bok tower gardens

in the heart of central Florida is this place...





even sandbars have views

fun

some people really know how to have fun. B and her sis are those people.

photo booth shenanigans

St Pete Moe

florida in december

sunny and green. the big oaks bearded with gray spanish moss. on my run yesterday a four-foot-long otter crossed the road in front of me on his way to greener pastures and less slime covered lakes. cows. stray cur dogs in the yard. cans of assorted American beers fillin bags and crate. full belly bloated from too much of everything. uncle R. Grannie. pops and mom. Jack the furry dog lickin Moe's foot bottoms with love. brother and I winnin at bolas criollas. me talkin shit to my Dad as he smokes me on the court 12 to 3. beers with brother and sister. dominoes smakin the fold out card table and me gettin yelled at about "wakin the baby!" Matina making us all laugh to tears with pure charisma. fresh OJ from the trees in the yard. family. big oaks. spanish moss. no surf in the middle of the orange groves and forgotten phosphate mines.

sloppy choppy and thats all we got

D$ on bamboo


our man on the beach Burry got some shots of proof that fat floats

hangin with D$

Florida beach breaks are
like day old tortillas

soft and crumbly

casual dismisal

it’s easy to forgo the beauty
of solemn gray morning skies
of rain drops dripping
from tree into puddle
on blacktopped streets
peace of dawn
subdued sunrise upon gray skies
the quiet listening of a
favourite morning song
the looks on the faces
of mother and baby
in deep sleep
sometimes when too much time is
misspent on life’s listless noise
it’s easy to forget the beauty
of life’s livity
consciousness shouldn’t be
casually
dismissed
viewing, feeling, tasting
sensing
daily
intentionally

Kingston Town

and the classic UB40 tune

huh?

it was really really good this morning. overhead sets with long walls. where was everyone? thanks for not showing up. I got to ride some mackers with just three other guys. we watched an amazing sunrise, then I had an icy walk back to the car and snowy bike ride in to work. doesn't really get any better eh.

last week's DIY

61 bottles of traditional red ale


board sock for my 5'8" fish -doubles as a body prophylactic

note B's print in the background. full image some other time with her permission.

winter surf

the greatest aspect of surfing in winter in Nova Scotia is that it's never crowded. in fact, there's hardly ever anyone out come November.





images stolen from MSW from last Sunday's north swell

human conditioning

paddled out into what looked like perfect overhead rights from the vantage of the bluff. I had the 6’3” under arm -shoulda had the 6’8” for paddle power. so much water moving made it hard to paddle for the 8 to 10 foot peaks. got stuffed a bunch. cut two slashes into my brand new winter suit with sharp glass fins. can’t imagine what woulda happened to my rear had I been skinning it. big bomb sets swept through the lineup. homeboy on the Flyer was in perfected position for a macker and rode it with style as we three sat on the shoulder in resigned drift.

paddled out again the next sunrise. walked down the trail, two boards under arm and a backpack with winter gear, skirting mud holes in the darkness. clean lines left over but all power gone now. big seals watched as Blacks and I shared the dregs of the previous day’s bounty.

saturday afternoon I bottled 61 red ales. it’s the second batch of brew for me and will be ready for tasting in the new year. six and a half percent power and of deep red colour. I hope it tastes as good as it looks. I’ll start a new batch as soon this one is ready to drink. maybe a dark lager.

professionally I stand at the threshold of dramatic change. the swing is dramatic –one way will be a working hell with a lousy work environment accompanied by endemic lifelessness and a demise of hope for self in the staff. the other swing, a new opportunity for me to write creatively for a living and perhaps still maintain a work life balance. or should I say a surf/work balance.

what would I give to be able to make my own hours and surf anytime the swell is running. at 34 I feel in better physical form than ever. and it’s strictly because of a surfing life. I am also more creative and surfing inspires me to write.

so any of you extremely wealthy folks out there who may be thinking about what to do with so much dough I have a proposition for you.

set up a trust that would pay me a humble salary so that I may focus on this surfing life and creating written works. in turn I will repay you by taking full advantage of a dream opportunity of a lifetime and transform myself completely into a finely tuned human. I will strive to achieve the highest potential of my physical and intellectual self to show that we have much more to offer than we are led to believe or allowed by our modern pursuit for the acquisition of wealth.

think of yourself as a muse, an investor in the human condition, in the dying art of personal development.

whadaya say?

controlando al diablo

here's a video I made a while back of my cousin Tadeo playing around in the living room at our old apartment in downtown HFX.

