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Sunshine Sunshine… Feel it?

May 24, 2012

I woke up this morning and the birds were chirping. You know what I’m talking about. And even in my brief psychological breakdowns full of paranoid delusions and psychosomatic illusions it can be easy to sit back and relax.  After you silence the two ears, the mouth, you can smell the air– fresh.

Some breaths are better than other but they are still all better than others.  Sometimes I get so involved in the keyboard I forget ‘to let all this soak in around me’, I guess that’s what this is for.

I have been all around the world. Seen the architecture in Europe with my Amsterdam buzz, then India was a whole nother’ level, but the grass still tastes the same.

The air.

I’ve been to the Grand Caymen Islands and swam with sting-rays and seen the nude beaches of the Florida Keys, smelled the ocean in more than one place and it’s not all the same.  I’ve had my feet in the broken shell shores of the Atlantic south-east and the toe-jam mud of the Ohio, if you’re not from here, at’s the river. Lakes upon lakes I’ve swam, but nothing is as refreshing as a walk down my street.

I’ve been swimming in Cozumel Mexico where I remember all inclusive signs, invisible, above the bar and thinking back to the first time I stepped on a plane; feelings.  The eleven hour car rides to Hilton Head for the family vacation at the hotel with the ocean view, I’ve had more than I deserve.  Those car rides pushed something into my view, perception.  Without it I might be just the same, but no matter how far I go home always feels the best, no doubt.

Have you ever been in a 10+ hour car ride hung-over from a week of spring break—music, dance, live—and been out of tea, then you know how things can seem, I know troubles right..  Have you ever been on a road trip across the boarder to Canada with your best friends? Go sleep a dream in their fields and make you never want to come home, or at least make you think.  Put yourself in the car when your breath smells like tea but your pockets are clean, hear the stomachs rumble from fear and munchies, look in my rearview to the backseat and see sweat building on the brow of your best-friend, waiting for the customs adgents to say “aboot.”  Thinking that thinking will only hurt me at this point, then you drive past and the car raises two inches because of the weight. 

Those are the things are I remember with my eyes, with my ears is something different.  Have you ever thought if you close your eyes for ten seconds and Breath in, really breath in—not just the motions.  You can feel the sand in your breath as you push it past your lungs into your body.  The moon light of the sky shines threw the skin on your lids, and the world seems in place.  Next time you close your eyes, next time you need to get away, just do what you did that one day on the beach and the light above your desk will turn into our moon above the ocean, your toe-sox into gloves of sand, your tie into a rape whistle.

Nothing can take away the meaning you give to things.  If you give the smell of fresh pizza the upper breath on vacation, smelling the same thing on the work day the body should enjoy.  It all seems worth it when you can take that feeling with you any where. If I am taking just one thing with me Home or anywhere else I occupy, I will keep the air.

Nothing like it.

You can see the way it treats the trees, moving each leaf into place, like a warm palm moving down the soft skin of a womans’ back until there is no more room, gently placing it in motion as the roots move only the slightest.  Lifting birds up high and combing the legendary bluegrass there really is no better place to breath.  Shadows move on the streets as people walk by, breathing, and clouds are only seen my passerbyers. Everyone from here knows the suns always burning hot even when the weathers bad nothing could convince us it anything thing but a phase, or a product of the Valley. 

All your ears can say is slow down, balancing what the heart is pumping and what the legs are doing, the brain is always stimulated, and stimulating, it really is a utopia of persons and a smorgisborg of personalities, solidarity in effect– joy.  All growing off each other I can see from my stoop that no one in this place is alone.  We all are looking for that air I think, everyone on earth.  We are just the one’s lucky enough to realize, we can’t go wrong. 

It’s like…

Have you ever felt the kids playing in fountains’ energy, seen the light shine as they open their eyes then take another breath and chive on?  The free entertainment is almost over-embellishing for my loathing self, strained brain, and self induced stress; all this going on inside of me as I walk into the court room to settle business– beautiful.  As I pulled up only thinking about myself and my minor infraction [fake ID, resisting, drunk in public, newsense] which would accompany minor time, thinking about how fragile my own mental state was, thinking about my Mom having to bail me out once again, then seeing one pair of kids playing I thought— It felt like everything was going to be okay.

That was a couple years ago now and I stamped my name in the record books, again. Yes, I was the first person to get choaked out by the guy who ran the duck-duck-goose booth at a Parish Picnic and now I was, thanks to the late Gatewood Galbrith, the first to get my license suspended for a non-driving related incident, in Kentucky.  As for that feeling those kids gave me, I couldn’t forget if I wanted to.  So blind to the world in the best way and so keen to emotional pleasure– due to lack of impression or installed innocence–, and they say kids are looking at a worse future than I, shiit. 

If I could think like a kid playing in his* fountain, believe I’d never stop dancing… but I don’t imagine that being too hard to imagine.  As for the duck-duck-pond guy, who’s to say? He could still be out there, lurking around the shallow waters waiting for a kid to try and take too many prizes. Pray against or learn karate.


– Brad

Ps. Gatewood was one of the men who will get marijuana legalized, period.  He told me to smoke a joint instead of drinking, and I thank him still.  Still, he will be remembered as a man who stood for what he believed, dying as “The Last Free Man in America.” [COPYRIGHT, TRADEMARK, ETC…] Image


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