This writing is probably mildly embarrassing.

It felt like a goddamn bombing.

I stood out to the beautiful yet murky Black Warrior River and had a little bit of a sigh. I was staring out into the water, noticing that once again the whizz and hum of planes exploded in front of me as the noise behind me continued to be a similar explosion of noise.

Something about this seemed sensible, joyous even. In a world where the seas were once clear, there's a bit too much noise for everyone's liking and a bit too much dirt and piss in the water.

I stared at all of this nature and wildness around me and felt mixed feelings. I felt happy and satisfied because of the events that took place, because of the sun's constant ability to beam at just the right moments. I just don't know if I can handle the bad things, though. The world is obviously fucked up, so it's not like this is new information nor does my feelings on the world really change it. But it's still savagely affecting.

At one moment, I was reminded of the simple beauty of the world. Of the gaze of a totally beautiful woman, or the view of leafy green trees composed against the backdrop of totally barren trees. Everything was totally contradictory. Jet fighter planes only reminded me that our world is shitty, wars happen, and that people predictably suck.

But this same day, at one moment, I lay there on a blanket. I have no idea whose blanket it was or why they might have left or even the reason why they would have left. All I knew was that I was in a living photograph. And I was lying next to the most beautiful woman in the world. There was an old man rambling, but this didn't matter. I suspected that I would not have many moments like this in my lifetime, so I probably should appreciate that moment because I don't know how many great friendship or lover opportunities I'd ever have with this person. But I think that there won't be too many of those simple chances. That isn't a pessimistic outlook—well, mostly not—it's just how things work in this world. No one trusts anybody else and no one lets themselves go nearly often enough in front of a giant bunch of people. Pure inhibitions take a backseat to keeping a self-important facade.

I don't know. And maybe that's all I should keep in mind.