With a stoners intensity I hawk the waves crashing in. Settled a dirty blue, on the move a murky green, coming in a stark white. The waves sonorously telling you the mood of the ocean. Reminding you that it has both the strength to nourish and destroy. This is what we are made of. The rest of the world is on the other side.
The beach is magnificent, even if it’s filthy New York City water.
Trust. A thing we have in one another, while we take turns frolicking in the sea. Sometimes never speaking a word. Just being in the same vicinity creates a consensus to look out for each other. I jump the waves knowing no one will steal my belongings.
An old man pulls his thong down, leaving enough cloth to cover his junk, for the sake of an even tan. Cellulite, varicose veins, stretch marks, stomach rolls and more, no one is judged for the skin their in. Collectively we understand that beauty resides in us all, one way or another. This is the beach, let the relentless glare of the sun kiss your flaws before the eyes of others.
Many mini islands in the sand made of makeshift terrain: towels, mats and sheets, sometimes tent forts. We bring the provisions that bring us elation. Nobody complains that the music’s too loud, nobody gets angry at the people smoking marijuana, nobody fumes from the alcohol consumption.
I love the beach, it is a slice of the utopian pie we hope to achieve. Where we accept everyone’s differences, without trying to infringe upon one another. An ideal world.