Let’s overturn these tables
Disconnect these cables
This place don’t make sense to me no more
Can you tell me what we’re waiting for, señor?
Bob Dylan, Señor
Today someone left messages at Its Beach – two rocks painted blue, one of which said “Dream” and one of which said “Be Content.” I think these inspirational calls were fueled by Lay’s Potato Chips and Coke and Pepsi, because whoever left these rocks appears to have also left their trash. The lovely woman with the two Basenjis picked up after these dreamers.
The tide is high again, but was remarkably low earlier in the week – low enough that Lily and I could walk all the way to the arch. Low enough that, for the first time, I saw bird tracks in the sand before the waves erased them, tracks that ran about like pipers, but appeared too big, more gull-sized. The kind of seaweed that pops very satisfyingly when you step on it was strewn about. Rocks dotted with anemones surfaced. We enjoyed a beach on which you could walk for miles, but the arch is a conundrum, as the water doesn’t appear to angle in its direction. Many things at Its Beach defy rational explanation. My personal Bermuda triangle.
Meanwhile, our national nightmare continues. There appears to be no waking from it. The Republican Party is operating from the same bad faith that has characterized them for decades and it suits them now to have a president that is venal and vain, dull-witted and doltish, cruel and criminal. The bigger problem, the problem that can never be solved, is that so many of my fellow citizens like that about him. I don’t see any way ever to Unum this E Pluribis.