get your ass kicked by ocean. get beat, get born. glide on the surfboard with torn up toes. pay later, thrive now. hike to class with a horrible limp and salt-water hair.
go to the cemetary, maze of mausoleums tombs and small wood crosses. if you have enough money you can buy yourself legacy, your name carved into marble, your bones encased. if you don't, you'll be wiped away by time--your cross will crumble, your remnants erased. watch out, you explorers, it's dangerous: vagabonds and looters and torn souls haunt this place
Stay out of the hospital if you can. If you must go, buy a pastry from the woman with the giant tupperware of baked goods, she circulates the waiting room. It will make you feel better, maybe, mostly because it's caked in powdered sugar.
Don't take the elevator, the one with broken, illegible buttons, the one that threatens to break beneath the weight of bad news--the stress scribbled madly along it's peeling walls.
Celebrate Friday again, celebrate because all your bones are intact. Go to Valpo sit in Cerro Concepción with good people and a couple 40s below a purple sky, trace the curve of her illuminated hills with your finger--they look like frozen, electric waves, or a piece of God's Light-Brite art. Fight off the fear that's been planted in you by surrounding yourself with strength. Eventually approaching silhouettes cease to be potential threats, and melt into possible companions--we're not the only ones out to soak the night in. With wonder in our eyes, we stare down at the spiraling night city. Mangled Spanish sounds better with every swig I promise.
Kings and queens of the sand dunes, hurdle ourselves as far as we'll fly, always wanted to fall without fear. Miss the desert like a mother, first time I ever saw myself was in her canyons. But I'm not there: I'm here by the coast, where I'm supposed to be.