Tell me where the chimes sound

I personally cannot wait to get to the ocean again. Portland sucks. One hundred miles away. I cannot wait for the fresh, cool snappy ocean air, right there, right there, fill my lungs with that oh so much wonder.

How much wonder do we note, accrue in our minds and who knows your answer, your’s sort of a whatever for me unless you’re a fave of mine, so few these days, man, two of my best ever, main vein connected friends gone so long, Bob, Doug, electric memory, I can tell you they dug the wonder, freakin’ count on that.

Yeah – the chimes of freedom flashing, that’s what Dylan wrote, and thank goodness for Dylan and thank goodness for chimes and the places they sweetly sound, for me like the ocean air and barefeet in meadows, North Beach, the feel of sneakers on the flat solid sand, breakers just there, folding over from Japan I bet, scoot wave scoot, and I’ve got The Airplane volumed in the background and me filling up with visions down here in the cellar and Ferlinghetti’s gone and most all those with-it cats and the planet’s generally a shit show and political parties blow, and even if I have a feel for the answer I think it’s worth asking, surely on a Friday…….

Tell me where the chimes sound…