Deranged Ramblings

A waking dream that I’ve probably also had while asleep at some point or, if not, that I probably will. I stand on the banks of the river Styx, which I recognize immediately from the poetry which, for once, proves factually and not just metaphorically accurate. The water of the river is so black that it’s almost not even water at all, but the darkness of space, the void between the stars. There is no motion in that river. It is the end of everything. I wait for a long time there. That’s fine, its not like I am in a hurry at the moment. It gives me time to think, time I never really gave myself before getting here. On the banks of the river Styx, there are no distractions. All you have is yourself and you know, looking at the infinite blackness of the river, that you might not even have that for very long. Along comes the boatman, right on cue, looking as grim and gloomy as I expected. He is wearing his long black robe with the quintessential cowl that completely hides his (I