Sunday, October 26, 2014
Now Available
After a longer delay than desired, I have released my book, The Bartow Abductions, in paperback and on Kindle. With the many projects I have going on at the moment, I am thankful to have this project wrapped up and have been told it is a captivating, page-turner read. Thank you for the encouraging words and support.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
The Bartow Abductions: Coming soon! A book of fiction by Keith Braman, e...
The Bartow Abductions: Due out in the spring of 2014: A book of fiction by Keith Braman, e...: Coming April 1, 2014: A book of fiction by Keith Braman , entitled The Bartow Abductions , inspired by true incidents surrounding UFO sightings in ...
Monday, May 13, 2013
Coming in the spring of 2014! A book of fiction by Keith Braman, entitled The Bartow Abductions, inspired by true incidents surrounding UFO sightings in the Bartow, Florida area.
Excerpts from The Bartow Abductions.
Justin:
Nothing is quite so pure as the innocence of a child. Though life begins unblemished by the contaminations of society, innocence quickly sheds as we ultimately find ourselves swimming in a worldly cesspool.
That is my opinion.
And though I generally shy from philosophical discussions, I reserve my right to entertain an opinion now and then. I mean, look around people, folks kill and maim, they harbor perverted thoughts and desires, engage in dishonorable acts to swindle your money or virtue. They cheat, they steal; a lie is uttered with the ease of truth. The metamorphosis from an unadulterated child to an infected monster occurs as naturally as childbirth itself.
Christ, our civilization has become Earth puss.
This, I suppose, is an opinionated version of reality. But reality I’m afraid offers little argument to the contrary...nothing to dilute the harshness that fills life.
My God...what have ye created?
Or as my friend, Johnny Winsler once lamented, “What if we are nothing but lab rats and Earth is our aquarium, created by a higher form of intelligence...not god as we know him, her, or it...but an intelligent species from a far off galaxy...simply for their entertainment or scientific experimentation?” After a moment of serious reflection, he added, “That potentiality is a scat log to swallow, is it not?”
He’s like that. Always pondering hypothetical scenarios, his brain cells churning like an overworked ice cream maker on a treacherously hot Alabama afternoon. Once collected, the information from various mental files are spliced together for interesting post-dinner fodder.
At times a mastermind, at times a madman.
As a child, Johnny bled imagination.
If you can fathom the manifestations of a creative genius on a brain enhancing stimulant, you might glimpse an inkling of his gift. He colors a story with a diverse spectrum of vibrant imagery that sucks a person into his imagined world. His tales of demons and dragons, of extraterrestrials and ghostly apparitions that go bump in the night are cognizant delights. In adulthood, the horizon of his imagination expanded beyond the youthful boundaries restrained by a child’s limited knowledge.
Christ, he can spin a yarn.
I have always known that he would be a writer...though to date, he’s not. What he is, however, is a young man like myself, unsure of life’s calling but always maintaining an open door policy to ensure that when it beckons, he’ll recognize it.
In his life, he’s been blessed or cursed, depending on your point-of-view, with a series of extraordinary incidents that has perplexed him into respectful contemplation as to the inner mechanisms of this existence...and others.
Whether theorizing on other dimensions, realms, or worlds, he has formed multiple hypotheses, based mostly on conjecture but to some people’s disbelief, at least a portion of these theoretical inferences are based on...experience.
And what experiences he’s experienced.
That said...I can truly swear on a King James bible...red-letter edition, that his creative genius never confuses fact from fiction. He is standup honest. The need to lie to build himself up in the eyes of others is nonexistent.
He doesn’t give a shit what others think of him, his philosophies, or the amount of truth in the content he shares.
Johnny is Johnny. Period.
Johnny isn’t one of the aforementioned infected monsters - you know, the ones who’d swindle you of your virtue for a mint state quarter not yet in their collection. If he were dying of starvation and found twenty dollars, he’d return it to the rightful owner, if possible. Really.
My name is Justin...Justin Long. Johnny is my best friend and has been for over 17 years. He called earlier today and asked me to meet him here at this 1000 acre reclaimed parcel of land mined for phosphate back in the late 1960’s.
