The Distance, The Croatoan

Croatoan Island is a small island off the coast of North Carolina which was settled in colonial times, around 1585. It was one of the first established English colonies in the New World.
One day it was discovered that all of the settlers which inhabited the island had disappeared leaving behind but one trace: an engraving on a log which said "Croatoan". To this day, no one knows what became of the colonists. The answer has been lost in time.

Life is full of inexplicabilities. That may or may not be a word, but words are only a medium of conveyance: a method by which humans have learned to attempt to transmit their emotions, thoughts, and feelings. These, like most human creations, are inherently rife with flaws.
Everyone at some time or another has felt the need to say "I just don't know how to put this," or "Words can't express the way I feel". I won't lie, I feel this more and more. This inxeplicability. The whole essence of life is one big anvil of inexplicability, and I'm Daffy Duck below the window.
Words, despite their intrinsic faults, are still very valuable. They are the paint with which our tongues brush, our pens spray forth like Jackson Pollock's worst bender. Just because they are inflicted with an innate banality and limit does not mean that they cannot provide us with some solace, some kind of image, some kind of feeling in our heads.



This is the exhumation of the Crotoan, the light in the distance, the dark path.
More and more it seems that the wind blows so empty and cold
More and more it seems like this astral blanket under which we slumber has gotten the best of my sensibilities
More and more it seems that the questions and answers now both pull me under.
It's time to get some answers, or at least make the effort.

I'll try to use my keyboard the best I can to instill within you (the generalized other) the things I feel, the things I've been thinking. This is no bullshit, this is the only way I can keep myself from questioning it all away, chalking it up to fate. Let's quicken this distance between our heads and the air, the sky, the land, the fire.

It's time to get some answers, or at least make the effort.

They always say pictures are worth a thousand words. But maybe it takes a million. The point of this journalistic endeavor is to somehow elicit some kind of meaning, some kind of truth from this maelstrom of ambiguity in which we all reside. I might succeed, I might fail, I might be stuck somewhere in a literary purgatory. A lexical judgment.

Don't look at the path. Just keep walking.