It's the story of Noah's ark, in a way. And while Noah, the "king", does go mad along his journey, and without fulfilling his original purpose, he ultimately has an amazing and beautiful experience of himself and of the universe around him, as he undergoes unforeseen "purpose tuning".
Carpenters work day and night so that the 'bang bang bang' becomes something to get used to.
Noah's gone cold turkey -gold turkey for the project, and at first there's no change, but gradually madness creeps up on him, and his subconscious starts plaguing him.
But the moment finally arrives when the boat is finished and can set off, and the king comes down from his mountain - free range king!
His declared purpose at the outset was to ensorcell the enemy and to bring salvation to all .
As he walks around on the ship Noah finds a diamond, like a message in a bottle, and as he picks it up his fate changes. He feels the warmth of prayer in his heart, but the cold of death encircling him.
All of a sudden his son the prince comes around the corner; they are both shocked, and the son comes to his senses quickly and politely bows, and the initial glare between the two dies down quickly. "You poor kid", the king mutters.
The prince would overhear the king's musings and wonder terribly about himself, what was this horror that he was predestined for, that made the king feel so sorry for him? But the journey with father and son on the same raft together, raft of sensory deprivation, was ultimately quite productive for both characters, and especially for the son, who was able to inherit the legacy directly from the source. And the increasingly absurdist nature of the king's daily utterances gave his son, the prince, a chance to speculate on the mysterious interconnectedness between the ideas, dreamy in the fogginess.
Noah's wife was back at home, her sensible, strategic head having none of this nonsense from the outset. She never joined Noah on this trip.
Electrical captain penetrating steam, under a cloak of kindness in a momentary dream, back behind new curtains, with new purpose. His feelings aren't any more heavy than a poet on the 4th of July eating ice cream under a tent, but either you let the seaplane twist spheres, shift gears, take years, & the dandelion delay of giant porpoise-tuna (giant purpose-tuner) wash over you, OR you let the sea decide to bury a heart that didn't know its richness.
As a world turns toward the light, Noah twists in the wind, but with life jacket in hand, this doesn't end so badly for him...
The crystal on the deck glows, and begins to grow, feeding on light from the stars and the glare of the ocean; a mysterious purpose radiates, and overwhelms the initial purpose of the voyage, darkness left behind, the mysterious purpose now all shine.
Acting calm but worried about provisions and about keeping his story remembered intact, Noah and his crew awake one morning to find they've forgotten everything, story gone down the rabbit hole.
All Noah knows is nobody can work when the jungle comes alive!
Apples tune their frequency to yesterday, moths smile at the purpose, disaster in full swing, arranged like letters to members of the jury, (atleast the members on hand).
Cross-pollination's the thing, the advisement he has taken "under his wing", while they all eat soft tuna salad.
"I lost my story down a hole but a carrot had been frightened by it and set out to return it; 20 years later, it's still in the turnips!" the king yells one day soon after, beginning to hear voices in his head.
in the glory-fortune-experience-lifetime-dream: a house, a candle, and a clock and in the alleyway a man stands, curious about the dream, frozen on the wind, looking for the only thing that can set him free...
"Sit on my plant and I'll eat some cake and wander off into the forest; the plant kingdom tunnels through the stars!"
The beat goes on and natural madness prowls the seas, lifetime undertime tuning, as a king lost in darkness peppers the highways with the black frost of the underworld.
Calm on the outside but worried about food, and the long term storage of the license plates of understanding, the mystery disarray of floating bandits, minnows in their bones and apples in their homes, sets the monsters free, (the zoo demands the key); and the license plates all go blank and grey by morning;
(No one can work when the jungle comes alive!)
So Noah asks one morning: "What is the powercall of the little moving earth?"
"Smile in the rocky turbulence", comes the voice.
In the mind atmosphere there are generals of new towns, none of it "real"; a journey across the ocean becomes a stroll across a village; new toxins to appreciate on the heavy canvas, the barrels of port brought aboard by the son become a welcome diversion, a new looking glass to take the place of forever in the mystical cavern.
