sunday crowd

the sunday crowd at JO BEACH is suuuuper lame
they have their fullbred retrievers
who fetch consistently, barkless
get in get the ball repeat
BOR RING
they don't realize that I come here every single day,
that I get in the water
and I smoke smokes
and I drink cocktails
and I publish things I write on my phone to the internet.
they're sunday people, weekenders
they work all week & then come cut loose on a hot summer's day.
it just isn't right
I pull out the blankets and sleep through storms on my beach
I get naked at night
I makeout, here.
while they sleep, I stake my flag in the sand.
but they're easily scared away by the exaggerated sounds of orgasm while two girls struggle to open a bottle of soft huckleberry wine.
poof! it's our beach once more

some people think my blog is prolix

...and how can they be blamed? As a logophile, I'm obligated to cartwheel myself wordy word around the world, and I like it this way. Who's to say? The good news, the great news, actually, is I have plenty of sensical stories to tell. I had no idea that "sensical" is a neologism! News for me! I use back-formation constantly when using words unrecognized by our lovely friend, the dictionary. But now: to gather for the basset more water. A sleeping, sweating, feverish boy at my side, the bedclothes areek in his fitful outpour. The basset shuffles back into the outside world.

from cardboard diary: earth science

10 January 2008:

  The case of the ultra well being.

Never forget the abyssal plains and arrows for some reason forever pointing down

and we cry slender in the night, wildfire trapped omitted tenderly wrought against

old again & again. A spontaneous outburst of seeds exploding air all around

now simple soft withering twilight, sunstroke water dirt all betrayed now. Storm like it.

Iceburgs and volcanoes. Cries and whispers.

wednesday

coyotes hooting, like a bunch of cans dropped or clanged.

I am scared

I am crying

I am stopped, I told myself to stop.

I don't know why I could react like 

as if a pain had happened.

When there's only excitement with in me.

Concern of immanence.

But just the immanence of disturbance.

We call that pessimism? right

(but I was never of such persuasion)

carelessness   -   

but o, too late for I've already given it gone.

I'm swept & left, wet on the boatbridge 

for storms' carrying away of me.