the beach
As anyone will agree, the beach in the summertime is as beautiful as it is relaxing. Waves forming, each precisely unique in it's size, but as a collective they crash against the sand with unparalleled uniformity, one after the next like a clock counting the seconds.
All depends on how you're looking at them.
Of all the places I know, the beach must be one of my favorites. And wouldn't you know, after months, maybe years, of wanting; my dreams finally revisited the place or relaxation, and provided a much needed lapse in the usual gauntlet of nightmares that I would normally find myself running.
My mechanic friend Mike was there. I'm pretty sure my brother was, too. It wasn't long before mike found a length of PVC pipe just shorter than myself if stood up. Maybe 6-7 inches in diameter, and hollow.
It had been washed ashore by one of the smaller, but somehow perfect waves. As it had already proven it's buoyancy, Mike decided to surf on it.
Now, before y'all come about and condemn me because you can't surf on a PVC pipe, let me make it plain that I understand, both now, and at the time I witnessed it, the impossibility of this task being executed. But he was having a lot of fun, and it was my intention to go next, so I let it slide.
It wasn't long after this that the most gargantuan waves began to roll in, one by one, from the horizon. I was excited, because everyone on the beach had to run. The waves, once they crashed onto the land, sprung forward with such bubbly turbulence that my favorite coat was swallowed.
I remember my only thought, as I ran past it being, 'Oh, no, it got wet.'
I think I got it back and threw it somewhere safe.
After than, the setting began to change gradually for the rest of the dream. Most of the people had gone, and it had become dark. Despite the normal symmetry of night and day, I somehow knew that it was early in the morning, and the sun had yet to rise.
And so I was traversing the long stretch of sand, presumably with my length of PVC pipe and a definitive intention to ride some water, when the most beautiful girl I could ever have hoped to meet crossed paths with me.
She had vibrant lime green hair that glowed like cosmic gas. Just a few shades darker, perhaps, than plutonium, but it looked good any way you cut it.
That's a hair pun.
What happened between us, be it a dream or not, is my secret to keep, but I will go so far as to say that her arms wrapped around me like a python made of silk and feathers, and in that moment I was as blissful as a thousand forests sleeping on the moon.
It took everything in my not to fall desperately in love with her. I didn't want to seem pathetic, you know. Needed to be calm and cool.
And in all reality, that was probably the correct choice. After a few of the gentlest kisses I had ever shared, she divulged to me that she was from Canada, and wouldn't be around for long. I think we were in California somehow.
I tried to get her number, and write it in the sand until I could find a pen, but it was absurdly long even for another country, and was subsequently lost.
And so we parted, knowing full well that we may never meet again, but it was ok. I hadn't fallen in love, although somehow I did love her, and who and what she was. My heart beats faster at the very thought of her... of course, that could just be the caffeine in my morning tea hitting my blood stream, but I would sooner assume the former.
It was one of those dreams that is going to make me sigh and smile for a long time to come.
Not to be so conclusive about it, because that wasn't the end of the dream, but that was when the beautiful girl left.
After that the sun had come up, and started to wane towards evening again. It was then that i noticed a disturbing abundance of lawn chairs, all gathered and full of people like theater seating at the water line or just in front of it. I was trying to PVC surf again, but the pipe had become broken and jagged at one end, and some cranky old babushka with her family started shouting things at me in Russian, or maybe Spanish, that I did not understand. She looked Russian, but she sounded Spanish, despite the fact that I know some Spanish and could not decipher a single phrase she spoke.
I knew what she was saying, though. It was something like, 'Hey, you, with the jagged tube! Fuck off with that thing, you're going to hurt someone. Don't you see all my kids over here?'
Someone came up to interpret the Spanish. He looked like my old boss Miguel. I couldn't understand a thing he said, either, so I just stopped paying attention to any of them and continued on my merry way to find somewhere to to ride my makeshift board.
It wasn't long after that the scenery warped and changed again. There was still sand, but there was a movie screen in front of all the lawn chair-people now. The film playing looked like a documentary; probably my dreams educating me. It depicted an old trading post-style thick wooden log wall, but on a much larger scale, and sturdy like a castle. It was explained to the audience that the wall had been built to keep the ocean at bay.
That's a water pun.
I realize now that this might tie in to the sub-aquatic apocaliptica dream I had, but at the time, I didn't rightly give a fuck. I peeked behind the screen, and discovered that there was indeed no way to access the water from there, so I left what had now become an enclosed theater, and searched for a way around.
I strolled haphazardly through a restaurant, and could almost see the water from my new vantage point outside it, when a man with short black hair and an attitude akin to that of Jack Black approached me. He needed some help in his shop, which was one of the buildings next to us, so I let myself be distracted, and held up an off-reddish metal plate with a smooth, bumpy texture (something like a golf ball) while he welded it to the bottom of a machine.
Turns out, he didn't have enough material left on the rod to weld the whole thing, and he had to start over.
