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Fuck Perfection

Ive always wondered how the surfers can stomach the frigid Pacific waters, especially when the air accompanying them would be nearly unbearable if one got excessively wet. There are photographers capturing the waning sun, families and couples out with their dogs, reveling in the placid weather as their animal companions relish the chance to exercise their legs and nascent instincts. Joggers and sprinters dot the sands, appearing and vanishing in the oncoming fog. We are ensconced within the safety of a thick, grey blanket, splayed about on top of a pale white sheet, both courtesy of our gracious yet overbearing employer. Shared heat, that of warm bodies and boiling passion, sustains our comfort. Your head resting on my lap, long toned legs reaching out for the ocean, and my toes digging contentedly into the gentle, malleable beach. I gaze out past the horizon, my eyes searching for a ship I know will never return to this port, calling out to me to board, lest were late for more adventures overseas, more battles to wage and freedoms to defend. "Are you okay?", you inquire, peering up at me innocently. Of course I am baby. I've dreamed of this momemt whilst trudging through the snow, deftly dodging hail and invisible black ice. I'd sit, enamored by the fantasy played continuously in my minds eye while adrift in Neptune's cerulean realms. A beautiful girl, possessed solely by me, unafraid of both distance and debauchery. I'd lust with tears of frustration and yearning stinging my eyes for the shores of my native California, while I froze to near death in my arctic lodgings onboard. I've navigated the world to arrive here, at this exact point in time, this eternal destination. Time is frozen, if only momentarily, as your auburn eyes, smoldering with love, meet my beleagured thousand yard stare. So I tell you, have no fear of the ocean, it calls us both. Answer that invitation with relish. Were hand in hand. Past all of the uncertainty lies prosperity.

Undeterred by the icy air, I tear my shirt off and run into the incoming swell. As the soothing water laps over my feet I have the sensation of stomping, not tiptoeing, over coals, destroying all timidity. All of the anxiousness, strife and discomfort of the past few months has melted away, leaving only acceptance and excitement in its wake. In your search for seashells to give as gifts upon your return to the South, I can see you fully, your purity and beauty unobscured by awkward effort or diluted by misplaced anger. A broad smile graces your face, and as I take you in, Im reminded of what love is. Exploration is the focus of tonights misdeeds, and sequestered in this nondescript coffeeshop, being luxuriously kissed by the evening wind, I recognize the crackle of excitement. The night beckons, and wherever it takes us is a mystery known only to those who trek its forbidden path. I fondly recall the times when our pockets were limitless, the affluence endless. We'd hole up in a beachside motel, fortified by Budweiser and Jack Daniels, eager to discover where we'd end up. But now, on the precipice if poverty, at least for a week, we recline candidly, partaking in tea and silence. Regardless of the outcome of all of this, when I said earlier that you were the best girl Id ever known, I meant every word.

Perfection is fleeting, ultimately an unwholesome illusion, a mirage for the world weary and those parched of reality's oftentimes brutal lessons. There have been several instances in my short life where Ive felt the need to crouch down alertly, carefully maneuvering the shattered shards of my broken life, hoping in vain that I could render them complete and joined again. Alas, it was a fools errand. The bits of glass from my exclusive portrait of what my life should be were made of fiberglass, not a vibrant mural adorning a proserpous, sophisticated artist's gala like Id mistakenly believed. I feel that all of our plans are like this at their core, the delusions and ramblings of a narcissistic ego. If we really are nothing more than specs on this planet, insignificant microbes in unforgiving dirt, then why stress at all? But this view is entirely to defeatist and pessimistic for me, and I refuse to surrender to it. So, caught at the crossroads of obsessively cataloguing every little detail to ensure it meets some grand vision for my life, ironic in its finality and exactitude, and resigning myself to irrelevancy and irreverancy, to the apathy commonly reserved for nihilists and coddled hipsters, Ill forge my own path. Im from California, being Type A doesnt mesh with my laid back sensibilities, yet completely disregarding all responsibilty and choice in my existence, chalking it up to "Life, maaaaan", as I take another bong hit is unforgivable, ingratiating weakness, completely anathema to who I am as a Man. So, for the time being, Ill lay back and sip my tea with you. Earl Grey and Peppermint of course, deployment tea. Memento Mori.

The throes of perpetual indecision can be crippling, completely flattening a man's resolve. With my friends being flung to the viscissitudes of variance once again, I find myself returning to ancestral habits, proven, tried and true. Grin, smirk, and smile at the ready, Im eager to meet new people, to replace the vacancies left by constant continuity, the debris of life as it pushes ever forward. With my heart on the mainland, love bonding and binding us, I will walk with the unknown once again. Bittersweet elation nips at my heels, reminding me of the change closing in. Oh, but I am a master of that now, and I meet that challenge with a fiery spirit and gritty hands. Ive not only learned to dance between the raindrops, but to drink from them as well, to bend them to my will. Paradise does indeed await, but its taste will be dulled until Autumn intermingles with Summer. Until then, we train, fight, read and compose our symphonies. We bleed and sweat aggressively, raging against the decaying world with rebelliousness and fury. Does it fit with the commonly accepted wisdom of what two people in our position should do? Of course not. But these arent stringent rules, and even if they were, they'd be damned. What good are the decrees of rules to the outlaws? Bonnie, draw your gun. God knows you wield it better than me, Im a boxer.

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