"they" keep on the sunnyside...

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(i may have to go into hiding due to what i have exposed)

sunnyside road aliens ....

super heros are made from rad dudes and cool walls

JR.... pretty much the raddest dude alive.... we went to a show... and then found this wall

 

together, jamie and this wall are unstoppable.

untitled and rocks

i just returned from my usual morning visit to the ocean. each day i go i expect it will become more of a reality that i can recognize. But as i walk down the tree covered path to the shore i feel as if i have been transported to a world that i only read about in books. similar to that of bridge to terabithia,  i feel as if i have swung the rope into a magical land that is completely my own.  i sit for hours pretending the different stories in my mind ( and when i say pretend i mean i think about them and actually believe them to be the truer form of what i am experiencing). I pretend that the rocks are magic. i pretend the land visible across the sea is full of magic, danger and adventure. i pretend that in it all i am the hero or villain and the world is completely for me to conquer or destroy. 

sometimes i pretend that the millions of rocks have suddenly become the currency of the world and that i am among the first to stumble upon the great treasure. 

yesterday i met a older man who also shares my passion for rocks, but with quite different theories of their origins. he was telling me that the sun has consciousness as do all the other planets and that the sun, one day in a rage, expelled all the rocks we see on the beach from its core down to the earth. 

i pretend to believe him.

fact, fiction, truth, or fallacy, have all become irrelevant to me in that space. each story is as valuable, and each has its certain day where i credit it as the explanation of finding myself in such an extraordinary space. 

tomorrow is a mystery and as such, one i look desperately forward to. 

'And blessedness goes where the wind goes,

And when its gone we are dead; 

I see the blessedest soul in the world

And he nods a drunken head.

w.b. yeats