I think for fertilizer.
Five manmade lakes, a maze of dirt roads, and hoards of shrubs, palmettos and oaks provide fertile hunting or fishing grounds for locals.
And play for the youngsters.
The rattlesnake-infested terrain has been our perennial playground since we got our first dirt bikes at the age of eight, through high school, where the secluded moonlit nights and privacy proved ideal for grownup play with the women. Nothing beats getting moon caresses on your butt while making love to a beautiful woman.
Johnny’s call earlier had been brief.
He sounded excited. Demanding.
I never say no to Johnny. I like adventure. So here I am. Awaiting adventure. To be honest, this is the first time I’ve set eyes on these grounds since returning from a hiatus overseas where I involved myself in absolutely nothing honorable or productive for three years. I can attest that indulging in fine brew and getting laid by French prostitutes in frightening back rooms and darkened alleys is now completely out of my system.
Needless to say, I am not as praiseworthy as Johnny Winsler. I might even stretch the truth on occasion. But what the hell. I’m human.
But I’m not a monster.
Katie:
I met Johnny our second year of college. His fiery red hair and blazing green eyes chipped away the protective armor I had fitted myself with since junior high school. In a vow to myself, I promised that I wouldn’t allow my heart to be swept away until I gripped that 4-year degree in my hot, manicured hands.
Of course, I also vowed I’d wait until marriage to have sex but Jimmy Johanson took care of that under the bleachers of a Friday night football game during our sophomore year. I know it’s silly but I imagined that the crowd was cheering us but later I learned that Billy Doyle had scored the game-winning touchdown with only seconds on the clock. Ironically, it was the final time that either Jimmy or Billy scored, Jimmy died of a drug overdose two days later and Billy broke his back the following Friday in the semi-finals.
Apparently, Jimmy hadn’t had time to brag to his friends about his Katie conquest or maybe he wasn’t that kind of guy. Either way, guys hadn’t ogled me or whispered behind my back so I assumed my infidelity to myself was a dirty little secret that only God and I shared.
The affairs of the heart are unpredictable.
With Johnny, I discovered that love can’t be contained within the perimeters of any actual or metaphorical suit of armor. I dropped out of college after year 3 to follow Johnny who continues to follow his dream.
The journey led to central Florida.
I never thought I’d end up here. It’s a far cry from Flint, Michigan. But Flint kind of dried up. Once the auto industry tumbled, many locals found themselves unemployed...the town lost its energy, as if a plague had swept in and sucked the life from every tree and blade of grass.
In Orlando, things fared better, so far that is. But with tourist attractions like Sea World and Disney, what can you expect.
As for my heart...the same organ I thought I could protect until I was a bachelor of something...Johnny Winsler now carries it with him in his back pocket. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t feel frightened, or demeaned, or anything other than contentment. He’s a kind, beautiful, intelligent individual and I’m so in love with him. Life with him is perpetually adventurous. We did a 6-month stint in the Green Swamp so he could capture video footage of the elusive big foot creature spotted in central Florida from time to time.
No footage. Not even a friggin’ deer.
Though I admit, we found some interesting uses for the video camera.
Talk about your wild animals.
Johnny isn’t deterred though...he’s confident that he’ll find big foot someday. He subscribes to the theory that the creature is not of this Earth but instead originates from another dimension, possibly linked to extraterrestrials. Of course, what isn’t linked to extraterrestrials in Johnny’s mind.
That would be...nothing.
That’s how Johnny’s mind works. And it’s always working and when his mind is whirling, his eyes glistens like a faraway star. It’s almost as if a small generator connects his brain and eyes, and the harder he thinks, the brighter his eyes. He gets elated when he speaks of his weird experiences.
And he’s had a lot of them. From paranormal to supernatural to extraterrestrial, if its weird, I think he’s experienced it. That’s part of why I fell in love with him - his zest for life and all the strange things he’s experienced. And I believe every word he says. If I didn’t, I might enjoy the eye-bulging sex but I certainly wouldn’t be planning to spend the rest of my life with him.
