Sixteen seconds, Swamis Beach

Thursday, January 8, 2009

drink deeply

I was sitting in the bath this afternoon, thinking about Frank Pantangeli, and ancient rome and what a crude place we live in. Parents and their children talking loudly in the library, tailgaters and last minute lane violators, belching smokestacks and continent size mountains of plastic bags floating in the Pacific.  Beer top rings ensnaring fish and turtles.  Who in god's name will mourn our passing?  What has our exalted race ever done that will elicit a fart's breath of sympathy from our cosmic creators or the next to arrive? Dylan? Please... Guernica?  Do they give a prize for the nastiest creature in the sandbox?  I will miss the hot shaves I used to get from the old italian barbers on Mott street.  You had to totally release while they carefully stropped the razor on the old strap and expertly removed the white lather from your cheeks.  The perfect peach and the near perfect plum.  A santa rosa definitely, with the tartness perfectly complimenting the sweet. Making the perfect pass in basketball or kicking the goal in soccer.  What a feeling.  I played chess with my stepfather every day until about the age of 7 or 8 when I somehow beat him.  He was so enraged that we had to go through the whole game once more to chart his error.  Don't know that we ever played again.  What a victory!  I lived in Long Island for a spell and remember a thanksgiving night where we went to a restaurant and had lobster and the snowy night sky was golden from the gorgeous backlighting of the moon.  You steal such moments and put them away for safekeeping - hopefully you can use them in a pinch. Swimming with the dolphins at Kalihiwai or coming upon the giant crustacean in his crevice  on the huge wall in the Caymans at 120 feet.  The many dogs I have loved, Barfy, Duke, Emily, Odin, Max. A newborn foal, a cactus flower.  I remember getting stoned on my girlfriends rooftop one night in New York City, 21 floors up. Many moons ago.  There was a little deck over the parapet wall and it looked like you went all the way over.  I was showing off and swung over and found that I had miscalculated the spot and was literally dangling in space.  Adrenaline squared.  Blowing things up was always fun, too. Mailboxes gave way to toasters and televisions.  We knew a gun nut with the JDL who would bring his arsenal of machine guns over and we would prune the orange trees with them. An orgy of pleasure. Another guy brought these foam stickons over that had an explosive charge.  If you hit them square with the bullet, the doomed object would fly about 30 feet in the air. Books.  Every time a new book by Roger Zelazny was published, my life would stop until it was devoured.  And getting to finally meet him.  Coming back from Winterland with Ricardo and having the dolphins arise to salute our return to Stone Steps. Making didgeridoos in the Kalalau with Ron and playing them in dark sightless caves. Leslie and I using our naked bodies as tableware at the Miyako with the deep fried bananas. Great kisses.

God bless the manics, who reached for the heights and took the falls, nothing ventured, nothing gained, pity the poor flatliners, who never took a decent drink.  Pardon my rambling - blame it on after effects of the anesthesia.

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