As the sun rises over the cup of coffee under my nose, I am contented in the fact that the day will be whatever it wants to be. The sun will set and rise again.
In these new decades, all the plastic and new paint. Shiny things everywhere and no green… It is important to remember (or maybe forget) that none of this is the true “style” of humanity.
Humanity flows and ebbs… It runs from the lightest cup of Joe to the darkest, richest expresso… It sways but stays rooted, grows with no remorse.
Flat Florida blue skies remind me of this. Miles and miles of nothing but a few chemtrails…
Florida style is very similar. We ebb and flow down here.
There is a picture in my mind of a group of friends hanging around a table in the tiny kitchen of an old apartment. Bottom left corner of this icon of eighties architecture forgotten by the future. Green algae creeps up the gray stucco wall, rising out of the grass and reaching for a new home. Kudzu competes.
I’m looking from a distance, into the dirty kitchen window and can just see in the gold light, one of the guys. Long, frizzy hair. Brassy from years of washing in iron rich well water. Mustache the same color and a mouth full of smiles and laughter.
Plaid shirt joint rolling going on… Everyone is having a good time in there.
Later into the night this little group of three Florida Men will head out into their world. Looking for adventure in a place where no adventures can hide! I love a good cliché…
This world is an oyster.
All the world is a stage and all the men and women in it merely players…
One night in Bangkok…
The sweet smell of orange blossoms on a salty breeze… Just at the right time.
Yes we get lost, but we also get found.
Over and over and over again….
He is looking into the eyes of a mad Israeli. Not angry, crazy. The eyes are wet and glittery.
The Israeli man looks like something out of the seventies. Gold rings, bracelets and chains drip from his fingers and gleam off of his ultra hairy chest. An impressively gross display protruding from his open and expensive button down shirt.
The man was shiny all over, laughing and sparkling in the dirty smoky air of the Shark… His aura and presence did not belong at all, yet… It did. He was actually exactly where he belonged at the moment.
A fat dancer took the stage. She slowly stretched a big leg up onto the pole and hung on while she tried her best to bend backwards in some semblance of sexy.
It was impossible not to notice. She was doing her job.
Apparently the man and the Israeli shared a woman, a wife actually, and had no intentions of running into each other here tonight, but here they were. Friends even. Smiling and patting each other on the backs.
It was a short, possibly awkward, situation though, and the man in plaid with the brassy fuzzy hair was gone. The Israeli man left to ponder over his glass of thick liquor.
Out into the sweet, fresh air! Breathe deep and long, reeking of the smoke of a thousand years and God knows what else.
The three men headed North, A1A a blurry, starry space trail…
The hotels loom high over the roads, curving in like they are being seen through a convex lens. Everything is stretched and weird looking. Leaves mix with the beach sand and make it even stranger…
Why are there Maple Tree leaves in the sand? Where is there a Maple Tree?
In the search for the trees producing the leaves the men eventually found that they had wandered into the end of a very long line. Wondering where the line went and commenting to each other that there were definitely no Maple Trees here.
A limo pulls up and some eighties celebrity wows the crowd with their presence. They killed some time debating over which one it actually was and their name.
The booming through the wall next to them got louder as they approached the open doors but it really went unnoticed to the people. Backdrop to the conversation…
Inside the door it is cold. The lights are all blue and white, and the painted concrete floors of the ancient former department store do nothing to add warmth. Black and blue walls. The bar stretches long down the left side…
The thumping is loud. Can’t tell if it’s your heart or the bass… Strobes flash, girls way too young strut around. The dudes tried to recall why they came here as they try to get across the room to the bar.
It’s a fucking long room… It takes forever. Thirsty as hell now. They all hate this place, they want to fight over the Maple Tree fiasco.
2 beers each please. Chug one sip one.
On the way out the door someone yells about a stolen phone. As the bouncer tries to stop the guys (who don’t have a stolen phone) they duck out and run down Seabreeze to the river.
Too old to run. All that work for two beers wasted, huffing and puffing they collapse on the grassy bank.
Staring up into the midnight blue starry sky, they wish they had a joint and wondered how they were going to get all the way back to Holly Hill. One guy decides he’s not going back to the apartment, he’s heading down to Cocoa to spend the rest of the week.
No one cares, there ain’t shit in Cocoa… Orange groves, spaceships… The conversation ebbs into little green men and skunk apes.
Don’t get ate up by a skunk ape man! The guys laugh so hard, the one going to Cocoa is not amused. Drunk, he gets up off the ground, salutes his buddies and starts walking off down the road.
Sayonara man… The fuzzy haired guy waves a little at the air and his friends disappearing backside.
Time to go home. It’s hot anyways…
The two guys start the long walk from the beach over to the mainland, maybe they should call a cab…
This would be debated until they reached the apartment….
And now one says what did I just read? What, why?
There is no reason, no why says Florida. Droves come and go. Mass hysteria is a precursor to every land boom.
We take the rich and the poor and sit them down at the same bar together, in the same church pew… One must accept their Humanity.
The Human Race Resides Here.
As the strips of red, firey clouds fade into a brilliant orange and blinding yellow skyline, one realizes that this place is very special.
Our world, our space, this entire entity we call Earth and the Human Race… It is all we have. No human architect, steel beams or concrete can ever rebuild or recreate it.
As we head into the future, maybe we should all adopt a more Florida style attitude, which is in fact, really just the attitude of a different decade. A different time, different feeling. Relax, and change the world through friendships, contacts and dreams realized.
But it’s always good to mention that it helps to have a dash or sprinkle of wildness. Not necessarily crazy, just a little wild. Taking that chance, being ready for a fight, making mistakes… That’s the real spark of Florida Style…
Always Unpredictable.
The Known is the Unknown.
Peace.