truth

street art is unapologetic. David Choe has a message for us all.

from Original Cultures

Ericailcane, DEM, Will Barras - Stay Away From Light (edit 1) from Original Cultures on Vimeo.

more info at originalcultures.org

wednesday afternoons

bailed work yesterday after JB confirmed my suspicions that a certain spot would be working. it was a high tide day yesterday so likely it wouldn't be as good as it coulda been. but the water and air are still warm so whose counting?

took out the fish for its first frontside session. damn I love that board. the waves were small but clean and fast with a mini hollow section on the inside. sat next to the kelp covered rock and picked off the smaller ones that were swinging wide. with the high tide the wave peels really close to shore on top of round topped boulders so that when you kick out you have to go over the back of the wave or risk a broken fin or worse.

Blacks was there pullin into little closeouts with ease. made one or two I think. we traded waves for a while. out on the horizon a deep azure sky skirted the ocean surface and then faded from a dark to light grey. the heavy fog diffused the remaing light casting a surreal glow across the viewscape. the red faced headland and remaining greenery on the shoreline added to the amazing colours.

what I love about surfing is how it motivates me to notice things around me. how it gets me out there and allows me to experience the moods and shifts of days and seasons. Blacks and I have over the past three years shared so many amazing sunrises, so many different skies and winds. we've seen seals -alive and dead. we've paddled out in minus insanely cold temperatures to surf knee high waves and on blustery victory at sea days to surf huge storm surf. always stoked.

this life never disappoints.

blind faith: part 1

science

beware of scientists who use the phrase:
"we used to believe that ____,
but now we now for certain that_____"
next generation's scientist
will likely use
the same phrase again
with new
cockamamie
discoveries.
why don't we
listen
to our own
intuition?
why don't we understand,
that the same breath
we breathe,
is the same wind
blowing
through trees?
beware of
blind faith

el picaro

I'll have to make sure this kid reads Lazarillo del Tormes and Huck Finn

influences

Chester Himes


Tom Waits

Tom Waits - Earth Died Screaming - The most popular videos are a click away

Jim Jarmusch

mongrel dog

I was caught by self doubt. like a mongrel dog tryin to cross the road after a beating. it is an absurd world that we live in. and the self aware notice the absurdities more often than the self involved. but we are all ego one way or another. some manifest it less and some more.

what is courage?

what is determination?

what is gritt?

some like Chinaski did what they did out of a sense of duty to their own constitution –he, praising and cursing his muses depending on the severity of his hangover.

some do nothing at all. they go through motions like so much flotsam and jetsam at mid-tide on a Jamaican beach.

and where do you see yourself?

how are you living?

how am i living? with trepidation.

that is no way to live a life is it?

fear is not a hoax but it also isn’t concrete. it can be malleable like Gumby. it can be used to one’s advantage or can be crippling like ms. it is the ability to move beyond failure that is a measure of one’s success. this is the paradox of our human condition and perhaps the crux of our western belief in good vs. bad. there is no good. there is no bad. there simply just is. everything is everything. absurdities arise when we negate this basic principle.

Himes wrote of the prison preacher preachin about pork chops and mashed potatoes in paradise.

do mongrels get pork chops in the afterlife?

more absurd world from Buk

one thirty-six a.m.

I laugh sometimes when I think about
say
Céline at a typewriter
or Dostoevsky...
or Hamsun...
ordinary men with feet, ears, eyes,
ordinary men with hair on their heads
sitting there typing words
while having difficulties with life
while being puzzled almost to madness.

Dostoevsky gets up
he leaves the machine to piss,
comes back
drinks a glass of milk and thinks about
the casino and
the roulette wheel.

Céline stops, gets up, walks to the
window, looks out, thinks, my last patient
died today, I won't have to make any more
visits there.
when I saw him last
he paid his doctor bill;
it's those who don't pay their bills,
they live on and on.
Céline walks back, sits down at the
machine
is still for a good two minutes
then begins to type.

