Davy Jones

Splinters and motions. A navy, broad-shouldered, blurred sailor: A LEVIATHAN. Picture: A turbulent, tinnitus-inducing personality bloated by the centuries; the blotty, hazy sketches of rough romances, tragicomedy, evil and good. Him— Something that seems to be forever, and at once, born yesterday hard, hungry, depressed, delicate, thick and thundering; damp, military, male, creature. Whose garrulous, abusive and abrasive nature goes to no depths complete-- and there was nothing young about him, nothing inexperienced or untrained, unordained, save for vulnerability like instar emergence, plucking at the scarred cliffs with butterfly organs before being dashed by the unending seaside; the brusque closing of the iron door. His voice was smooth and wooden and worn; metallic, weak, and drowning. Creaking through leather boots, waterproof canvas, brine laces. A neon facade through dark water.



And with religion attends to the same morose calling of his eternal card; care for a ghost ship that defies the gods.