The kids are still asleep. My girlfriend stayed at her girlfriend's house last night. I'm listening to "Elysium Mons" by Palancar on iTunes ambient music radio. It's almost eight in the morning. I'm on myspace. I'm almost done with "Empire and Robots" by Isaac Asimov. There's this spacey, empty beach vibe going on. The music has changed. So quickly? Must have been the end of the song. It was odd to hear an ambient song end so soon. An appropriate name to the new song: "Tidal Transmissions." I'm on a deserted beach. There were millions of people hear a short while ago. Where is everybody? The sun is glinting off the sea giving a silver look to the shore. There's a buzzing. It's constant. It's loud now. Soon it will be soft and distant. I know I'm alone. The sand on my feet doesn't give in to my weight. It cracks a little, and freedom oozes out. It feels cool and soothing. As I'm looking down, the horizon unscrews. The truth is unveiled. I can't understand. The music has seamlessly moved to railroad brake screaches and I'm frightened. Something is following this sound. It could be my fear of being lonely, or my confident regret of nothing, coming back to haunt me. The ooze has hardened and I'm stuck. I've sunk ankle deep and it burns. The horizon has shrunk like vision on drugs. I arch my neck back and I open my mouth. I stop breathing. I sing without a reason. I sing without a song. A thousand voices are heard. Each distinct and unforgiving. Some wrap around me, softly. These are whispers of dreams lost. Dreams that never had a chance. The rest blast into my stomach with enough vitriole to make me double over. I know these to be a taste of what it's like to be on the receiving end of an unnecessary tirade. Retribution. Payback's a bitch, I've been told. I hug myself. I see one of the voices. It looks like heat coming off a hot ground on a hot day. It's all around me. I'm in vibrating phlegm. I'm calm and composed. The vibrations tickle me. I don't laugh. It's stroking my insides. My body feels tight. This voice is trying to swallow me. So, here I am, on this lonely beach. Stuck in ankle deep, hardened ooze. Wrapped in my own arms. I'm bombarded with enough aural onslaught to wilt the Garden of Eve. My voice is unearthly and torturous. I'm encased in vibrating phlegm. My daughter has just woken up. My son will soon follow suit. Breakfast will be eaten. Plans will be made. Good times will surely ensue. Love is everywhere.



Eventually, I'll be back at the lonely beach. Hearing my lonely voice. I always go back.
-Dan