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Inaugural Beach Visit before/after I became "that guy" this weekend. I drove fifty miles to go to the beach. I woke up early for saturday, which is to say I was up by 10:30. Took me awhile to get my things together, but I got on the road, opened the moonroof and was driving with a flagarant disregard for the local speed laws. The car felt alive in my grip. It was a sunny day with some clouds spawned by the land. It was a good day for the inaugural beach visit. I went to a good beach, to my spot, a place that holds karma for me. Its a bluff, a sand dune before the beach itself stretches out into the great lake, with the multi-hued blue as far as the eye can see. My spot is a place you're not supposed to go, just on the edge of the trees, a trail through the sand past the sign that says, 'do not enter, erosion control', tempts my inner juvenile, don't tell me not to do something or I will just to see what its like and why its prohibited, and up the hill and you can find my spot. I pulled into the park and was the first one there. The park service wasn't even collecting fees, but I paid at the self serve station anyway. Stealing my way into a karma marshalling point could marshal all the wrong juju. I need all the mojo I can lay my hands on. I got out to see the temperature, then pulled the car around, got my trusty black back pack and white blanket I pulled off of my bed in haste and desperation, thinking I gave back the Indian blanket that I had in the back of my car unbeknownest to me, and was on my way past the sign. I looked at the ground. Virgin. I was the first foot to despoil the sugar sand. Won't be the last. White trash children know no bounds. [and this puts me in mind of another freak occurence that happened here once. I was sitting on the beach, minding my own buisness, outrageously high on killer sensimilla ( way beyond talking to people) when a child went missing. I saw the whole drama unfold around me, the distraught mother crying frantically, her sould rent, begging people for help, the crowd getting agitated, the white trash children running up and down the tree lined peak of the dune, their feet thump-thump-thumping against the sand their voices echoeing in the strange stillness calling the child's name, the mother finally making it to the park service people, and them actually coming out with a megaphone to organize the milling crowd into long lines holding hands to sweep the water looking for the body of the small child. Someone coming over to my incredibly stoned ass and asking me to help, and me saying something like, "No...I'm good," feeling a little guilty but distrustful of social pressure, knowing somehow, in my heart of hearts that the child was not dead, was in fact fine, and wasn't in the water at any rate, as I had been staring at the waves for the better part of a couple of hours not even really blinking a whole lot, me taking pictures of this strange social phenomenon, getting scowls from those in the water, looking over at the only other person on the beach not to pitch in being this attractive girl, darkly dressed, and wonder, 'ye gods, what weird kinda' hell have I wandered into this time?' Given time, the child was found a few miles down the beach and brought back to the relieved mother. I overheard it as I slunk out to the parking lot to smoke more grass. Later they announced it to the crowd. Four or five people, of the hundreds, applauded.] I made my way to the top of the bluff as the sun beamed down, took picture after picture, then went down to my spot. Wasps buzzed around but didn't care about me. I threw my blanket down in my spot, which is an excellent vantage of the beach and somewhat hidded from the crowd and I looked around. Not one soul on the beach. I was the only one. Took of my shirt and lay down, lulled by the rhythym of the waves. Soaked in the sun as I heard the voices start to gather off in the distance below me and up the beach. I rolled over and dozed. Felt like I was hugging the earth, loving it, and in its way, it was loving me, too. Rolled over again and saw a hawk fight with a crow. The crow was working hard to be that high, but was more manuverable. Feathers were scattered and in the end the hawk flew high and wide with majestic wings and soared away, out of the reach of the other bird. Wrote a couple of poems and then decided to leave. I thought about strutting shirtless past the now assembled crowd, past the milfs, bored housewives and other girls. My body has been really looking good lately. But this smacked of vanity. So I didn't do it. Didn't even go down to the water. I already had received for what I had come. As I put on a disc and pulled out, a milf wandered out into the parking lot. I read her lips. She said, "Oh! That guy."
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