Trust is important.
With Johnny, I feel secure...cared for, like there’s nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for me. I would follow him to the dark side of the moon if that’s where he wanted to settle. It would be cold and we might not be alone up there according to Johnny, because he thinks an alien civilization might inhabit the far side of the moon - but that’s where we’d be if he wanted to toss out the anchor in the moon dust.
You never know.
Fortunately, for now, Johnny decided to follow his dreams to Orlando, Florida.
Orlando is good.
As I mentioned, Disney World, Sea World and who knows how many other worlds---certainly my world. And there’s a fantabulous little area of eclectic shops and coffee houses that we frequent. I like the diversity, the artists from all walks...painters, writers, filmmakers...a little of everything and everyone; beautiful people, ugly people, short and tall, super thin rail people and people that necessitates the use of the entire sidewalk like displaced hippopotamus’.
Johnny and I live in a small apartment over a coffee house on the east side of town. It’s quaint without being cramped. It’s also extremely convenient to everything like gas, groceries, entertainment and of course, ridiculously good coffee. Generally, we ride our bikes everywhere, you know, cheaper than gas, better for the environment, good exercise, yada, yada. I tend to gain weight easily and breeze through at least three diet programs a year...though I’m not chunky by any means. I’m just saying that I could be if I let myself go.
Johnny on the other hand could eat a barn, down the silo for dessert and still not gain an ounce. Truthfully, it irritates me at times. Well...truthfully...it pisses me of more than it irritates. I mean, we’re at a restaurant, and he downs a double cheeseburger, fries and soda with several refills I might add, and then dives headlong into the most scrumptious cheese cake in existence and walks around with abs that look like a surf board...flat and hard.
What the hell?
Hey...but I like my salads.
Okay...really truthfully, I love him too much to be pissed at him for his kinder-than-mine metabolism. It’s mostly friendly chiding and the like. We kid each other a lot. We both know when to bullshit and when to be serious.
Johnny is serious about ghosts, inhabitants from other planets and such. Don’t ever mess with him when it comes to that stuff. He’s had a lot of weird shit happen to him over the years. Lord have mercy. He’s a magnet for weird…and me. But he’s mine. Weirdness and all. I’ll happily be his metal.
I can’t imagine him any other way.
And did I mention, he’s serious about me.
Johnny:
Katie. Where’s Katie?
I’m aware of her presence. The aroma of her shampoo tickles my nostrils; the thought of her soft skin delights my fingertips. I hear her heart beating in rhythm with mine. Hers, like distant drums. I want to play along but I’m unaware of my hands, except the mirror image of them in my mind but my mind refuses to conjure up as much as a bongo.
My hands long to touch Katie.
I’m confident that she is beside me but for reasons I’m unaware, I can’t awake myself to satisfy my desire to touch her.
Katie. Just her name elicits joy and comfort. She is a most special, precious individual.
Presently, blackness engulfs me, nibbles at my fiber, feasting on the images my brain manufactures, robbing me of her essence. Or, is the blackness merely an effect from the absence of light and not a conspirator to rob me of that which only I, and I alone, can extricate from my being?
An image battles the blackness, struggles and ultimately emerges victorious.
A seagull glides across the subtle waves of a calm evening in my minds eye; the shells, the pier, the rock formations...they are all familiar.
I’ve been here...haven’t I?
I search my inventory of past sensory experiences and come up with Holmes Beach, Florida. Nighttime. Why Holmes Beach? I can’t be certain. I have never been to Holmes Beach, other than a brief stop en route to our real destination. After graduating high school, a friend and I spent a few days at a semi-nude beach in Sarasota, ogling tanned breasts of lesbian couples as they walked hand in hand just feet from the greatest amassing of raging male hormones known in south Florida.
The two beaches, nudie and Holmes, just miles apart, must share similarities...then why is my mind set on Holmes? Perhaps this is the nudie beach...though I don’t recall observing any piers.
But was I looking for piers?
Doubtful.
