Jasper the Starfish

He introduced me to Jasper, there he is there, the purple one, underneath. It may be just that I don't feel well, but Jasper seems to have a personality disorder of some kind, but that seems to be the case with starfish, generally, in my view. In any case, Jasper was the one who got me thinking about how to make the best of a bad job: what do you do when your wing is broken, and you are living in a stinking glass cage? Jasper got me reading about Jackie, the salp and the originator of these communications, who died last winter. He came ashore in a storm similar to the one that brought me in. I read how he spent his last days in a glass of algae green water, watched over by a dog. (That dog, by the way, barks at me, barks up a storm, every time he passes by the Aquarium, on his leash. He is always tied to a biped. I don't know what their relationship is. Is it food? I can barely make out what he's saying, he has such a Scottish accent, is what I am told. But he seems good-hearted for a creature that has such a strange way of moving about, and is covered in hair, even hanging over his eyes, and I am told he smells something awful). I have the cheerful seals for company, and when I think of Jackie's short life - up from Antarctica, over here, over to Asia in the bilge of a boat, to Alaska, and back, to die in the front window of a beach house, well, I suppose can give it a shot, writing this ocean blog, that is. So here goes. I dream of flying, though.