With traverse opinions of destination, walk can send its subject into trance. Face-off, beachtime, shutterspeed; I follow the wind down the beach Small town off in distance, like radioactive spark, result and reason. I fill in each hard fragment of sand with my situated step. Rhythm and promiscuous eye, dance with vigorous girl, engaged to freedom., Phallus and thought. Man and his toy plane, laps overneath my head. I get to a small river cutting out of the beach. Sacred snake with true latitude. Locust cutting up and biting my lip to observe the scent of the stars that will take up the heavens in hours few to future. I take with me a small breadstick and pen in a zip-up bag, and long hours ahead. The earth moves and for while i walk with my eyes shut, electromagnetic quantum interaction of purples and reds among the blackness i see on the interior or my eyelids. Plastic bag hits my foot, startles me out of my communiction with intensity. The town gives up its distance and I awake to a pub crowd, kindergarten actors shaking shadows in the sun with smoke beer girl and boy by the beach. Infinite lake waving background, google eyed push-biker intwined in whiskey in foreground. Taste breeze and crumbs and im far north from home and homage and all social appreciation and all friends and all memory and all occasion. I am as alien as time-traveler or raven among the seagulls, perched inside my industrial inner scene - pipes polution fantasy illusion. Snap out. Illustrious end of world desert "hey bro" Im sltightly less a stranger. Tall man, friendly beard, drinking cold beer on the wooden table outside the bar. He offers me a ciggerette, a take, light, smooth. "Yeah its a nice bike hey, been riding up the coast for 3 weeks now" Oh, evocative traveler. I stay sitting while he paces up and down the mid height bench seat like confusion. Rather, he is alight with the road. Every waking moment lives up to itself through his glasses. I sway to the local bookstore and pick up. Familiar words in Timbuktu. Distinct district. Lavish green and red biuldings, 14 year old girls are strutting hard near the water, faces and body mature. Grown up, probably already fucking. I wish i was 14 till I see Vicky. Vicky stands near the fountain on the beachside park. Denim, red beads, villain sunglasses. High. She touches my side like a feather and my blood branches into clots and my ticker throbs inside. She has sunburnt lips but that doesn't relinquish her seasonal beauty. She kisses like a frantic shiver in spines and wrists. She blinks twice and unkeys my wavering ghost. I finnish my wine and we walk. Vicky hates olives. Likes Nick Cave. Doesn't hold and political opinion. Can never finish a book so prefers magazines, is frustrated by her mother. Im Gone. Im not falling in love today. I breathe back along the coastline in which i came from with a decadent smile and a small but lifting spirit. Radio-waves become visable in the setting sunlight. When the moons appears I sit on small driftwood and contemplate cuttlefish and the river reeds. Ruthless seaside small minds small bodies small grids and midstrength telepathy videoing into mind chapel. A reasonably good day for a reasonably completely aimless self.
Spelling and punctuation need a little work. This sounds like a narrative, but it keeps lapsing into free verse. Your feelings and perceptions do get through, but your use of phrases like "with traverse opinions of destination" throws the reader who expects a meaningful use of words. You have to know the general meaning of a word before you just throw it into a sentence. Some careful editing could make an enjoyable short piece out of this.
