around here the waves break heavy and often
(the following entry has been pulled like organs and body parts from a dead journal of mine who checked organ donor on the back of it's license)
things have been confusing lately, to say the very least.
i feel like i'm hanging at the tip of the cigarette, where the embers slowly glow, burning wild passion, then drifting for the floor.
last monday casey hull and i carved across the state of florida like a bomb thrown into a volcano:
gauges, eyes, clutch feet and knuckles all aimed like quivering steel barrels in the worn hands of a soldier tanned with pacifism; we swung our compass across the atlas towards tampa; our pockets stuffed with daisies; our barrels gaping like fish waiting for flower-hooks to swallow rather than ribcages to bite, or clavicles to cleave through.
we were both pretty ravaged, physically, emotionally, mentally. summer doles it's toll out heavy early on, and romance tends to burn off as quickly as lover's spit on the sidewalks.
we were charging towards tampa for the braid reunion tour. i got a ton of pictures here, but the film hasn't been developed yet. bob and damon both came out to find me after the show, commenting on my "energy" while they were playing, and both of them called me out, recognizing me from two years prior in boynton. those pictures will be up shortly.
afterwards, josh simkowitz, kelly willy and casey all split like bananas en route to orlando for the next night's show.
my plans however, were to chase the next few hours deep into the heart of sarasota's timeless, memory-devouring social climate. like a bar of soap in the shower, i spent the next 72 hours trying to forget how much i loved remembering the miserables of my life back home. i shook out the western sunsets with my fingers dragging siesta asphalt, feeling west palm beach exploding at every single-second interval.
it was torturous, but every morning was another beautiful day to be sad, and just as mosquito bites love to be itched and scabs yearn to be picked, i filled cameras with flashing memories of the things i'd rather not memorize and wondered how close i could come to dying before my blood would finally pump like waves again, tireless, beating the shore, retreating to slowly trollop again back in for more.
we went to the mall one day and i stole a Cake tape, immediately afterwards and for the rest of the trip, including the whole ride home on monday morning, nothing else would play in my car stereo. the early hours of that monday return trip burned like a pancake griddle, reminding me that there was nothing more discomforting and overbearing than the sharp juxtapostion of your emotions with the extremes of morning summerweather.
dan, keegan, ricky, dan and i had a really great time in sarasota though. i managed. the photo essay which follows will detail some of the finer moments, a rare and gentle euphoria streaking like sparks from the tip of a nearly-dead firecracker.
tomorrow marks my official departure from west palm beach as a resident, as i begin my life in gainesville. yeah, basically, I’m in college now, I’m moving out, and i'll be living on campus at UF. essentially i'll only be 4 hours away, but for some, I’ll be 4 hours closer, or whatever, i often wonder, whether half-full or half-empty, if there's even a fucking glass.
there are things i miss, and i've said it before, but instead of wasting away my wonders, i'll start to remember, assuming instead, that they're all dead. i'll see you guys when you get there.
.peter
"locked legs,
tangled toes,
filtered fingers,
eyes sadly glow."
the boys of sarasota summer: (left to right) dan falconetti, keegan mcduffie, ricky mottola, peter salinas
the peter and the demon, roof gazing
demonflip
peterflip
seth took about 400 pictures of me naked for some reason
"sedate like ted lavandar,
make me a real feeling."
cheers