The voyage began with the urgency of contradicting a dream.A decade turned vaguely sexual,like a(friend) ship that could not reach the water.A resignation to resolve that conflicted passage had as much to do with, impatience as it had to do with a drive to explore an unknown passage to pleasure. The disturbing ports of intimacy, forced through the sieve of forgetfulness well known to adventurers. The intrusions of the present would soon become the mutable past, easily molded to fit the unknowns of the future through the artifice of improvisation. The ease of this transition was metamorphosed through the caressing and delicacy of those vaguely sexual urges that softened and made pleasurable the entry of an outside force upon the template of her projected dream,barely visible on the low ceiling of her sleep- world. She had a way to account for every move,arrival or exit. In the world she feared a conspiracy against improvisation. It was permitted only in jazz lest she become hypnotized and lose her cold tight grasp of the next moment. She needed these tools to put glass between living and her vision. It was the image she sought to possess, not the texture, the gradations, the living mutable warmth, the human closeness. Outside the cottage, in her garden, the controlled festivities of nature anesthetized her suffering. Life or death was a product of her intervention conducted from a hidden score,memorized and then forgotten to lend an air of chance to the regimentation of her pathetic rigid symphony. The rules, written on slips of paper hidden about the cottage in half forgotten places located "somewhere" in her mind, to be retrieved as projectiles shot over the bow of intruders encroaching upon her fragile sense of autonomy. Her internal destinations were well protected cities largely unknown to the tourists that she needed in order to feel that her ports were desirable to the masses, the persona they believed they could know intimately. Many ships had sunk upon her reefs in search of the pearls hidden below.The bulkheads of the French and American ships all appeared intact at the onset of the journey yet had been undermined by a neglect and lack of routine maintenance-- a wish to avoid the slow rust of impermanance implicit within her hollow shell,filled with fear and a loss of trust, a contradiction of the fluid touch of nature...........(to be continued)