At Paulie’s Shore: George and KA creatively bring form to a Promethean fortress, untroubled knowing its inevitable demise lies moments away in the surf. The bond of synergy is forged in the creation/destruction cycle. The white sun glares overhead...
“The Castle Made of Sand” — the easy (if lazy) metaphor for the weak foundation, that foolish bet on the ephemeral, those dashed hopes to be brusquely washed away by the indifferent wave of Neptune’s hand.
But sand and grit have mass and substance, the tangible something one can have care with — to mould, fortify, to build upon, even if the raw substrate began with mere particulate matter.
Aggregates in flux may bind to a solid with aeon’s patience, but the capacity is there, even if the grains fall through one’s fingers today.
And so this diversion over the dunes, the teamwork of two pair of hands, a fleeting construction of the moment — all have more potential than any Castle Made of Air.
...The last light of dusk gives way to a lone lighted room at beachhouse quarters, where surly Miss Martha stews in scabrous spite, as her self-interest holds no truck for the same synergy.
Out in the bioluminescent crashing foam, the nude forms of George, KA and the others joyously leap over the breakers into Neptune’s balmy embrace...
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