slow ride

I started "partying" early today. so by lunch I had a slur and my appetite was wiped. the colors from the sun still streaked across the late afternoon clouds. and I had a weird moment:

like I was in the bedroom of a house in the safe area of a suburb and I had just realized something poignant about the sky and it all made life a little more poetic. and I had been inspired by the internet. and it was very late at night.

it was a strange sensation. not that it was intensely nostalgic, but that it was so precise. it was such a specific feeling that it transcended any sort of de ja vu, it felt deeper than any intellectual memory. it felt natural, like an instinct. or maybe it was more reactionary to what I really felt and thought, like a sudden cowardice; my entire being shrinking in fear. this strange regression to a minute that might have never been, this awkward desire to reimagine a time, however brief, of innocence and wonder. im telling ya, it was weird.

then I started thinking about Miami, and how I have to go next week, earlier in the week, like monday or so. and I knew it was business and I knew I had to go but it all feels so curious, so fast and haphazard. to be unemployed, yet dive into such decadence. I guess its all relative. I guess its where you fly in from. I got places to go, people to meet. I got smiles to secure and drinks to buy and tabs to close out and all that what not. I got a beach to lie on and a belly to hide. I got to pick out some hip socks to rock when im not in sandals and make sure my calendars booked and my hairline edged up. I gotta worry about new york. but im thinking about miami.

at the same time im remembering the lake down the road from my mothers house. the one in the hills of california. long rolling fields of dry, summer shades, heat that raises in waves from the driveway pavement. me and my brother would stroll down in our shorts, a towel slung over the shoulder, a cooler in one of our hands, flip flops slapping the dirt path that lead from our mothers backtyard to the lake. no one was ever there when we arrived, but I had seen a few empty beer cans and a discarded condom wrapper or two, so I knew we werent the only ones that knew of it. still, when ever we went, the only company we shared was with dragonflys, of which there were hundreds. big, gorgeous, monstrous insects, of any and every color the light allowed those clear summer days. we would swim, or climb then fall from the limb of a large, overhanging tree. sometimes I could feel fish slide by my waist in the dark waters. it always made me flinch, but I learned to not be afraid of them. for refreshments, we would tie up a six pack of beer to a long rope, then let it hang at the bottom of the lake to keep cool. we would bring a radio, and keep it on the classic rock station.