Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Beach Gutter

Setting up the final pole in my tent , I felt the male and female ends, as soon as they were put together, split away from each other. I broke a tent pole. Fuck! I had no tent repair kit. For the rest of the night my abode would have what we referred to as the "gangster lean". During the night I woke to a pool of wet tent floor and wet sleeping pad, steeping in a puddle. I realized that in my drunkenness I set up my tent on a slope and what must have been a “beach gutter”(an avenue water travels down when you set up your tent like an inexperienced ass hole) The compromised integrity of my tent, along with poor site selection, found me awake during the most uncomfortable night of the trip.

One learns lessons based on, as I so articulate and eloquently call "retard fuck ups"

Before the Thunder Slapped

We watched the grass kneel in it's faith to a water that shrugged it's uninterested shoulders past it.

The sun began to drop behind the tree line and fracture into slivers that divided the river into a keyboard of light and dark.

We marveled above it, our eyes full of coors tapping out the contention that ;

ones life is built upon experiences like this.

only the writings and sketches one leaves behind is what one will be judged upon.

How you express yourself, inspired by such moments, is what defines you.

Above the treeline tarnished silver dollars stacked. The sound of thunder slapped and quickened our set up of camp. Tent poles become increasingly disagreeable and rain-flys flap with an unsettled fervor when darkening clouds ponder their course.

(and we lie in it)