What is it like to drown in a glass of whiskey?
Jump in and swim to the rocks at high tide. Let the sea spit at you. Allow yourself to be ruminated. Let the voluminous waves roll you in their stickiness and dash you against the hardness. Let the spirits of the sea seek your assimilation into their forces crushing the rocky bastions into millennia old sand. Grope in a bed of knives without handles. Breathe brine and palpitate. The moment your fingers get confidence in a hold and the salts anoint the painful cuts, the rocks spit you back with equal vengeance. Your soles are slit and the soul looks for someone to give up his life for you. It may be a Good Friday, but Easter is far far away.
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