golden

the sky right now. amber liquid and edible, or drinkable perhaps, and the sea, oh God the sea. the waves are leaping, rising high cry then cresting and spraying whiteness as they curl. When this happens the sea pongs. And this huge wave time seems independant of the wind. But there they go, elemental and unceasing, wave after wave yards from where I write - saying yes. I have travelled miles, been so far away, now here it is - land and here I go, giving, the whole thing is so total I can't help but be impressed and wish I could write like that, live like that. It reminds me of the last line of Ulysses which I can't remember. Something about here I go to forge for the millionth time.. which is also a kind of hurling, saying yes, mistakes and all. Living by waves there is no need for television which I gave up thirty years ago. It poisoned me. I felt that as a teenager sitting there five hours a night. Sitting up at eleven pm and feeling as though some inertia that was not me had seeped in. I counted the hours, the hundreds of teenage hours and come eighteen I thought - basta! The amount of people who look incredulous when I say i have no television is amazing. I think, is it not so much more incredulous, that we - human beings - have given ourselves to totally to this entity? Some people I know never turn it off - it's there, buzzing away as they sleep, it's there, chattering inanely while people visit, it's there, trying to sell you this that and the next while dinner cooks. Not only have we married it, we can't it seems, get enough of it. How many channels? You may say - not everyone has waves at their window. True. I had a window once in London near Balham. I looked on this tree. It was the one thing in this view that spoke nature. I waited for spring. It never came. The neighbours killed it, my landlady said, the leaves choked the drains.
Do not kill the waves, I ask. And think, if I cans till look on them with wonder they and their majesty are alive.