In a sense, it is indeed my life that I am staking here, a life that tastes of warm stone, that is full of the signs of the sea and the rising song of the crickets. The breeze is cool and the sky blue. I love this life with abandon and wish to speak of it boldly: it makes me proud of my human condition. -Albert Camus “Nuptials at Tipasa”

Jumbled voices…bodies pressed close…the vivid death of a setting sun. That evening comes pouring back in a hazy darkness of dizzy rushing water and the lethargy of torpid, tropical humidity. Gobbets of fine balanced against grains of white sand and the musky scent of cheap white wine.

A specific thrilling freedom emerging through the recognition of insistent innocence-projected-through-shadow, cast by the touch of warm flesh pressed close.  We parked, running, strewing our clothes…stopping in our primal nakedness to collapse-expand; laughing at our desperation to feel the distance of a new place and contain the prevalence of ego.

It's the one on one, for the first intense minute, that makes life seem so much more tangible, highlighted, as if all that energy floating around and about were suddenly pulled close and forced into a single from of visual presence.  It's like the first symphonic track of a mescaline trip, each sound-texture-color blindingly separate and yet so much more in the complete experience of moving toward one-ness. One might designate it (THE EXPERIENCE) a crucifixion of sorts, or perhaps a loss of ego, recognition at the very least of humanity, so sickeningly prevalent, so disturbingly predominant.

As we flirted in those primordial waters, brushing mind and sex against all that we fought to grasp as real, I found myself laughing again at our innocent singularity.  Then the world stopped and you turned your head, glancing at me through shattered water - our hands met, through the fractures of those broken transient pieces.  From this space we could only run faster and faster - that vast open water pulls us up, I spoke in thought, "Like Icharus ascending or something," holding us in limbo until the heat of our consciousness melts all motion.  Plunging closer and closer to a final resting place again of flesh recognizing only flesh.

That evening comes haltingly to mind as we crowd into who's room…realizing our innocence has settled with our consciousness in the movements of a stranger.  Stale cigarette smoke, orange bathroom stalls, and questions which we can ask or not ask or persistently forget to find.  But finally it comes to those simple realizations:

When you gonna make up your mind

When you gonna love you as much as I do

Cause things are gonna change so fast

And there can be no obligations.

Float or Fight

Float or Fight

Betrayal In Four Acts #4

Betrayal In Four Acts #4