Their drunk by the time I get there, and that time would be somewhere in the neighborhood of 2am.
" Mikes, head is bleedin, I thought we were gonna die...juss come down the rope when you get there, were on the beach."
The Rope, knotted in three foot increments, is fasted to a tree, threaded through the chain link fence and drops 50 feet onto the beach, below the Manette bridge.
Greg's neighbor smokes a cigarette in is his pajamas and wool cap. He heard some funny noises off the cliff, I say they are trying to convince me to repel down and get stuck on five feet of beach with seemingly no way to get back up.
Am I gonna do it? Well, hell yes, I can't let them have all the fun! besides, someone's liable to get hurt if I'm not down there with them. I clamp my fist around the rope and lean back, all my weight over the dim precipice beneath, trust my hand will stay clamped on the rope and lower my self down.
"Are you past the Point of No Return, yet?!" Greg yells up. I am see his teeth shine in arch lights from the bridge, his lunatic grin. He loves the thrill of the PoNR and wants it to gobble. Yeah, I yell, rocks shower own the cliff, below Mike's head bleeds onto his collar. He's smiling too.

I shaved my head a few minutes ago, I'm skating my fingers across the bristles and the wind seems all about my ears. I wanted to remember something, an ethic perhaps, a feeling, or a Being, something I can't pin down. To focus, to let go, to simplify; something was so liberating about buzzing the brown mess off. The thing is, I'm starting to wind back up with this place and the million trillion things it would have me be and do. It comes back slowly but soon a little show of worry rests on your head and laughter is startling sometimes and, do you know what I mean? I feel the distractions, like styling my hair, and what time is it? and all the things to watch that are useless and all the things to do that are useless. Now I can feel the wind on my skin and gee willikers, it is refreshing, brings me back.
Because there is work to be done, to quote Marcus Auralius,
" I am rising to the work of a human being."
What is my work as a human being? I am only finding these things out, but they are unveiling themselves, but they also must be sought. That is what I'm trying to remember by shaving my head. What it is I'm supposed to be doing.

Mike barely made his train back tp Portland.

I drop Bridget off for rehersal. She looks cute.
I cruise up to Broadway, intent on munching some Dicks cheeseburgers now that I can scarf greasy goodness without Bridget wondering much trans fats are in my mustard or something. I feel good. I feel really, really good, and I turn my Mariners hat around, forwards, which I never do.
And I'm just feeling good, lockin the car door, and I have flip flops that flip and flop in the rain water, which ripples in a gust, leaves shake loose and I'm feelin good.
I hunker to the orfice cut in the plexiglass and smile and ask how much for 2 cheesies and a fry.
4.22
Dang, I shake my pockets out to the tune of
4.10.
You win some and you loose some, I say, 2 burgers I guess.
I pay her,
2.87
and pony up the bar and open up my bag. I look up and she is smiling, and blushing a little, feeling the exhileration of her actions and feeling the bloom of my knowledge against the plexiglass. But she doesn't look at me, she just shakes her head and thanks another customer. Two burgers and a bag stuffed full of fries. A guy masticates a Delux across from me and I eat my first burger in three bites ruminating on the fact that sometimes you do get what you deserve. I've nodded my head to the saying that only fools can expect to get what they deserve, but maybe thats not always the case. I have to think something of my general happiness I felt as I leaned close to the plastic portal comisserated with her happiness, and what she felt the impulse to do, she did.
The guy who was masticating a Dicks Delux is now masticating a shakes with a spoon. I'm feelin real friendly, and I make some good natured remark about the state of the dope dealers and he laughs and agrees. I like to people watch too, he says. Yeah, I say makes up plots and motives, try to fit a few pieces together. Yeah, he says, do you know where I can get the hook up on some Bud? That's beside the point, the point is your not in Venice beach anymore, you're in Seattle, if you want some weed just hang out for a few minutes. I read yesterday that Marijuana is our no.3 cash crop in Washington state. Giving apples a run for their money.

So I came home and shaved my head.
It's good to be back, this is the first I've sat down to think and write for a month or two and the first blog I have composed in nearly two months.
My story hasn't stopped even if my corespondece has slowed, life is as full as ever. I'm still getting used to our perticular culture and my new self.
Soon, very soon I shall my website up and running, and soon my old blogs will be retroformatted and videos are bein edited to episodes and plans are being laid down in the universe for furture travels.
Until then, life shall explode forth each day still. 

Yours,
JoshyWashington