure built up and now it has to get out. Otherwise the engine will die in that room with no souls. The scream dies and the steam dissipates into the atmosphere, it got out and it's gone. This room reminded her of a church. Pews and an isle, elderly people all looking forward not speaking. She sat to the back on a red leather topped pew, it had a backrest yet she leaned against a cold lifeless heater that pressed uncomfortably into her left shoulder. There were no acquaintances here. These people did not notice or care for her presence. No, they cared for each others their relationships as old as the steamer we had boarded. The air was even more stale here. The constant vibrations made her restless and made her think about their source. That dark place. The view...overwhelmingly comparable. She was not comfortable here but she was comfortable. What does it mean?