I had this thought about all those ghostly souls trudging along the misty sands that night and how they were the greatest installations of all and how they were fooled into becoming art and it made me feel good about the masses and how they can arrange themselves in search of inspiration and peace and glow and how their movements can sensually mirror the ocean and how it moves so elephantine and lovely away from and toward the shore to cover the waking with energy as a blanket over minds and eyes, ears and lives.
Then there was the street fair and more warm faces and sun and it's almost scary that you can't just go through life hating the crowds when they appear so wide-eyed and well-behaved in person. certain days being enough to momentarily gloss over the inhumanities these creatures lose themselves to from time to time, day to day, all the time, only certain days they have some redemptive show.
Today the hottest day in Los Angeles happened and triple digits visited the beach for the first time in awhile and the rays of fierce light were glad for the day-vacation and the people were dancing in the water, taking pictures, and climbing and falling and laying and crawling their meaningless time away and it was sad and glorious and spectacularly similar to every other day for awhile and this context shouldn't be taken for granted and the scary thing is that it wasn't and they were moving and caressing themselves and taking part in the mystery and the fault-lines and foundations upon which their lives lay cooperative enough for a moments breath and that's positive, it's positive, it's a pro and we watch it bloom.
Ice cream and then my love rides my shoulders to feel like a bird or a giant or an equestrian and my strength finds purpose and then sushi and beer and a parking ticket that could or couldn't mean something depending on how much it gets under the skin and usually it takes more than that, and that's not a challenge, only a reminder of perspective and the Wine-o with his same stupid song and the way he sings it and it's funny. It's funny isn't it? Jingle bell, Jingle bell, help me get drunk and I walk by and I'm sweating and the air is warm and my hair is wet and I did pull-ups from twenty feet above sea level and the sun was glowing all over that grass at 7am and that's why we couldn't find that errant golf drive because of those shimmers, that dazzling, shining, dancing, charming light that bounces off of anything lucky enough to take in the light and that coyote looked like a wolf and those geese couldn't have been happier and life exists and exists and the stories can be so fucking colorful and drab and somewhere in-between until they splatter the night sky with memories that lead us to moments like victories and/or crisp cut serendipitous thank god it happened that way perspectives and blessed actualisms and the moon will calm you down and put her blanket on your shoulders and she'll laugh and listen to you like a beautiful mother and you can tell her all about your day and that dancing light, those dancing characters, broken thermometers and livesthoselives that you were surrounded by down at the seashore and otherwise.
