Sunday, July 3, 2011

Seabreeze Fancy

(In The Thick of It, Moloka'i, 2009)

A couple of years ago I looked off into the sunset, yeah, it was a romantic sight. I was alone, standing there, just finished throwing some flat circular stones across the ocean when the sky decided to set fire. If I was someone watching me, I would've seen my humble expression, the sunset burning in the reflection of my glasses, and something change within me like watching a cocoon twitch. It has been two years, I haven't turned into any butterfly, I haven't really evolved nor transformed, and I haven't grown a set a wings. In actuality I find myself at a loss of meaning; what has happened, and what all it means. What it all means, the experiences I had that summer, as a runaway, hidden from familiar eyes, relaxing on the beach. I am only moments before that very place, ready to make my escape, wondering what the future is like. I wonder that for the most part, but I also realize that something in me hasn't fully digested, that I am still processing data. In moments like this, when my ear is pressed up against a noisy air conditioning unit, I ponder the ponderful, look to the past for ideas and solutions, and right now, I think, deep, hard, with a flicker of flame in my torch as I descent to past experience. I am recalling my past summer, and merging it with this summer. I am forming a plateau to roam, to loiter, and if I can, plunder. I see this land as something that can be created, in a vision I have high up here (taps temple). What have you, I tell myself, looking at myself, hey there I talk to myself, my neighbors from across the way probably see me talking to myself, ask me if I care (i don't). I look myself deep in the eyes, I wonder there, get lost there, and then I am swallowed whole.

[Enter the darkness]

It is not the crystal castle, nor the ideal I am after, I look to see the sea gulfs flock in the sea breeze. All I am doing, I repeat, all I am doing is attempting the impossible. Hold for a moment, and release. I would lie, I would entice, but the truth is I don't know, what the future holds for us, what wonders and failures, and everything in-between, the dirt in the cracks, the pebbles in our shoes, I cannot see so brightly into the future, no, I cannot fly, nor can I reverse time. The slow crashing of the waves set the mood, I look to see that the ocean's fire is dimming too, the sky is falling to darkness. What is in my hands is all I have, a few soft stones good for throwing on the glassy surface of water. I spit some taste into the air, it mists into the milk of dreams, I say fantasy, you say roleplaying, I'll change my name if you change yours. I roll with the roughest, now are you rough enough. I kick some hard shit, my toes do bleed but my face show no pain. I am insane, crazed to be, wild as can be, say what I say, and you'll never wanted to leave, you'll always want to stay (hey that rhymed). Pop goes the top, a stream forms from an ending bottle, foam is lost in foam as the sea turned to black-black-black. There's sand between my toes, I got this itching feeling that this is going to be rad, radical, radish.
I look away from my mirror, I look off into your direction, and though you can't hear my words you can read my lips.

Come my lady, come-come, my lady (you're my butterfly. Sugar. Baby.)

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