02.23.2020 (DAY 3)

It seems self evident that truth is a thing immured, that by turning over enough earth and tearing down enough walls we are sure to find it entombed - dusty - shrouded - yet radiating such unsullied brilliance as to render its identity unmistakable. This is the dream. This is the quest -- uncovering, retrieving. This is the prophesy -- revelation. This is the dream -- impossible - yet - predestined.

To dig holes, to fish - these are noble actions. Surely it is noble to expend all efforts in pursuit of revelation.

Yesterday I went fishing. I caught a fine fish. I reeled it in and sliced it open, tip to tail, and in its belly I found a ring. All things are omens, but some more so than others.

Today, standing on the ship's deck, it all seems a dream. All seems a dream. The foaming spray coats everything in a fine layer of cotton, denying even the most solid objects their typical guise of solidity. We are on the brink of something. We are on the precipice. In front and behind and all around there is only salt spray; mist; primordial sludge; television static.

Everything is dissolved in everything.


Truth must be buried. Or, that is to say, truth is only truth if it has been buried -- revelation demands excavation. Cold hard facts left too long in the sunshine oxidize, taking on a patina of fiction. Truth too long exposed no longer looks like truth. Truth is a thing immured. Truth is a thing immured. Truth demands excavation. Truth is a thing immured.

You have got to dig holes. You have Got to dig holes. You got to go, and dig those holes.

"You got to go, and dig those holes."*

*Song:"Dig it" Album: "Holes" Artist: D-Tent Boys