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i'm out on a little wooden boat in the middle of the ocean. there isn't anything in any direction. the endless pattern of water with sunlight hitting it, lifting up and settling down into the most million of million individual movements, forever in time it will never stop doing this.

we have been sailing for three weeks now. things are going well I suppose. I guess i really didn't know what to expect, so it's hard for me to judge. two men on one small boat, you have to expect some tensions to arise. two men and no women. you never thought you understood those sailor songs until now; this is a new kind of being, a life without women, without even the chance of one. mermaids make more sense now too.


I am standing on the deck in my barefeet with no shirt on. its still the morning maybe, like 10 oclock. i haven't seen a watch but you can just tell from the sun. David is trying to convince me to take a swim in the ocean.

"It's really not a big deal. it seems scary because it so fucking huge, but really this water is the exact same water at whatever beach you swim at back home. there's no huge shark waiting for you right now, no giant squid just below the surface."

He explained that one of us had to stay on the boat in case something did happen, that someone would have to turn the boat around and get the other person back onboard. he said I should swim first. I squinted my eyes with my hands behind my head, looking out. this was the loneliest and most uncaring environment anyone could ever hope to imagine; mother nature's cruelest bitch. if something were to happen to me, I would be swallowed up just like hundreds of thousands of men before me and nobody would even know. he threw the rope ladder overboard and took a little swig of his whiskey.

I am sick to the pit of my stomach of course. But here's the thing - I came here because it was the adventure. Because sailing to New Zealand on a wooden boat with a man I didn't know was the crazy thing to do, the best story for later on. What if I came all this way and didn't swim? I slipped out of my shorts and walked to the edge. Took a deep breath. Jumped.

 I can hear the rope ladder being pulled up, the rack of the wooden rungs against the side of the boat. can you fucking imagine? what would that feel like, the first second when you're trying to place the sound, then you realize the sound, and then you're scratching against the side of the boat like "HEY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? THIS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY MAN LET THE FUCKING LADDER DOWN!" and your heart would start racing because fuck you didn't even really know this dude and he had been acting funny the whole time hadn't he and would he really do this? there isn't anywhere to grab onto even, kicking your legs and beating against the side of the hull, the deck 7 feet above you but so way too far. and what the fuck would he be doing? what would run through his mind while you're pounding and kicking away for the next hour and a half, screaming cursing finally begging and pleading and crying while your arms get tired and your legs start to burn. taking long drinks off of his whiskey and staring out silently maybe, with black sunglasses on. what the fuck would he think about, you finally know there isn't any more left in you and you can't even see the boat on the horizon anymore, hoping to god you fall asleep and drown before something comes us and starts to eat at you, naked and the weakest thing ever.