I now stand, toes wiggling in the sand and shell. I stare out over the Gulf of Mexico and think how vast and lonely is this mass of water, grave to thousands upon thousands, spanning what seems like an infinity though just a drop in the bucket of eternity.
This dream...this vision, is lucid in nature. I can smell the salt...hear the seagulls. I’m certain that if I immersed myself in the water, I’d wake up wet from head to toe.
Movement to my left.
There, on the sand, someone or something moved.
I step closer.
Two people lay on a blanket. At first, I think they are tossing and turning in their sleep but then I realize that they are naked...having sex.
I’m compelled to watch.
I don’t know why. I don’t even like porn flicks. But, it’s not about the sex. It’s something else. Something I can’t quite put a finger on.
A breeze sweeps past, gently nudging my privates. I glance down to discover that I too, am naked.
I don’t understand any of this this.
I’m frightened.
Suddenly, my feet lift off the ground. I levitate thirty yards or so into the air. I swing my arms around which throws me into a midair somersault. Momentarily, I forget that I am naked and that below me a couple is having intercourse.
I can fly.
Cutting the balmy night air with quick ascensions toward the moon and clouds, I then swoop down toward the sand. Free. It is the most incredible feeling I’ve ever experienced.
I know it is a dream.
When it is over, Katie will be curled up beside me, but at this moment, foremost on my mind is the question, Why has man limited himself to such a confining reality? It is possible to harmonize the molecular structure of ones body to the magnetic waves that are all around us.
Man can fly.
Or something like that.
A light, brighter than the surrounding stars, commands my attention. With wonder, I watch, as the light gets closer, larger. It is then I notice its orange hue, soft and glowing. I feel somewhat fearful in its presence.
Instinctively, I know.
It’s them.
I watch the craft hover over the couple. I want to shout and warn them but I can’t. It’s like someone has stuffed a baseball-sized cotton ball down my throat.
Then, without warning, the orange sphere bursts into a brilliant white light that blankets everything with blinding rays. It’s as if a thousand angels have descended from heaven.
My eyes burn and water.
I realize that I’m losing consciousness. I fight to maintain alertness but the effort is futile. Before the blackness returns, I’m drawn to the face of the woman. She stares at the brilliant light over the shoulder of the naked man, who lays motionless on her, as if dead.
I can’t speak. In the dark, I study my memory, what I’ve just seen, but I can’t come to grips with the conclusion my brain has reached.
The woman---was Katie.
All material copyrighted by Keith Braman 2013. All rights reserved.
Excerpts from The Bartow Abductions.
Justin:
Nothing is quite so pure as the innocence of a child. Though life begins unblemished by the contaminations of society, innocence quickly sheds as we ultimately find ourselves swimming in a worldly cesspool.
That is my opinion.
And though I generally shy from philosophical discussions, I reserve my right to entertain an opinion now and then. I mean, look around people, folks kill and maim, they harbor perverted thoughts and desires, engage in dishonorable acts to swindle your money or virtue. They cheat, they steal; a lie is uttered with the ease of truth. The metamorphosis from an unadulterated child to an infected monster occurs as naturally as childbirth itself.
Christ, our civilization has become Earth puss.
This, I suppose, is an opinionated version of reality. But reality I’m afraid offers little argument to the contrary...nothing to dilute the harshness that fills life.
My God...what have ye created?
Or as my friend, Johnny Winsler once lamented, “What if we are nothing but lab rats and Earth is our aquarium, created by a higher form of intelligence...not god as we know him, her, or it...but an intelligent species from a far off galaxy...simply for their entertainment or scientific experimentation?” After a moment of serious reflection, he added, “That potentiality is a scat log to swallow, is it not?”
He’s like that. Always pondering hypothetical scenarios, his brain cells churning like an overworked ice cream maker on a treacherously hot Alabama afternoon. Once collected, the information from various mental files are spliced together for interesting post-dinner fodder.
At times a mastermind, at times a madman.
As a child, Johnny bled imagination.
