i abhor liberals and all those concerned for malnourished snot-caked chocoskeletons that always seem to fill my living room just as the first sip reaches my lips. and piss on anyone who nods their heads along with any accent, any cause, any color or nothing protruding from the crotch area. those soul-barren fuckers can take their third world yogurt recipes and paste them on the backs of their godless pews.
there's an unspoken awareness, for those that have it, to that which flows, that which was integral to the rhythm of progression, to sequential transactions which funnel clarity and the assurances that purposes need not be immediately recognized. and to those that contaminate it, i write this to you.
i sat fully clothed, in summer, back against the sea-oats and residue from tides of stormier days. i did not, though i could have, participate in any assertion of the child in me that wished so badly that they wouldn't stare. my contentment came from the billowing clouds, the roar of the water, the piercing cries of the weathered gulls and the breezes of life which sought me out to touch me with the same caresses of those much more free.
and yet i remained in a state of appreciation. i tried not to apologize for my existence. i was one with the pin-spotter.
to everyone and everything that desecrates those few moments i have to myself... it was yet still a beautiful day.
