How the Colossal Edifice Became so Beautifully Sad in the Memories of Flawed Gods.
Cruel Time, soothing time, patient time and the sadness of time. What a wonderful, wretched, yet compelling picture of a colossal sad edifice – dead and so wretched – years after such terrible demise. To think this huge, aptly named, titanic construction of mighty steel, rivets and sturdy bulwarks sailed out from a harbour into the beautiful, yet cruel sea. Aboard were vast numbers of passengers like little ants walking down companionways and dinning in exotic restaurants. They would be care free and happy to be upon a journey to the USA. Perhaps indulging themselves in thoughts of future undertaking in a grand country while aboard a grand and imagined, tame personified structure that was completely under their control. What could go wrong? Nothing is the answer - so why bother dwelling on such things?
In this wonderfully clear image of the Titanic – dead and sterile upon the engulfing – all-consuming sea bed; we can see a small miniature sub shinning a spotlight upon the broken far side of the wreck. Little ants observing what became of the unsinkable, proud conception, made by flawed Gods – poor arrogant gods – sad well-meaning and yet, conceited gods.
The huge iron animal split into two parts and we can only see the decaying bow laying like a long dead monster. A docile being that served little ant-gods who walked within the iron beast, unafraid of the titan because it was built to serve them. Not knowing that there were far greater elements of the planet that the titan had no chance against. The sea.
The temperate sea that is heartless and old, frozen and cold. All consuming and engulfing – oblivious to all including the mighty Titanic and her minion Gods – the little chunks of walking apathy that would face the horrendous collective of watery indolence.
What a chilling beauty as she lays there upon the ocean sands – consumed and slowly digesting within the planets huge watery belly.
What wonderful little chunks of apathy we are to marvel at the results and doggedly try to learn from such catastrophes. We wonder and stand in awe of the failure and drink in the demise, knowing that such mistakes will happen again, but we push on never the less. It makes me marvel that we are so durable and it also terrifies me that we are also very vulnerable.
The Titanic will always be a story more colossal than the mighty assembly of steel and flawed Gods that she was. But the huge saga will echo within the shadowy continuum of vaults that our sea consumes. Perhaps to echo in the eternity of human memory too.