Wax and wane

I see the ruby eye, glinting at me through the jungle. Then the dark green vegetation closes in again and I must re-find the path. Millionaire meetings in the mornings, followed languid lunch, where the dabloon bedangled captain downs 8 beers ... in 40 minutes. The entourage hauls him to his feet, where follows an afternoon of staggering for grog between bars. The red beacon is extinguished. A new approach for a new day must be designed. In the light of morning, the clear eyed captain, again shows the jewel, brighter yet again, seemingly closer. So close the fingers could touch it, but not close enough to to pry into my vine tangled pocket.

The only actual activity here is drinking, constantly, copiously. the tropical sun squeezing the sweat from the sweltering brows. I cannot determine the true intention of this vast plan of which my sobriety is alone. Alone with my numbers, designs, ideas, and moxie. Doubt racks my mind. Do I step into this morass of mad mindlessness? To do so may mean massive riches, or ruination recycled. Hoe many times does ruin precede riches? One would think my share has been meted out, but then, he who steps in the fire will feel it's nurturing heat .. or burn.

San Pedro to Cancun at 60 MPH in two sleek hovercrafts, impervious to the wailing trade winds. This is the plan. Worth many millions and a million more a year. How long before dabloon daddy's liver explodes, taking the beautiful bubble with it?

But i must try. A life of expectancy for this dream, the paradigm path to hack before me, the luminous light leading me to it's bloody glow.