Can I Be Henry Miller in Big Sur?
This winter has been unrelenting in dumping ass loads of snow upon NYC. Here are some beach scenes on film I dug up from my recent trip to Big Sur to lift your mood. (Actually my mood.) More and more, I'm developing a Millereqsue view of New York.. for better or worse. In actuality this opinion probably lends itself more toward homesickness and shitty weather than thinking "On Myrtle Avenue... down this street no saint ever walked." In any case, I ventured down the Pacific Coast Highway with my friend James in tow, to pay homage to one of my favorite authors. Henry Miller, the late and great smut-lit god.. who found a home in Big Sur.
Taking in Big Sur for the first time was breathtaking, and at this point a visit was long overdue. Being a California native I can't justify this in any way except for being stupid for not having gone earlier. The state park took James and I on two trails; one ended in a clearing with a waterfall, and the other a sweeping valley vista. We saw some deer crossings where tiny baby deer who went jaunting in the brush.
Once seaside, the swell was enormous as it was late in the day. The crashing waves were powerful, and for as much jollity they held they were quite peaceful too. Since the beach is so secluded there was but one other man on the shore, sitting by himself on a large rock where the ocean foam comes in. James and I watched him from a higher point as the tide grew and grew. At one point we feared the poor man would be entrapped by the water, but he jumped to safety in a split-second moment of shallow surf.
It was peaceful to be out in the sun on a warm winter day with sea mist on my face... keen on wasting the day away in a place so far from San Francisco -- geographically but more so psychologically. However, for as far as Big Sur is from the Bay Area, it's light years away from NYC... and perhaps where I want to be more and more these days.
Selfie taken on 35mm film posted to the internet, what do we think about that?