And that's when everything started to wobble like those little black carbon snakes you get on the fourth of July, and I found myself back in my bed, as usual.
All depends on how you're looking at them.
Of all the places I know, the beach must be one of my favorites. And wouldn't you know, after months, maybe years, of wanting; my dreams finally revisited the place or relaxation, and provided a much needed lapse in the usual gauntlet of nightmares that I would normally find myself running.
My mechanic friend Mike was there. I'm pretty sure my brother was, too. It wasn't long before mike found a length of PVC pipe just shorter than myself if stood up. Maybe 6-7 inches in diameter, and hollow.
It had been washed ashore by one of the smaller, but somehow perfect waves. As it had already proven it's buoyancy, Mike decided to surf on it.
Now, before y'all come about and condemn me because you can't surf on a PVC pipe, let me make it plain that I understand, both now, and at the time I witnessed it, the impossibility of this task being executed. But he was having a lot of fun, and it was my intention to go next, so I let it slide.
It wasn't long after this that the most gargantuan waves began to roll in, one by one, from the horizon. I was excited, because everyone on the beach had to run. The waves, once they crashed onto the land, sprung forward with such bubbly turbulence that my favorite coat was swallowed.
I remember my only thought, as I ran past it being, 'Oh, no, it got wet.'
I think I got it back and threw it somewhere safe.
After than, the setting began to change gradually for the rest of the dream. Most of the people had gone, and it had become dark. Despite the normal symmetry of night and day, I somehow knew that it was early in the morning, and the sun had yet to rise.
And so I was traversing the long stretch of sand, presumably with my length of PVC pipe and a definitive intention to ride some water, when the most beautiful girl I could ever have hoped to meet crossed paths with me.
She had vibrant lime green hair that glowed like cosmic gas. Just a few shades darker, perhaps, than plutonium, but it looked good any way you cut it.
That's a hair pun.
What happened between us, be it a dream or not, is my secret to keep, but I will go so far as to say that her arms wrapped around me like a python made of silk and feathers, and in that moment I was as blissful as a thousand forests sleeping on the moon.
It took everything in my not to fall desperately in love with her. I didn't want to seem pathetic, you know. Needed to be calm and cool.
And in all reality, that was probably the correct choice. After a few of the gentlest kisses I had ever shared, she divulged to me that she was from Canada, and wouldn't be around for long. I think we were in California somehow.
I tried to get her number, and write it in the sand until I could find a pen, but it was absurdly long even for another country, and was subsequently lost.
And so we parted, knowing full well that we may never meet again, but it was ok. I hadn't fallen in love, although somehow I did love her, and who and what she was. My heart beats faster at the very thought of her... of course, that could just be the caffeine in my morning tea hitting my blood stream, but I would sooner assume the former.
It was one of those dreams that is going to make me sigh and smile for a long time to come.
Not to be so conclusive about it, because that wasn't the end of the dream, but that was when the beautiful girl left.
After that the sun had come up, and started to wane towards evening again. It was then that i noticed a disturbing abundance of lawn chairs, all gathered and full of people like theater seating at the water line or just in front of it. I was trying to PVC surf again, but the pipe had become broken and jagged at one end, and some cranky old babushka with her family started shouting things at me in Russian, or maybe Spanish, that I did not understand. She looked Russian, but she sounded Spanish, despite the fact that I know some Spanish and could not decipher a single phrase she spoke.
I knew what she was saying, though. It was something like, 'Hey, you, with the jagged tube! Fuck off with that thing, you're going to hurt someone. Don't you see all my kids over here?'
Someone came up to interpret the Spanish. He looked like my old boss Miguel. I couldn't understand a thing he said, either, so I just stopped paying attention to any of them and continued on my merry way to find somewhere to to ride my makeshift board.
It wasn't long after that the scenery warped and changed again. There was still sand, but there was a movie screen in front of all the lawn chair-people now. The film playing looked like a documentary; probably my dreams educating me. It depicted an old trading post-style thick wooden log wall, but on a much larger scale, and sturdy like a castle. It was explained to the audience that the wall had been built to keep the ocean at bay.
That's a water pun.
I realize now that this might tie in to the sub-aquatic apocaliptica dream I had, but at the time, I didn't rightly give a fuck. I peeked behind the screen, and discovered that there was indeed no way to access the water from there, so I left what had now become an enclosed theater, and searched for a way around.
I strolled haphazardly through a restaurant, and could almost see the water from my new vantage point outside it, when a man with short black hair and an attitude akin to that of Jack Black approached me. He needed some help in his shop, which was one of the buildings next to us, so I let myself be distracted, and held up an off-reddish metal plate with a smooth, bumpy texture (something like a golf ball) while he welded it to the bottom of a machine.
Turns out, he didn't have enough material left on the rod to weld the whole thing, and he had to start over.
And that's when everything started to wobble like those little black carbon snakes you get on the fourth of July, and I found myself back in my bed, as usual.