Each's got their own channel, though they don't own it. They sit in respective vessels bound to & for experience tailor made. Flowing to the algorithm of their own lock-keeper, they filibuster amongst themselves alone in the lock-chambers, where they understand it's their level of discourse and intellect that are being raised, or, as the case may be, their fortitude and will. Each as free from a sense of hypocrisy as their keeper safely secures, to insure commuters' participation's unspoiled by disagreeable drink from a mistaken canal.
Be that as it may not, they are going from A to A. One, more recently for example, by way of bro-cialization, another with his own Noam-enclature, many of these shep-her-ded, seemingly successfully, onto big barges marked w/→HER to the DNC. Then there's that huuuge dinghy dubbed, seemingly so, SS Great Again.
For everyone also has their own captain & crew who largely determine what will float as adjunct, and what names will sink another boat. On the Overton Observation Deck and through the portals down below, passengers predominately see other steamers through lenses crafted on behalf of the owners of the ships.
These captains of the shipping industry effectively deregulate the waterways. That is, their navigations keep them in a state of constant deregulation. The water itself is their eminent domain. They soil it at will.
The number of lines is so massive as to present adequate appearance of variety of choice. The magnates, however — however high their number at first glance – sit atop the boards of virtually every channel. Their union is much stronger than that of the moiling mariner, who they could have buried at sea for far less than those same sailors' salaries, which'd keep tales of pillaging at port where they belong.
If a certain merchant harbors a pirate from another land's labyrinth, then he's a pirate. Unless he's not. One magnate's mole is another's martyred emissary, like when those who captured the USS Benghzi thought the former and the embassy insisted the latter. Everyone has their own suspicions.
Each have their own acceptable course. Particularly in moments of apparent flux, one is misshapen through the scope toward someone else's. This is how voyagers sailing, e.g., the MS NBC can literally embrace the notion that being consigned to the Bushies coked-up speedboat might be a wayfaring tradition they'd viewed too hastily. As a bonus consequence, it puts adequate closure to their previous commander's choice of charter. However one chooses to view it.
All aboard!
Be that as it may not, they are going from A to A. One, more recently for example, by way of bro-cialization, another with his own Noam-enclature, many of these shep-her-ded, seemingly successfully, onto big barges marked w/→HER to the DNC. Then there's that huuuge dinghy dubbed, seemingly so, SS Great Again.
For everyone also has their own captain & crew who largely determine what will float as adjunct, and what names will sink another boat. On the Overton Observation Deck and through the portals down below, passengers predominately see other steamers through lenses crafted on behalf of the owners of the ships.
These captains of the shipping industry effectively deregulate the waterways. That is, their navigations keep them in a state of constant deregulation. The water itself is their eminent domain. They soil it at will.
The number of lines is so massive as to present adequate appearance of variety of choice. The magnates, however — however high their number at first glance – sit atop the boards of virtually every channel. Their union is much stronger than that of the moiling mariner, who they could have buried at sea for far less than those same sailors' salaries, which'd keep tales of pillaging at port where they belong.
If a certain merchant harbors a pirate from another land's labyrinth, then he's a pirate. Unless he's not. One magnate's mole is another's martyred emissary, like when those who captured the USS Benghzi thought the former and the embassy insisted the latter. Everyone has their own suspicions.
Each have their own acceptable course. Particularly in moments of apparent flux, one is misshapen through the scope toward someone else's. This is how voyagers sailing, e.g., the MS NBC can literally embrace the notion that being consigned to the Bushies coked-up speedboat might be a wayfaring tradition they'd viewed too hastily. As a bonus consequence, it puts adequate closure to their previous commander's choice of charter. However one chooses to view it.
All aboard!