If you can fathom the manifestations of a creative genius on a brain enhancing stimulant, you might glimpse an inkling of his gift. He colors a story with a diverse spectrum of vibrant imagery that sucks a person into his imagined world. His tales of demons and dragons, of extraterrestrials and ghostly apparitions that go bump in the night are cognizant delights. In adulthood, the horizon of his imagination expanded beyond the youthful boundaries restrained by a child’s limited knowledge.
Christ, he can spin a yarn.
I have always known that he would be a writer...though to date, he’s not. What he is, however, is a young man like myself, unsure of life’s calling but always maintaining an open door policy to ensure that when it beckons, he’ll recognize it.
In his life, he’s been blessed or cursed, depending on your point-of-view, with a series of extraordinary incidents that has perplexed him into respectful contemplation as to the inner mechanisms of this existence...and others.
Whether theorizing on other dimensions, realms, or worlds, he has formed multiple hypotheses, based mostly on conjecture but to some people’s disbelief, at least a portion of these theoretical inferences are based on...experience.
And what experiences he’s experienced.
That said...I can truly swear on a King James bible...red-letter edition, that his creative genius never confuses fact from fiction. He is standup honest. The need to lie to build himself up in the eyes of others is nonexistent.
He doesn’t give a shit what others think of him, his philosophies, or the amount of truth in the content he shares.
Johnny is Johnny. Period.
Johnny isn’t one of the aforementioned infected monsters - you know, the ones who’d swindle you of your virtue for a mint state quarter not yet in their collection. If he were dying of starvation and found twenty dollars, he’d return it to the rightful owner, if possible. Really.
My name is Justin...Justin Long. Johnny is my best friend and has been for over 17 years. He called earlier today and asked me to meet him here at this 1000 acre reclaimed parcel of land mined for phosphate back in the late 1960’s.
I think for fertilizer.
Five manmade lakes, a maze of dirt roads, and hoards of shrubs, palmettos and oaks provide fertile hunting or fishing grounds for locals.
And play for the youngsters.
The rattlesnake-infested terrain has been our perennial playground since we got our first dirt bikes at the age of eight, through high school, where the secluded moonlit nights and privacy proved ideal for grownup play with the women. Nothing beats getting moon caresses on your butt while making love to a beautiful woman.
Johnny’s call earlier had been brief.
He sounded excited. Demanding.
I never say no to Johnny. I like adventure. So here I am. Awaiting adventure. To be honest, this is the first time I’ve set eyes on these grounds since returning from a hiatus overseas where I involved myself in absolutely nothing honorable or productive for three years. I can attest that indulging in fine brew and getting laid by French prostitutes in frightening back rooms and darkened alleys is now completely out of my system.
Needless to say, I am not as praiseworthy as Johnny Winsler. I might even stretch the truth on occasion. But what the hell. I’m human.
But I’m not a monster.
Katie:
I met Johnny our second year of college. His fiery red hair and blazing green eyes chipped away the protective armor I had fitted myself with since junior high school. In a vow to myself, I promised that I wouldn’t allow my heart to be swept away until I gripped that 4-year degree in my hot, manicured hands.
Of course, I also vowed I’d wait until marriage to have sex but Jimmy Johanson took care of that under the bleachers of a Friday night football game during our sophomore year. I know it’s silly but I imagined that the crowd was cheering us but later I learned that Billy Doyle had scored the game-winning touchdown with only seconds on the clock. Ironically, it was the final time that either Jimmy or Billy scored, Jimmy died of a drug overdose two days later and Billy broke his back the following Friday in the semi-finals.
Apparently, Jimmy hadn’t had time to brag to his friends about his Katie conquest or maybe he wasn’t that kind of guy. Either way, guys hadn’t ogled me or whispered behind my back so I assumed my infidelity to myself was a dirty little secret that only God and I shared.
The affairs of the heart are unpredictable.
With Johnny, I discovered that love can’t be contained within the perimeters of any actual or metaphorical suit of armor. I dropped out of college after year 3 to follow Johnny who continues to follow his dream.
The journey led to central Florida.
