Las Aventuras en el Abismo Estrecho

Adventures on the Narrow Straights:
an analysis of the stretched abyss




The Lake

by Edgar Allan Poe

In youth's spring, it was my lot
To haunt of the wide earth a spot
The which I could not love the less;
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound.
And the tall pines that tower'd around.
But when the night had thrown her pall
Upon that spot — as upon all,
And the wind would pass me by
In its stilly melody,
My infant spirit would awake
To the terror of the lone lake.
Yet that terror was not fright —
But a tremulous delight,
And a feeling undefin'd,
Springing from a darken'd mind.
Death was in that poison'd wave
And in its gulf a fitting grave
For him who thence could solace bring
To his dark imagining;
Whose wild'ring thought could even make
An Eden of that dim lake.


Admit One

I found a ticket in my bag. It says "Admit One" - I think it was from some on-street game playing or free food from T-Mobile or something like that, no longer relevant. What it has become is a fortune cookie of sorts, a little seed of doubt. Admission, and singularity.
Giving in only once, letting just one fall, admitting that you're only one.... The little ticket stub becomes heavier, and I fall in its red letters, so characteristic yet so universal. It makes me think of forgiving, should you admit one? It makes me think of losing, should one admit? Being wrong, being right. A ticket to a reality check.


Drop Verhaaltje


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