A dip at Hidden Beach under stars, falselight spinning on an axis sweeping between the sounds of falling cans. Contemplate this sacred life. Then hangfog emerging from deep night. Red ant avalanches on the parking lot edges and finally the realization that traffic was forming on the roads because people were going to work. Every morning like this for them : every morning like this for me.

An early walk down to the shore yields two ducks, a young woman meditating with yarn, and the sensation of captaining a ship.

Was in a brawl last night. Cameras destined for concrete. Kids in a pile. Hearing replaced by moted feedback. Broken glass. Fellini’s 8 1/2 and Fight Club. Everyday offers overwhelming beauty but last night was on the edges of my understanding.