Horizon

It is perhaps a bit too early, Mr. Captain, to mention about this,
but I have to do my duty. Can you hear me? Open your eyes. Good.
The plates won’t stay on the table any longer. If we’d like to make porridge, we wouldn’t need to stir the pot.
The porridge would stir by itself anti-clockwise.
Anyway, we don’t need to make porridge, because we are not hungry, because we feel sick, and the plates won’t even stay on the table.
Besides, the flakes for porridge were flushed away by the sea long ago. Please, try at least to hear me, Mr. Captain.
And look at me. I’m walking on the wall.
When I was a little boy, I used to have fun by torturing small insects.
Now I think, this must be a punishment for that.
Just imagine the little ants,
or whatever small animals you could think of,
flooded in a water tub, me stirring the water.
I made a storm, a maelstrom, and I looked at how they drowned, or did they?
Is it possible that they even reached the Gulf of Bothnia,
along some secret route?
Mr. Captain, I have always been convinced, that too much reading is no good. And you did read that sinister book.
I was torturing insects, you were reading a book.
Aberdeen was the harbour of departure.
Dear Mr. Captain, can you see that sea monster,
with the devilish text on its side?
Amorella.