About Mark Twain

About Mark Twain-

What a kindred soul is he, to call Mark Twain brother. He who has not known what lies beyond the barrier of the fog’s bow. Do you know Mark Twain?

The Fog Horn blows.

I will tell you a story, be it as it may, a complicated such, but story nonetheless, of a true fictional account of a man known only as Mark Twain. Mr. Orthodox of the Madness. He who sought discontent. He who found contempt. May he rise again in spirit and set us straight in our crooked, meandering ways. Oh Mississippi, let your winding ways show us that the course to truth may be bent.

Can you see her now, beyond the cloud low? Can you hear the tide come and go? In the ways of the flow.

I can see. I can see now everything.

Here is the story of the Truth through Twain.

I sit on the bough, dangling my legs. I cannot feel my toes; my shoes are too tight. I may outgrow my own body completely, at this rate of speedy growth.

I am here viewing the muddy muse.

I wish to see clearer. I wish to see a way to the truth. Take me, I say aloud, down the river to the Delta May. I need to hear her say. I need clarification of what I know to be the way. I call for truth to show her face.

And the ripple down the river causes me to quiver.

Twain is born.

I say to the river, you have my allegiance. I will sew my stories to your riverbanks. I will do so; I will show thanks.

Can you see her now?

Can you hear the river waves? She told me where to go. I had to know. She said, “Mr., on the bough, wading your toes, along my silky skin, you want more than you have been fed? You want the ways in which the river flows to the South? You want the ways in which they flow to the mouth. Mr., Delta can tell you no more than me, kind sir. No more than what I store.”

“I say to you, look in me.”

“Look to see what is in me.”

And, I bent over to see. Beyond my shivering limbs- I could see what I knew. I could see what I did not know. I could see my memory of what was before and a vision of what lay ahead. For me, the river said wade.

For me, I said, thank your very soul, Mississippi.

I knew you would show me the way. And from my seated position in the crosshairs of my life, I dove into the Muddy Mississippi. I dove into the murkiness to find clarity. And did she seek me all the while? Did she call on me and only pretend to be called upon? I may not know, but I do not attempt to care. Because, the clear water on the underneath is all that mattered from then on. I came up.

I came up and gathered my belongings . I went to the bank and trekked down the path to my place of home.

Did it show? I didn’t know.

I was changed. I was Twain.

to be cont. (maybe)