Third Eye, Remote Viewing, Memory, Psychic Impressions, Recall, 1750 South Ocean BLVD, Circa 1983 

Instead of imagining the basics, I go further, not only to the grounds but to details. Details that would not matter to anyone, but that matter to me, to see. I went into a trance. I could see that the pool has a cement form around the perimeter and is white and there are black numbers that designate the depth at various places. A wooden structure that houses the pumping system. Thick green grass that meets cement walkways and an Astro turf putting ground. Planters. There is a container of oil that you are supposed to wash your feet with to get off any bit of tar that might have stuck to your foot on the beach.

A wild part of grasses that grow from the sand before the beach proper. You can’t step much barefoot anyhow if long it’s too hot. A towel must be put in the seat in the rental cars the seat is too hot. A newspaper box blue and one yellow out front. Cement fences. A building across that is white with yellow trim. The railings then are aluminum. Not fancy. Utilitarian and for function. Hurricane shutters same colour as railings. Tiles. There are tiles on the balcony floor. But some people have outdoor green carpeting. My friends are from Michigan. They will knock in the first few minutes. They live next door and can somehow know I have arrived. They will ask me to go out with them and I always will. Immediately. Before anything. And we will run in the sun and dive in the sea and be in the pool.

The waters of everywhere will cool and refresh and enlighten us. Later I can smell the iron-on prints in the cool t/shirt shop. The shirt will go on my tan and healthy shoulders. I never use suntan lotion. I don’t burn them. Now I burn in a few minutes. There are people fishing. There is a hedge. A palm tree. Ground lights yellow orange green pink and blue. Shells. A small plane flies a banner. A big plane gets me there. Eastern. Ward Air. Don’t take me away. Each time, I dread the idea of leaving. There is only a day left. I won’t sleep here tomorrow night. I have to go home. Don’t take me home. This is supposed to be my home. Don’t take me away. Just don’t. Don’t. Please don’t. But you did. Sadness. Impossible incredible sunken sadness. 

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