23 Minutes Ago

3:21:00 PM

《《Sunday, 1:13 AM, July 9th
Omg Thank you so much
Love u so much
Been a ride
Seeing u all I feel a bit lost in the crazy fire I live in

《《Sunday, 1:20 AM, July 9th:

Miss u and everyone so much

》》 23min. ago

Been feeling similar, old friend - lost. 
Or, at least feeling like that morning when we (Big Dave, Taimoor, and I) pulled up in Key West after tripping on LSD all the way down US1.

We went straight up to the "Sothern-most Point" Buoy. The National Monument was empty. It still seems odd for it to have been painted like a Rastafarian flag.

Before the tourists began showing up, this guy with a Panama hat and overalls rides up in a bicycle. He stops near an old wood door covering a dug out in the Colonial Spanish masonry; rusted, cast-iron strap hinges. 

He opens it after a few turns of the combination lock while still straddling his cycle. He smiles at us and says, "Morning! Great day for The Lord to come, don't ya think?"

I looked at the untroubled waters. Dawn was about to break, and then it did - dawn. A grain of infinite brilliance hadn't been there, and then there it was; It was beautiful, but it hurt to look at it.

I felt the presence if Cuba ninety miles ... just over the horizon like a harvest moon can feel close enough to touch.

He introduced himself as William. He said that the harbor master let him store some things in that locker. We each played a round of chess, and we all lost the five-buck wager.

I reckoned that he was right, unequivocally. It certainly was a great day for The Lord to come. And, then he did - The Lord. 
I felt His Mercy wash over me. I took a deep breath of the brine mist that had just splashed up, and I felt safe. Untroubled for a split second. Calm. It was remarkable!

I have felt like that in these last few days, except without being suffused in that sensation of immediacy ... lost. Forsaken?

The mood sounds like that Joni Mitchel song, Chelsea Morning, but played on a stereo with one speaker busted. It really is at the moment - playing but one of my speakers broke.

Complete verses with that dulcimer voice hollowed out and far away ... Like a ghost in the other room where the screwdriver and tape to fix speaker is stashed in some bin; like what I imagine a phantom limb to feel like or exactly like the taste of the blueberry pancakes I ate yesterday.

The mood will pass ... it always does.

Love always.
Brooklyn, NY

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