Nostalgia struck me hard today, rolled in like clouds and rained on my parade. Sitting on a hardwood floor thumbing through artwork, I was taken back to Big Sur. For those who know this place, know ecstasy. I am back on my mountain with all of my friends watching the sunset where the west coast comes to an end. On top of the world above the cloudline, feeling your soul sink into the sublime. I miss this home, I miss the dirt that cakes onto your hands, sleeping bag, and your shirt. That is, if you're wearing one...because most often than not you'll be throwing off clothes once you get to the top. I can still smell the whiskey on our breath, feel the wind in my dreads from riding on the top of the beast, and the stab of hitch hikers in my bare feet. Goddess parties, topless in the trees, crying, laughing, drunk on eachother's company. Dancing on the roof, Red Stripes and cigars for breakfast, beer showers, and sunburns. It's all there. It's just me that's not. When I die, throw me off a cliff in Big Sur to rot.
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