One day I will own a boat – a wildly expensive luxury boat, to be exact.
My 500-footer steel-hulled superyacht will be custom-made and brand new,
combining the retro soviet design of a Blohm + Voss Motor Yacht
with the functionality of two helicopter pads and a laser security system.
Once, I bought a boat in the game Grand Theft Auto V, and it felt very liberating so I can only assume I will be transcendently ecstatic when I buy my real boat. My dream boat will be sleek and curved, just like a hi-res computer model where sunset light hits its perfectly rendered polygons at all the right angles.
I will enjoy throwing money at financial auditors from my dream boat, like Leonardo DiCaprio does in the hit 2013 film, The Wolf of Wall Street. I will also start wearing boat-shoes, gold chains and Ralph Lauren polo shirts just to really show visitors to my yacht that, yes, I am living the dream boat life.
Following Summer around the world will be such an inspirational way to live. So much so, that Chasing Summer will be the name of the Vanity Fair article written about me and my dream boat lifestyle, with a double-page photo of me looking down at the camera from my sun deck, so the reader knows I am superior.
When I arrive at the Venice Biennale on the bow of my dazzling dream boat Russian oligarchs and their children will nod stoically at me from their own helms. They will invite me upon their superyachts and we will exchange boat specs and brag to each other about our mini-submarines, and anti-paparazzi shields.
As per the laws of many countries, I will retain a permanent crew on my dream boat including a fine dining chef, an expert navigator, and a public relations professional who will, of course, be in charge of liaising with the number of Russian oligarchs that have decided to follow my lifestyle of drifting away from society, sea-roaming.
In fact, many people will be swayed by my compelling case for a boat-only life and a flotilla of superyachts will gather around me as my message spreads. I will observe my devotees from my main deck Jacuzzi, throw them a smile, lift my diamond-encrusted megaphone, and say, “forget land, transcend yourself.”
Whole groups of people will pool money to buy a boat just to join my sea-cult. I will secure my place as an ocean-guru, demanding donations from the wealthy so that everyone may buy their own boat, participate in the dream boat lifestyle and have everything they could ever need – including a half court on the aft deck.
From my star-gazing platform and lounge I will direct the dream fleet where I please, ignoring my navigator’s harried pleas to avoid the monsoon-like weather. A storm will linger above the horizon ahead, promising unforgiving choppy water but I will be dream-drunk on ideological boat-power (and boat-champagne).
Leading my dream sea society onwards, towards the bourgeoning electric storm I will be convinced that my post-land, post-capital clan will survive the squall. I’ll marvel at the bolts of lightning, illuminating the sea like fingers from God, as I step onto the bow and hold my hands up to the angry clouds in defiance.
I will smell the cleansing cloying ozone as purple lighting strikes my dream boat. My human flesh will be atomised – no slow deterioration, just instant total loss as my dream boat sinks, and waves crash through my feature stained glass windows and the water from my infinity pool melts and merges into the turbulent sea.
A coral reef will form over my dream boat, fifteen metres down on the ocean floor. Pilgrims will flock to the reef, but alas, I will receive no benefit, being dead. A behemoth marble monument of my dream boat will be built to immortalise me, reading: “It ended here. Disintegrated at sea in a wildly expensive luxury boat.”
About the author
Hannah Jenkins is an arts writer currently studying a Master of Curating and Cultural Leadership at UNSW, where they get to play video games and write about VR in the art world. You can find some of Hannah's other work in Scum Mag and Art Almanac, or on Twitter @hiijenks.
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