I'm sitting under a blue umbrella and listening to some jam from the 80s and I've got sand on my feet and I'm really sleepy and the air is warm and my brain is firing slowly and flooded with colorless chemicals that make me feel empty and exhausted and I just  want to feel alive in this reality in physical fucking reality and I'm looking around at all the people on the beach right now laying side by side holding hands or not and no one is sitting alone and I'm slave to this stupid fucking phone and this stupid fucking outlet that isn't real. this isn't real. this space isn't real. Life isn't just about thoughts floating in space. Life is about actions and reactions and collisions and touching consciousness. Where is my body? I can't feel my body. Fucking grip's gone numb. The cells will die. Thoughts cannot replace blood. There's a boat on the horizon, with a white sail. There are people on that boat probably, but I just like the idea of a boat on the sea. But fuck that. Fuck loneliness. Romance isn't supposed to be a tragedy. That whale probably died and it's tragic.