As predicted our winter wonderland is now a post apocalyptic toilet of gray shit and slush. Millions of Madhattanites toiling away in their inappropriate footwear through slush hell. People wear the damnedest things. I saw someone navigating our clogged up toilet in black pumps with no socks. Clearly there's a deficiency in her synaptic charges. Surely a short circuit somewhere. Slave to fashion is a term that could not redeem these idiots. I must send them my love. I hate them with tenderness.

My pirate love has been missing.

Lily has not been around lately. I've looked all over. She is in hiding, licking her wounds. Not having a vessel to commandeer depresses her. Most people get sea sick. She gets land locked and pukes daily. I am lucky in this regard for I get neither except when I stop traveling and then I feel the world closing in on me, like I'm being hunted. At night I break out in cold sweats. I go through violent fits of nausea. For this reason, I have never remained in one place for longer than three months. You see my own story began with my mother and father and theirs before them and so on. My mother was a gypsy, black Irish, a tinker, a purveyor of rare herbs, drugs, and poison, a roving whore, thief, killer and con. The dagger that I carry now, once belonged to her. It is a dagger that has been passed down from generation to generation since time immemorial. It has taken the lives of countless humans. My mother use to say that, it had an intelligence of its own. It is the very dagger that killed both of my fathers and then my sister.
My mother was the beauty of Ireland. She had jet black hair and large blue eyes. Skin like snow. The stories were that her cunt was filled with dragon teeth and crushed glass. No man came out alive till I was born. My father was Polish. A terrorist who took to sabotage and piracy against the Russian state. He belonged to a traveling theatre company called, The Dead Mans Puppet. He met my mother in Scotland when he was on the Lamb from three or four different governments. From there, Esmerelda and Michael took off to Spain where they were married in a saloon. The spanish called my mother, Madre de las Moscas. Where ever she went, death followed. From there my parents took to the high seas. I was born on a Pirates ship called, the Devils Bark.

Where is Lily? I'm getting sick. I must move...