California
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Damn you, Aquaman There is a kind of hunger for free time. Real free time. Without the damn dishes, the weekend laundry, or any chores whatsoever, without feeling pressured to write by my own OCD mind and just read any of the books I feel like reading, or paint. Or write. Or all of the
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Shove it in with a shovel-spoon One bag of macaroni shells A stick of butter A block of orange (radioactive orange) cheese THESE are the things that subdued my anger, my sense of indignation at the world, and put an end to my whining to this very day. These three things my mom combined when it
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Sand and Budweiser I wasn’t sure it was a good idea at the time, and I couldn’t have been more than six. Uncle Vince, a family friend who wasn’t my real uncle at all, once held my brother and I by our ankles over the roof of a K-Mart while it was still under construction
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My coffee overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Rain drenched Big Sur coastline. Soupy slate blue sea smashing against the craggy, fog covered edge of California. Smeared across Esalen are crowds. Milling quietly to and fro. Nervous energy in the air, but it could be just me. It probably is just me. Tried to write in
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I am Seaside, California I’ve not always been the safest place But you see my glowing potential My sidewalks are seeped in the souls of the world More than any other Peninsula city, I truly welcome all And your soul makes me so much closer to perfection Energy blows in the clouds that spin in
Patrick Whitehurst 