Pier Through the Universe

Ahhhhh vacations... gotta love 'em. Not so much the coming back and playing catch-up at work, but you gotta give a little to get a little I suppose. 

I was down in Carolina Beach for some drinking, relaxing and general debauchery--chilling with some cool people, beating my liver into submission. There are a number of memories that stick out, but catching sunrise on the pier really left an impression on pretty much all my senses.

So I tried to capture the moment. I wrote this in the course of about 45 minutes on the plane ride home. I guess there's something inspirational about the combination of thin clouds, elevation and Reubens Accomplice on the ole iPod. Anyway, this is what I came up with. Yeah, it's some faggy poetic-type stuff, but if you don't like... gofuckyourselvvves!!! 

Much love. <3

Just moments ago the pier stretched towards nothingness, a nearly-swaying boardwalk reaching out to an oil-black eternity; a long wooden finger pointing towards oblivion, calling our attention to unseen clouds and unknown futures.
 
Now the sky's exploding with morning's manic lightshow while the clouds push the waves towards a waking civilization of buzzing alarm clocks and impending commitments. But we're somewhere in the middle of nowhere and everywhere, secretly stowing away in an untouchable universe; a place where time creeps by, but doesn't make it very far before drowning in the unpredictable current.
 
And even though we drank all the beer, even though we don't have a single bud of pot between us, even though the fish aren't biting, we can't think of a reason to leave.
 
So of course someone's talking about jumping off into the tumultuous Atlantic breakers and letting the ocean decide which way tomorrow is... 

if tomorrow has a direction... 

if tomorrow even exists. 

I keep myself from acknowledging what a great idea that sounds like. But out here we're beyond the reach of good ideas. We compose our own brilliance to teach each other. And I'm not talking about the pretty southern girl explaining the discrepancy between waves and nibbles as felt through the handle of a fishing pole. I'm not talking about the color and shape differences between groupers and flounders. I'm talking about the understanding that can only come at an inebriated, sleep-deprived 5am; an understanding that pulls endearing accents from the air like evasive sea creatures from the water; an understanding that this time is the only thing that really matters.
 
Because this place is a collection of wise words explaining the reason for disappearing shorelines.
 
There are still ghosts out here, loved and unloved, standing right next to me, leaning against the same rickety railing. But we all want the same thing, and that's reassuring enough.
 
There are people I wish were here and people I'm glad are washed up on shore with the rest of reality. There are signs in the forming clouds explaining the sun's motivations for granting us this photo-shopped, postcard imagery. There's a sweet girl sleeping only feet away on the hard, damp benches. There's a break in the conversation between two old friends as they accept the inspiration of this cinematic moment.
 
So I take a breath of the new silence, letting the sea salt touch my lips as I climb up on the shivering railing... 

and steal someone else's great idea.