Thursday, May 13, 2010

Editing Beach Writings: Part One

The moon filled the gap between the buildings entirely and the clouds parted to let it. Full to the point of bursting, it sent a ring of light out thousands of miles around itself just so it could contain itselfl. Even the stars moved to the other side of the sky in respect of the Lunar Majesty.

The beach was mine and mine alone for as far as I could see, save for the washed up corpse of an unlucky fish. Roaring waves welcomed me and this was the solitude I came here for: just me, a few scattered stars, and the Lunar Majesty watching over me.

There is a beckoning of the open ocean, the waves begging me to join them and the horizon teasing me with curiosity. I am not a nautical person by nature and I have never so much as sailed a boat, but something about the beach just looms and lures. Even the sea of random half naked sweating people on the shore during the daytime cannot diminish this perfection of night.

Perhaps it is because I was raised in the city of Miami and perhaps it is because I still live there under the nocturnal pink luminescence of city lights, but I often forget about all that is happening above and below me when there. The ground is solid and the sky is illuminated, so there is little mystery, even at night. The beach, on the other hand, especially the Gulf Beaches, have this “out on your own” feeling at night. They are so isolated from major cities, that there is actual darkness at night and stars that seem to boycott the city.

Right now, it is day and the people are out. The beach has a different vibe during the day as the children run and play on the dunes. It is an exciting and promising land full of high energy and song. Very unlike the night at the same beach. I prefer the solitude of the evening, but I do enjoy the watching of these people during the day. Helps me realize how unlike them I actually am.

It is odd to think of yourself as part of a species it is quite obvious you are not part of. I don't understand what motivates them, what inspires them, or why they do most of the things they do. The beach at night does not lend itself to these wonderments.

At night, the beach only draws your curiosity to the vast sky and the roaring seas: both hiding forms of life you may relate to better from your view. The dead fish on the shore only serves to fuel my curiosity of what lies beneath, but my allergies have never allowed me to explore below and will probably keep me from ever exploring above. The pressure would be too great, so I am left to sit, wonder, dream, and hopefully write...

“HE had the self assured confidence that drove the less secure into fits of envy fueled hate. He never bothered to consider these feelings may exist within the masses as he always deeply longed to be one of them and was not, as they felt, above them. Maybe it was because he didn't find men attractive, but he always saw himself as a disfigured freak. He looked in the mirror and looked at others of his supposed species and always noticed the difference between how they looked and he. Sure, they had common features: nose, two eyes, a mouth; but they seemed to be misaligned on his face compared to the others that were “like him.” He found beauty to be commonplace, but believed he missed out.

Perhaps he was of another species all together. Perhaps he was the alien among the normals. Perhaps beauty was rare among them and his self assured confidence as they saw it was due to the fact that, while they were what he felt were beautiful, so too was he to them. The gap he felt that prohibited him from reaching out to the masses was also felt by the masses in regards to him. To them, it was he who was beautiful beyond approach. He thought himself dumb because nobody understood him yet they felt themselves dumb for the same reason. They would see him and think “nobody that cool, that perfect could ever be stupid.” He would look at the blank faces surrounding him and think “I am not that cool or smart.”

This separation from what he thought versus what the others saw is what lead to his solitude because he felt the problem was with him. Overtime, he too hated them as much as he felt they hated him. He looked out on the masses and felt nothing. Sometimes there would be a feeling of wanting to join the herd, but that was fleeting. He was alone on a planet of twos and that was the way it was to be.

“Solitude ain't that bad once you get used to it,” he would often say. And, if you are crazy, like he was, then you always have plenty of company in your head to keep you company. Warring personalities trapped within a singular head can cause mass headaches however. This is best remedied through a strict and constant regime of medication, the more underground the better. Music seems to be the best medication, but does have lingering effect that can include, but not be limited to, the Earworm.

The Earworm is the most contagious of all ailments that afflict man. It is simple to spread, unlimited in scope, and made up of pure evil. It can infect you from something as harmless as a passing child singing a kid's tune that suddenly burrows deep within your brain and will not let go. Suddenly, you are an adult being caught singing Barney tunes and, when you have no children, this becomes hard to explain away. Soon, your friends all think you are that freak who digs Barney CD's and they begin keeping their children FAR away from you because any adult who digs Barney tunes is an adult not safe to be with kids. Why?

Any adult who digs Barney tune is either a retard who is not able to watch himself let alone kids, or is a pervert far too interested in watching kids. Either way, if you see an adult singing “I love you, you love me,” and you see no kids around...RUN!”

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