Trippin' on trip hop
Travellin' through the Bristol underground
Clean rhymes with a devil on top
Music made to pierce the dark shroud
And break the usual mold
Keepin' time to take all the gold
Hopscotch trip hop
Kept the balance, a steady hold
On the social consciousness
Human rights and common sense
Random acts of kindness
Develop and envelope all of
European
You're dreamin
Of syrup and teacups
Wallop and mock up and lock up
You better stock up
Your stronghold
It's about to become my abode
...

Divine Comedy?

Beverly Beach was named after the toy doll of a rich land-grubber's daughter, well I don't know if he was rich before, but he certainly was after the State bought the land that he owned that is now known as Beverly Beach. I walked along Beverly Beach at 2:30 at night, alone. It was the most raw and exposed moment of my life. I wonder what it is about the night that makes the strength of the ocean especially noticeable. I felt at any moment the sea, the black universe, the full moon, or some sadist was assuredly going to swallow me up and end me forever, and I was accepting. I kept walking along the beach and had to travel over small streams that bled from the rocks on the east side of the beach and flowed across the sand into the tides. I'm sure I was just walking in the past footprints of another person who had the same ideas as me; there was some kind of bridge at every stream. My heart was dinning in my chest and I contemplated all sorts of life happenings with the half-sky of stars and the top and bottom oceans. Because it was night time the amount of brain activity was far less proportioned towards regular visual stimulus, and so my imagination took control. It was like I was in a dream, walking along the beach, but I was living it at the same time. In a sense I was doing what everyone else was doing at the same time. I could see, all along the dark western horizon, small soft blinking points of light. These were fishing trawlers and they were in abundance. The fishermen at sea brought to me broad ideas of freedom and dependence, at the same time, on something that could so easily kill you for your livelihood. They all had families that were dreaming, almost as I currently was, in houses on the coast. I kept walking. I walked with the lantern off and in between my elbow joint and the flashlight also off in the same hand. I was walking in such a defensive and insecure manner. I was very scared and thrilled by the ocean, which enveloped all of my audible sense but none of my visual. The entire time I could see in the distance the giant, phallic, Yaquina head historical lighthouse, which definitely pulses omni-directional light periodically instead of constantly shining while it turns. I had no intention of walking to the lighthouse, I didn't really have any intentions at all, but it seemed particularly beyond intention because there is no way to reach the lighthouse from the beach. I meagerly decided to walk along the beach until it became impossible to walk. Mostly I hadn't given it any thought because I was in a state of awe and inspiration the entire time. Things developed as they did. I got to a point on the beach that the tide was coming all the way upon the cliffs of Yaquina head, so I could not walk on the beach any longer. Again, I was in a state of awe and was not really planning anything but I wanted to walk some more, so I climbed up the eastern wall. It wasn't really a wall, it was actually pleasantly sloped at most points and had really soft ground with no major rocks. And I climbed to the top of the wall and the top of the wall is someone's backyard. So I walked through someone's backyard at about 4 in the morning (the beach is like 3 miles long) and I was wearing all black and right across the highway a sign marked the 1/4 mile mark towards a state police station, so I took my time. It was around this point that I decided to turn this into a do or die covert mission which aimed at setting my bare hands on the walls of the Yaquina lighthouse. I walked along the highway and frequently scouted behind me for any possible threats, mostly threats from human sadists. As well I ducked and lay still in the grass to the side of the highway whenever trucks or the occasional car drove pass. After creeping around a motor coach RV parking grounds I found signs that led me in the direction of the lighthouse. At this point I was in Newport which is five miles from Beverly Beach. I continued to follow the signs towards the lighthouse and continued to frequent my backside for any threats from human sadists. I eventually made it to the toll booth and the entrance gate to the lighthouse peninsula (peninsulas are also phallic) and no one was in the toll booth but non-motorized vehicles were freely admitted. When I came to the gate it said "Entrance Prohibited While Gate Is Closed" and it was a low gate so I just stepped right over it because I had come this far and I was going to lay my hands on the base of that giant phallic lighthouse no matter what. I continued to walk along the narrow, windy, hilly road for about a mile until the lighthouse came into view. I read all the signs posted. I also viewed Newport along the coast and saw a giant light source floating in the ocean that would creep closer to land and eventually disappear at around 5:30. I touched the base of the lighthouse, it was big, and stayed on the paths to help preserve the vegetation. The danger wasn't over yet, there could still be a post at the toll booth waiting for me to come by or possibly patrol the area and find me so I was still in it. I walked back to the toll booth and no one was in it. The danger still was not over yet because the people whose backyard I had trespassed through could be awake and I was going to trespass through their yard again. They weren't awake and I trespassed through without anything to prevent my trespassion. By now it was around six, night had passed and the once power of clandestineness that the ocean had was gone. Also, my brain was busy focusing on visual stimuli so most of the surreality and dream had gone. This trek back along the beach seemed much more real, along with less inspiring, safer, and nostalgic. I actually saw two other people on the beach, I don't think they were a couple, but if they were a couple they were an unaffectionate one. I often retraced my footprints in the sand. When I neared the arch of the bridge around which were my campgrounds I looked back at the lighthouse, and I started cursing at myself because it was so far away, asking myself what the hell I was thinking doing crap like this. It was around seven in the morning and I had walked at least a total of 10 miles. One of the 3 best spent nights of my life. The end.