It is august again, and I am back in Cape Cod, the place where wilson summer memory is as rich as this here salty marsh air. I've been soaking in the old haunts, surfing at the first ocean beach I ever went to, making a big drawing of all my G.I. Joes that are like wounded vets living in my attic, listening to my back catalogue of mixtapes that dwell in my parents mini van (I listened to a tape yesterday that I made in 5th grade---nirvana, primus, rage against the machine, ministry. an entirely relentless playlist) ...it's basically the biggest indulgence of nostalgia ever, and it's the yearly retreat that keeps me ticking. In a couple days I'm going to visit the old camp that I went to throughout childhood and teenagehood (which should be especially meaningful now that I've located my purpose as channeling my inner camp counselor in all things that I do). So good.
These visits are steps sideways in time, to look backwards a bit before stepping forwards again, hopefully with a decidedly more direct gate. This time around I traveled without a digital camera, feeling like breath of analogue air, so I'm deciding to use this break to slow down and catch up on some backlogged photos. Hope everyone can find some ageless space this august. see you in september.
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