Ocean Surrounds (HWY-1 Revisited)
Stoned morning-glow crowned in two days ago’s blonde-billow beach hair.
Snared. Time for a comb.
DAMN.
NEW DAWN,
NEW DAWN,
NEW DAWN,
NEW
DAWN
NEW
DAWN
NEW
DAWN NEW
DAWN
NEW
DAWN NEW
DAWN
NEW
DAWN
𝛀 𝛀 𝛀 𝛀 𝛀 𝛀 𝛀 𝛀
𝛀 PEACE ON EARTH 𝛀
𝛀 𝛀 𝛀 𝛀 𝛀 𝛀 𝛀 𝛀
STEAL IT FORWARD:
I’d taught a baby the phrase “Las Fronteras Son Imaginarias,”
Good-good-not-bad
uncle, so Dutch I’m split, so Dutch I’m sunk.
Reggio
collaborator.
REGGIE O. JAX.
irregular
We’d throat-sung two-tongued in a tunnel, entombed in the purr-promised exoticar roar thronging and throttling the Pee Cee (h)Aitch:
HWY-1
1
1 1 1
1 1 1 1 1
ONE ONE ONE ONE one one one one
(infinite delay)
WHAT’S SAID IS DONE &
most of what’s said’s tone — that’s what makes this whole exercise difficult.
YOU SEE,
YOU SEE,
I don’t know what you hear in me.
I don’t know what you hear in you.
I can’t very well make it clear to you.
I can make it up. But I can’t make it up to you.
For you. For you. For you —
THE GOLDEN BULL WILL GORE YOU.
NOW,
if it were up to me — and it isn’t,
I’d paint a portrait so pleasant,
So pleasant,
GO LIKE:
Baby don’t know what a landlord is,
or money,
Baby never voted in a sham election,
never yanked a lever for some shit that’ll never,
Baby hasn’t yet met baby that wasn't baby,
Hasn’t.
And then, you know, the sense-making exercises begin . . .
▷►▶︎
I’d set out for Pacific Palisades on a rare car trip with the windows dipped and the FM dial tuned down low to what remains of the collegiate, loyally mounted, Tom Tom Club’s “Genius of Love” first on the universe’s agenda, thought to myself — you know, it’s odd that no one’s fucked with this one in a while, tweaked it, worked it around, seems like the kind of thing that’d be a BIG HIT
right now, easy squeeze, hm hm hm.
↺↺↺
I’d set out for Pacific Palisades on the bare life tip with the busted cat and the fix-it ticket, rotors clicking, underinflated and winging it, 405 to paradise, take me all the way, a million lanes wide.
↻↻↻
I’d set out for Pacific Palisades —
⬙
Let’s ride.
❍
◭◮ ◭◮ ◭◮ ◭◮ ◭◮ ◭◮ —
And I found it, them.
THE PALISADES:
pulpy and fortified,
beach-bodied improbables
and among them:
PEACE AND HER ATTENDANTS.
Haze-gold strolls, pre-rolls, smoke invocation.
Catch-and-release
tractor beam
revisitation.
👽
We burnt the day through & the night streaked early fluoro red twilit double carmine.
BEACH RUFFIANS
The shoulder-mounted baby’s exploratory kicking foot raised a clatter in the budget chablis and got us Kicked The Fuck Out of a Gas Station, “your money’s no good here,” despite the dryness of the non-incident, inducing a particular nostalgia IN US ALL.
SHIRTLESS SHOELESS STUPID and OUT OF SERVICE,
in little blue Diadora shorts and a dopey grin,
“Man this time I didn’t even,”
and it doesn’t matter.
💙💙
JQD
RETURNS - - - >
Trip home called for a swing up-dial when the indies and college kids went on a slump run.
KDAY
’s on break,
keep that dial going
up, up,
where you
don’t dare
< - - - until you ♡ the shit out of some very
corporate
radio
right here right here right here right
HERE
,
NOW
,
where the 10
begets the 110
begets the 101
gets your ass on home . . .
You find yourself at 107 point who knows, 105 point something,
who could ever care or love any of this.
And what awaits?
Well?
Do you like it when god laughs to death at one of its own telegraph teases?
A ha ha ha ha.
A ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Ha ha ha.
A
ha:
Left to insanity,
indistinct from prophecy.
A precog broken on the wheel, snap-axle.
Split.
Sunk.