Frantic Summer · Dazaiosamu
Logbook of the Westbound Route
Descending to approximately 732.5 meters below sea levelthe control interface has yellowed and is covered in unknown spotsopen the voyage log and staff manual at the far left of the lowest shelf:the outer limit of western longitude and certain blurred boundary points in southern latitudecontain everything concerning you—a homemade film, a half-finished comedy script, three call recordings (none of them encrypted)and some aquarium visualization records, and so on“If you can see this, please be sure to reply, ellipsisthe mailing address is the summer destination of the orca we tracked together” You do not knowthat on many deserted afternoons I went alone to that islandto fiddle with some of the greenery around the island and its badly broken birds' nestsrecording the independent traits of communal creatures, and trying through them to explain why humans are lonelyI built a post office for you and set up a red-painted mailbox at its doorthough no postman will be taking those dripping letters from me anytime soonThis is what I want you to knowPlease wait—like a starling pecking candle crumbs from a dining tablewait for the world to revive, or for the wars of those people to cease awhileonly then will the voyage continue“Do not hang those flashing strips of light at night; do not sort the expired food and the frozen residue in the refrigerator”that will make the voyagers think we are the lighthouseI know, but it is hard to doOh, you look at me that way and say pensively divider line divider line divider line divider line divider line bold mark “I have arrived—”“Where are you” colon You come through innumerable coral-red doors, the camera slowly zooming inand my pupils begin, like all the oceans, to contract with secret delight