I never thought I’d end up here. It’s a far cry from Flint, Michigan. But Flint kind of dried up. Once the auto industry tumbled, many locals found themselves unemployed...the town lost its energy, as if a plague had swept in and sucked the life from every tree and blade of grass.
In Orlando, things fared better, so far that is. But with tourist attractions like Sea World and Disney, what can you expect.
As for my heart...the same organ I thought I could protect until I was a bachelor of something...Johnny Winsler now carries it with him in his back pocket. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t feel frightened, or demeaned, or anything other than contentment. He’s a kind, beautiful, intelligent individual and I’m so in love with him. Life with him is perpetually adventurous. We did a 6-month stint in the Green Swamp so he could capture video footage of the elusive big foot creature spotted in central Florida from time to time.
No footage. Not even a friggin’ deer.
Though I admit, we found some interesting uses for the video camera.
Talk about your wild animals.
Johnny isn’t deterred though...he’s confident that he’ll find big foot someday. He subscribes to the theory that the creature is not of this Earth but instead originates from another dimension, possibly linked to extraterrestrials. Of course, what isn’t linked to extraterrestrials in Johnny’s mind.
That would be...nothing.
That’s how Johnny’s mind works. And it’s always working and when his mind is whirling, his eyes glistens like a faraway star. It’s almost as if a small generator connects his brain and eyes, and the harder he thinks, the brighter his eyes. He gets elated when he speaks of his weird experiences.
And he’s had a lot of them. From paranormal to supernatural to extraterrestrial, if its weird, I think he’s experienced it. That’s part of why I fell in love with him - his zest for life and all the strange things he’s experienced. And I believe every word he says. If I didn’t, I might enjoy the eye-bulging sex but I certainly wouldn’t be planning to spend the rest of my life with him.
Trust is important.
With Johnny, I feel secure...cared for, like there’s nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for me. I would follow him to the dark side of the moon if that’s where he wanted to settle. It would be cold and we might not be alone up there according to Johnny, because he thinks an alien civilization might inhabit the far side of the moon - but that’s where we’d be if he wanted to toss out the anchor in the moon dust.
You never know.
Fortunately, for now, Johnny decided to follow his dreams to Orlando, Florida.
Orlando is good.
As I mentioned, Disney World, Sea World and who knows how many other worlds---certainly my world. And there’s a fantabulous little area of eclectic shops and coffee houses that we frequent. I like the diversity, the artists from all walks...painters, writers, filmmakers...a little of everything and everyone; beautiful people, ugly people, short and tall, super thin rail people and people that necessitates the use of the entire sidewalk like displaced hippopotamus’.
Johnny and I live in a small apartment over a coffee house on the east side of town. It’s quaint without being cramped. It’s also extremely convenient to everything like gas, groceries, entertainment and of course, ridiculously good coffee. Generally, we ride our bikes everywhere, you know, cheaper than gas, better for the environment, good exercise, yada, yada. I tend to gain weight easily and breeze through at least three diet programs a year...though I’m not chunky by any means. I’m just saying that I could be if I let myself go.
Johnny on the other hand could eat a barn, down the silo for dessert and still not gain an ounce. Truthfully, it irritates me at times. Well...truthfully...it pisses me of more than it irritates. I mean, we’re at a restaurant, and he downs a double cheeseburger, fries and soda with several refills I might add, and then dives headlong into the most scrumptious cheese cake in existence and walks around with abs that look like a surf board...flat and hard.
What the hell?
Hey...but I like my salads.
Okay...really truthfully, I love him too much to be pissed at him for his kinder-than-mine metabolism. It’s mostly friendly chiding and the like. We kid each other a lot. We both know when to bullshit and when to be serious.
Johnny is serious about ghosts, inhabitants from other planets and such. Don’t ever mess with him when it comes to that stuff. He’s had a lot of weird shit happen to him over the years. Lord have mercy. He’s a magnet for weird…and me. But he’s mine. Weirdness and all. I’ll happily be his metal.
I can’t imagine him any other way.
And did I mention, he’s serious about me.
Johnny:
Katie. Where’s Katie?
