Great White Winged One [part 3]

Out to sea early in the morning in the high-tech-lined research vessel, painted in greenest of greens so that plankton perceiving it, from jealousy, turns even greener. The young researcher is risen&bright enough to keep the discovered pharmacological potential to himself. Under the present dispensation, as a grad student/serf he would be stuck in the position of research associate [one of the et al.s] if this line of R&D were to be carried further, enter academic circulation, eventually be funded for full-fledged commodification. All of this and even the swarming microzoa under his splendiferous microscope, at any given hour of day, are reduced to true size by thoughts of the presence of the indefatigably breaching CC.

What is his obligation as an aspiring young scientist? And what duties does he owe his own curiosity, which has taken him thus far [e.g. full-ride]? Similar things: 1) to document extensively and when the time is ripe make fellow scientists aware of the heteroclite specimen 2) get to the bottom of it no matter what.


It is day 103 of diving through the surface again and again. Its body is beyond exhaustion, hope and all the cumulative finitudes that hinder a given being from achieving the impossible. The shark is unaware of it being day 103; it is just brightness again instead of the preceding dark. The rhythm of life is: bright, dark, bright, dark, bright, etc. There is prey, there are other fish, other shark, the wheeling whiteness beyond the waving sparkle of the membrane through which it has to dive. But something is different after all: the fins have moved up along its body and become larger. It doesn’t see this, given its aquatic anatomy it is something felt. Deeply, darkest blue of neuronal fires up the fins into the bulk of the grey and white body. It feels good like after just enough pinniped, say seal. It is very nice to rely on the Ampullae of Lorenzini, helping to sense those minuscule pulsations of other life and incorporate them into one’s own mass. A forever shifting impression of all encompassing others relayed to one from all sides. Except for those titan, tubular, dark grey pain bringers.

The fins are very different today. On the first breach of the day, against the early orange on the other side, using them in the thin stream they generate…a bit of thrust. A contact with the stream to be elaborated on. The GWS experiences more good feelings that give even more energy to swim fast and furious towards the lightest side of the space. Repeatedly.

The next time when it is light the fins have moved again, up and become even larger. They are no more so excellent for diving through the space that is but better on the other side. No splashing down into the limit between the spaces of diving and not diving but instead a slow gliding down. Like gentle, relaxed swimming, letting the streams take one to a new place of more food or mating. Slow, everything just blue and fine.

A part of the brain of the Great White Shark would like to think about itself, its predicament, its mad ambition but it fails to elevate itself spontaneously to the level of self-consciousness. A number of times, as the jumps progress it comes close to forming the first word from which all further evolution of self could depart. That initial word would be: “Yes!” But then still without the word the great white shark breaches, soars, glides down just feeling “yes!” Which is enough.

Which is enough for this time of its brightness.

Darwin is banned from the reality of the hungry, purposeful shark. There are five days of evolution: fins >>> fings >>> wings. Finally the Great White Shark has grown stupendous wings to either side of its lamniform body. They are the richly deserved outcome of speed, ferocity and persistence. The feathers on the wings are small and dense and oil-coated, which makes them fine for this streaming space of blue and the other. The diving is become quite a bit slower but so what? A new thing is coming on the other side.

The 47’503rd jump is the one. It clears the ocean surface, then unfurls its fings wider than ever, flapping them hard on the down and soft on the up-stroke, gathering lift immediately. Now, now, now, harder, faster, it can do it this time certainly. 2’247 kilos indefinitely airborne. Then more thrust with the powerful muscular apparatus it has developed during the last 100+ days, giving it its all. Leaving below&behind that limitation of old as it soars into the thin new blue, glistening above instead of bottomless black below. For the first time it sees new sights and breathes a new stream, bracingly fresh. Wheeling whites squawkingly wing away from it. Not hungry, not yet the time to dive after them. It feels an irritation along its side, slightly unpleasant from such a long time ago when suddenly something had lodged there painfully.

It dives higher, attracted by the distant stripes of white appearing as an unfamiliar reef full of new possibilities. Speed and ferocity, still.



About tmabona

writer, reader [bolano, DW, bellow, deLillo], runner, badmintoneer
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