Monday, January 30, 2012

Sand under my feet

Waking up into that terrible sinus headache familiarity which means I guess it went away for a while, since the summer maybe, but now, now will it ever? Go away. Rushing out of bed for diarrhea -- oh, I need a vacation from this vacation. Outside, someone’s smoking in the designated smoking area, help -- that's where I wanted to sit in the sun to welcome the day, but then I realize oh, I'll just walk to the beach -- shorts and a hat, nothing else, not even contact lenses and as soon as my feet touched the sand I'm somewhere else, I mean here.

Everything looks more beautiful than yesterday -- sure, muted because of my vision and maybe that makes it all softer too. I did this in San Dimas too -- went on a walk without my contact lenses in. Actually it's kind of fun. As long as no one tells me they want to kill me, it's always important to know where the threats are coming from.

Oh, the beach -- I wish I could live on the beach. I've gone through in my head, but no, I don't think there are any beach towns that are culturally bearable really. It's always been my ideal space, though -- and then I moved to the desert: plenty of sand.

Santa Barbara doesn't seem as tacky as yesterday -- in Santa Fe, everything is fake too, but it tricks you with the weirdness and wildness. Here it's all Spanish colonial palm tree California capture. Somehow there are still too porn shops, though. In one the employee is an unfriendly woman who looks at you like you’re trash, and the wrong men in a dank hallway smelling of smoke with a sign that says no smoking, big rooms too where you could fit 10 people comfortably, but not these 10 people, please. At the next one, there's a friendly guy working, flirting with a girl who acts like she's never been in a porn shop, but no one else. You can walk out the back, or the front.

On the main strip: sports bars and places that look like they sell vintage clothes but actually it's just costumes -- flashy facades, cheap interiors. Or, cheap facades, flashy interiors -- what's the difference, really? The air is thick with the highway nearby, actually now I'm walking underneath it, and even when I get to the beach everything still feels clogged.

But then there’s today -- this is after State Street, fog or clouds rolling in and I need to get back to the beach, get as much sand under my feet as possible, while I'm here.

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