A Coney Island of the (Lost) Mind

There is so much to say and, at the same time, not much to say. It is not that the desire hasn't been there, or here, to write about my life lately, but rather that the time is not there, that those moments where there is a desire to reflect and document my current life are often not the moments when I am capable of writing here, are instead normally moments out walking on these increasingly warmer streets or riding on a train to here or there. But there is that, the slow onset of Spring that is happening, and that is a pretty major thing, making every day mind boggingly awesome at times. I am still a giant chicken in a store window in the West Village. That is still totally absurd and will last for a couple more weeks, after which I am not sure. I joined the city gym and have been going to use the bikes there pretty often. That is another source of happiness. There are my friends, there is Tolstoy (who, yes, I am still reading), and there is music that I hear and that I dance to. Today, I went to Coney Island and after dancing to ragtag marching bands, I smoked some weed, touched the ocean, and then lost my mind for a couple of hours. Watching this marching band dance down the beach while stoned was something surreal, conjuring up some Fellini scenes, completely magical and absurd looking.