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#peelgrimage to Southern California, I shot an odd assortment of images, some of which you may have already seen on Instagram, others I've kept quiet. Follow the link and take a look.
Ups and downs. Like a heart monitor at the hospital. You push on the pedal. Time travels. The plateau passes. As the sun begins to set you see a city at some distance. Tall, dark towers. Smoke stacks and skyscrapers. Etc. An ever important part of the process. Producing. Reproducing. Consuming.
You find a place to park.
If you wondered what matters most, that thing that’ll wake you up from some kind of drug or alcohol induced delirium, you need look no further than the peeling waves of the Pacific. The sound of surf. Waves crashing over round rock. It’ll take everything in you. You’ll pull your face from that pink sparkle pillow that your mom made you. You’ll put pants on. A shirt. You’ll climb out of the van and rub your eyes, your brain trying to bang its way out the back. The sun shines. Bright, with big shadows stretched across the parking lot pavement. You’ll wear a wetsuit. You’ll stumble over the stones.
You paddle your Pig.
The first one won’t work. Tired. Alcohol still in your system. A fuzzy spot in front of your face. An hour will pass and then, like a dial turned to ten, you’ll connect. Section with section, lines across the face, trimming, tip-toeing toward the tip. Words you’ve used to describe your experiences once or twice - wasted words. As this experience, this blip on your terminal timeline, will disappear into the distance, just as the road rolls on endlessly at times. With no city in sight.