I’m aware of her presence. The aroma of her shampoo tickles my nostrils; the thought of her soft skin delights my fingertips. I hear her heart beating in rhythm with mine. Hers, like distant drums. I want to play along but I’m unaware of my hands, except the mirror image of them in my mind but my mind refuses to conjure up as much as a bongo.
My hands long to touch Katie.
I’m confident that she is beside me but for reasons I’m unaware, I can’t awake myself to satisfy my desire to touch her.
Katie. Just her name elicits joy and comfort. She is a most special, precious individual.
Presently, blackness engulfs me, nibbles at my fiber, feasting on the images my brain manufactures, robbing me of her essence. Or, is the blackness merely an effect from the absence of light and not a conspirator to rob me of that which only I, and I alone, can extricate from my being?
An image battles the blackness, struggles and ultimately emerges victorious.
A seagull glides across the subtle waves of a calm evening in my minds eye; the shells, the pier, the rock formations...they are all familiar.
I’ve been here...haven’t I?
I search my inventory of past sensory experiences and come up with Holmes Beach, Florida. Nighttime. Why Holmes Beach? I can’t be certain. I have never been to Holmes Beach, other than a brief stop en route to our real destination. After graduating high school, a friend and I spent a few days at a semi-nude beach in Sarasota, ogling tanned breasts of lesbian couples as they walked hand in hand just feet from the greatest amassing of raging male hormones known in south Florida.
The two beaches, nudie and Holmes, just miles apart, must share similarities...then why is my mind set on Holmes? Perhaps this is the nudie beach...though I don’t recall observing any piers.
But was I looking for piers?
Doubtful.
I now stand, toes wiggling in the sand and shell. I stare out over the Gulf of Mexico and think how vast and lonely is this mass of water, grave to thousands upon thousands, spanning what seems like an infinity though just a drop in the bucket of eternity.
This dream...this vision, is lucid in nature. I can smell the salt...hear the seagulls. I’m certain that if I immersed myself in the water, I’d wake up wet from head to toe.
Movement to my left.
There, on the sand, someone or something moved.
I step closer.
Two people lay on a blanket. At first, I think they are tossing and turning in their sleep but then I realize that they are naked...having sex.
I’m compelled to watch.
I don’t know why. I don’t even like porn flicks. But, it’s not about the sex. It’s something else. Something I can’t quite put a finger on.
A breeze sweeps past, gently nudging my privates. I glance down to discover that I too, am naked.
I don’t understand any of this this.
I’m frightened.
Suddenly, my feet lift off the ground. I levitate thirty yards or so into the air. I swing my arms around which throws me into a midair somersault. Momentarily, I forget that I am naked and that below me a couple is having intercourse.
I can fly.
Cutting the balmy night air with quick ascensions toward the moon and clouds, I then swoop down toward the sand. Free. It is the most incredible feeling I’ve ever experienced.
I know it is a dream.
When it is over, Katie will be curled up beside me, but at this moment, foremost on my mind is the question, Why has man limited himself to such a confining reality? It is possible to harmonize the molecular structure of ones body to the magnetic waves that are all around us.
Man can fly.
Or something like that.
A light, brighter than the surrounding stars, commands my attention. With wonder, I watch, as the light gets closer, larger. It is then I notice its orange hue, soft and glowing. I feel somewhat fearful in its presence.
Instinctively, I know.
It’s them.
I watch the craft hover over the couple. I want to shout and warn them but I can’t. It’s like someone has stuffed a baseball-sized cotton ball down my throat.
Then, without warning, the orange sphere bursts into a brilliant white light that blankets everything with blinding rays. It’s as if a thousand angels have descended from heaven.
My eyes burn and water.
I realize that I’m losing consciousness. I fight to maintain alertness but the effort is futile. Before the blackness returns, I’m drawn to the face of the woman. She stares at the brilliant light over the shoulder of the naked man, who lays motionless on her, as if dead.
I can’t speak. In the dark, I study my memory, what I’ve just seen, but I can’t come to grips with the conclusion my brain has reached.
The woman---was Katie.
All material copyrighted by Keith Braman 2013. All rights reserved.
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