friday on the beach, never getting to the point, so what’s the point?

from the land of grifting lizards.

the parking lot had something like ten cars in it. i spotted a black lexus (suv) when i drove in that i was sure housed the eduardo cianelli-sounding guy who looks like omar sharif and as i began to walk toward it, a dodge caravan blasting reggaetonpulled in, one spot away from it, all full of people and noise.
we had a reggaeton video shot in my store a long while back, some relics remaining on the wall in the sculpture garden; the bunch of babies bound to a four by four square of masonite by nail and twine, stage right.
they (“reggaeton” – something i just remembered was the name of the record label) turned our inside stage into a bedroom. they turned the basement next door into a horrorshow of intravenous plasma works all over the dingy, decayed space.
it reminded me of the horrible hospital scenes from jacob’s ladder, a film i find myself thinking about again and again.
the director told me it was a love song.
we never got a copy of the video.
shucks.

i turned and walked away laughing. i wondered if the all-knowing lizard con-artists knew that was coming, but i’m sure i’ll hear the answer next time we meet.
they (those greed-hound human-wise-ass rube-eating con-artist lizards) might be enlightened visitors from across the solar system or whatever, but like anyone or anything else, they seem to need to lord themselves over other life-forms pretty much the way humans do (any way they can).
there are people i know who shouldn’t have pets.
there are people i know who shouldn’t have kids.
there are other people i know who just shouldn’t be.
but for the moment, i’m talking about lizard, con artists who are on this planet to prey on greedy, conscienceless turkeys whose only life-directive is to take.
they might be as dumb and oafish as we are.
they might be seething with anger because they know what i’m thinking as i walk away from the music-filled purple dodge van, maxx by my side, heading to the path that leads to the beach and dunes.
what’s more, i know they resent the humans they don’t eat for their ability to become timeless and boundless and how they can glimmer and spark and fizzle and glint out there on “the eighth-electro-plasma-ocean of the ninth dimension”.
powertrips are universal and eternal, i guess.
i was on one, right at that moment.
my first brush with eternally universal powertrips of utmostness occured in catechism class in the second grade.
every wednesday at two o’clock, i would travel seven blocks from my public school, p.s.153, to religious instructions class at st. edmund’s school. that’s where this information would be first drilled into my head.
this was different from what my parents, my crazy grandparents and mrs. rock and mrs. greenberg, my first and second grade teachers were telling me about who and what i and this world around me, was.
months later, i would receive my first communion.
months after that, i would begin the third grade no longer in p.s.153 but in st. edmund’s school where i had gotten this high-falutin’ information.
months after that i would get run over by a chevrolet walking to that school after a lettuce and tomato sandwich with mayonnaise.
or was it baloney?
is it all baloney?
growing up (physically, at least) i would mockingly refer to the auto accident as a subconscious response to being transferred from public school.
who knows why we do what we do?
god knows, that’s who. it said right there in that catechism.
and santa clause.

but i digress.
when i walked with maxx onto the beach, i knew that my big dog would not be able to frolic on the beach.
i thought of the photo i found yesterday on my old hard drive from when i had one of those i-books;

this photo is why i got my unscheduled dog. that’s what he was.
unscheduled.
like what love is.
but onto now and the beach, the flies and where there is no hint of the big tire and probably never will be again; of terns and monarch butterflies and the wind coming off the shore that urges the tide, with help from the moon and mother earth’s menstrual cycle in a gravitational jamboree, the electrical charges of hard drives, human and otherwise, ringing phones, buzzing modems, dishTVs, powerlines across waves of corn and wheat, bodies and sand, rivers and streams, tears and laughter, death and life, never sure which is the ying, which is the yang, laying on a hardwood floor, staring up, listening to that high-pitched hisssss, wondering if it’s radio from dimension caterwaul where they might be into that sort of thing, kids today, those crazy…..cats, but wait….i keep finding myself disappearing from the shore and….and……there’s too much of a chance of maxx being distracted by humans, yet another link between us.
he, unlike the grifting lizards, is fine with making a meal out of just about everybody, so he remains an extension of my left arm.
both he and i are “loose cannons.”
on this beach there are still far too many humans lingering about for the both of us.
and flies.
there’s still a world of flies attacking and harassing poor maxx wherever he walks. they land all over him, his jaw snapping and clicking as his only defense as i gently swing his leash over his body from side to side, sweeping the flies for a second before they return again and again.
this is the case until we get to the shoreline where we walk with the terns.
the terns know i hold maxx close and we all walk together.

the autumn and the grey and the cold will level the playing field.
it always does.
maybe other things will matter later.

About stephen trimboli

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