Intoxicated, Noah points the ship's radar at the sky, looking for legendary galaxy "9".
"I'm goin' on a mission, to find '9' inside forever; gets the sin in the cider to the center of the soul!"
(Put your hands on the diamond and you lose all control);
Skippin' between the minutes of madness, the king dreams up his love, back at home, in the good old days, the delights left behind in the perfect design of his darlin' Clementine.
But then it's 'clocks all abandoned' on a vaporized year, planet keeps turnin but it's no longer here;
"A former question that is no longer free, eat the omelet and countdown next to me!"
Purpose tuners / porposie tuna turns up in the strangest of places sometimes, and a curious party on the mexican streets has it's intended effect on the king's mind, his purpose retuned yet again:
"Not a bone in the body of iron number 9!"
(Sitting at the bottom of the well in the high-redshift night sky);
The prince takes a turn, goes west, stopping to find the camera phone, smiling where the whistles are going, large beyond large, infant before first;
"Number nine, lost in time, rook wood over serious chasms!"
Lightning of fortune blazing down from a small corner of forever called 'license', check your tuning we're coming in for a landing, on the license plate of forever, understanding moist, silently lofty, en-earthed in quietude.
Rabbits foam at the mouth with the new curious understanding, patients lose their own license plates, and madmen go mad, damaged and taking off,
"Oh the salt just won't wait for the ocean, and it's so near!"
* But we all have to wait, nobody makes his own license plate.
He picked "9" to worry about, and opened a beer, fantasy world wailing.
"Cross the clock off and put away the day, understanding forever is the NATURAL way!"
"Time is wrong, a bandit, a thief. Let's get rid of him, by acting out the lives of our ancestors, that'll throw him WAY off base, time sees itself ruined, collapsed, runs away and goes and hides in a well, seeking porcupines, danger, eruption, but we don't want ANY of that. The porcupines come raging, an burning off their purposes, alone in the moonlight, with nothin' to handle but the approach to yesterday's dream."
It isn't the seeds of understanding, or the new toys that come after it, it's the new love that's being shown through the new understanding, radiation and warmth, a smile from the bottom of a well, that's what we see and that's what we believe in, on a Friday night in a monastery, at the center of the inner sanctum.
"And don't forget to lock the door on strange forevers the moment you walk outta here!"
And then we started landing....
Salt exchanged on a mountaintop for something else, something smart and well tuned for forestry, bushy denial in the sand of hope and want, course mounds of certitude and self-reliance.
Purpose-tuned yet again by the porpoise-tuna, Noah makes a riverside bet on the gamble of time, on being able to tear it down, piece by quantum piece.
"Oh you drip drip to last, and the garden's got a terrible cold, just standing here watching me get old, on a Friday night in Saint Petersburg and frankly, dripping wet on the tarmac; the ocean says it has a license for a pool!"
(We've got you covered, the sane strategy is to let all this just blow over);
New witness to a street display of purpose-tuners, welcoming no-one, standing aloof, on a giant doorway, not knowing whether to appear, or get the hell outta here, their license plates ruined, shattered like glass.
Apples roll down hill for many reasons, but it's always a purpose-tuner. Like Adam and Eve taking the apple from Eden, or Newton's apple hitting him on the head and then proceeding to roll down hill.
"A mountain comes beamin' out of the sea, and suddenly somebody comes to rescue me, king of the garden, king of the sea!" (king of the hole, chicken fricassee);
"I got a hole in my pocket and I know it, but I'm not gonna repeat myself, too much demand, too much time zone nonsense and lost colonels, standard ocean debris expiring laboriously tonight", (the ocean's dream of decay of the understanding in the twilight of nonsense.)
And at the end, alone in his mountaintop cabin, he yells out from the stone:
"Don't forget to write the word "nothing" on a piece of canvas, write it straight and send it as a postcard to forever. Never mind the response stream, we've got gear and aptitude, you can handle the storm when it comes; like death, it'll know you and you'll know him, too. Good luck with that "