Hamsun stands over his machine thinking,
I wonder if they are going to believe
all these things I write?
he sits down, begins to type.
he doesn't know what a writer's block
is:
he's a prolific son-of-a-bitch
damn near as magnificent as
the sun.
he types away.

and I laugh
not out loud
but all up and down these walls, these
dirty yellow and blue walls
my white cat asleep on the
table
hiding his eyes from the
light.

he's not alone tonight
and neither am
I.

more at bukowski.net

winter cycling

frosty mornings now. temperatures still hover around freezing in the morning and then rise with the warming sun. but soon that will change. snow and ice will come as it does at the end of each year. I never fear the weather on the commute. more so the drivers who fear the weather on their morning drives and second guess themselves with timid brakes and gas pedals and jerky steering. still sometimes when I look out the window and it's icy and minus ten I get a little tinge of regret about suiting up for the morning commute.

more comic strips at Yehuda Moon

the reach around

been commuting to work by bike now since 2004. I wouldn't trade my ride to work for anything. although that's not to say it's not without its shitty moments. below is a diagram of perhaps the most sketchy and common situation I face riding my bike in Halifax. it's not only drivers speeding around you to make a right turn but also just to get around to make it to the red light before you do.




I tend to have different reactions to shitty driving especially when I feel like the pulse passing through my veins at an increased pace could have been my last. sometimes I just ignore it. other times the middle finger makes me feel better. gave a lady one this morning -she slammed on her brakes and zipped into the bike lane to park giving me less than a moments notice to correct.

sometimes I totally loose it. a few weeks ago I almost got licked by a young woman driving a purple Ford Ranger extended cab. I caught up with her at the next light and pulled up to her window which was halfway down. she was still texting away on her phone. I gave her a few choice words that my Mama would not be proud of. she wasn't expecting me and that's the point.

sometimes loosing it has its negative side. one time in Portland, Oregon I was cruising home from work on my fix when an oncoming car swerved way into my lane to get around a car parked in his lane on a residential street in a NE neighborhood. I gave him the finger and loud "fuck off.!!!" homeboy slammed on the brakes, u-turned and came after me. lucky for my I dipped down a dead-end, one-way that I could sneak across the grass and make my way down to MLK. I lost the guy. he may have kicked my ass.

more recently a guy on a sport bike got pissed cause I dipped around him at the light. I'm on a bike man. he caught me at the next light and offered to kick my ass the next time I did that to him. in a moment of adrenaline filled bravado I told him "lets go." the light turned and he twisted his throttle like it was something I should admire and was off.

I love how the power of the gas pedal and the combustion engine gives people a sense of power, no matter how meek and weak they are when they are just flesh and bone, sans machine.

lots of people that I've met over the years who were regular bike commuters got licked down by a car at one point or another. my friend Drew from DC took two massive beatings. luckily he still rode his bike and wasn't too jaded.

hard for me not to be a little uppity about riding my bike to work. it takes effort and I have to endure some shitty weather sometimes. but it is also amazing to feel the blood pumping through my veins halfway through my morning commute, sleep still heavy on my eyelids. and it's great to speed home and bank turns after work.

and no I don't have a DUI. I choose to ride my bike.

if you cut me off and I give you the finger or worse it's because I take it personal.

the buzz and the hive

there's a buzz a buzzin. everyone is still high from last Friday's lines which at some places had more power than we've seen inna while.

the surfing community here is an interesting one. about 80% are beginners who usually don't surf in the winter. then there's the middle ground, weekend warriors, committed to year 'round surfing but may not make every swell.

and of course there's the core guys who are always out. the guys who have arranged their lives, jobs and everything else in order to give them the freedom every time the buoys lights up. the guys who know exactly where to go once they know the wind and swell direction.

this type exists everywhere but somehow I feel that here it's different than other places I've lived.

maybe it's the bitter fucken cold. or maybe it's the East Coast culture. but it is different. in the lineup with the crew it's still very competitive and there is a pecking order. but there is also camaraderie and smiles among acquaintances, even if you know them only by how they surf and how the hooded wetsuit frames their face. you'd see them on the street in plain clothes and you may not know that that was the person sharing overhead freezing rights the morning before.

there are waves coming now. it's winter. see you guys out there.

remember: the halifax explosion

bombs have no positive attributes







these photos are of my neighborhood. it was completely flattened during the explosion.

"The Halifax Explosion occurred on Thursday, December 6, 1917, when the city of Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, was devastated by the huge detonation of the SS Mont-Blanc, a French cargo ship, fully loaded with wartime explosives, which accidentally collided with the Norwegian SS Imo in "The Narrows" section of the Halifax Harbour. About 2,000 people were killed by debris, fires, or collapsed buildings and it is estimated that over 9,000 people were injured. This is still the world's largest man-made accidental explosion.

At 8:40 in the morning, the SS Mont-Blanc, chartered by the French government to carry munitions to Europe, collided with the unloaded Norwegian ship Imo, chartered by the Commission for Relief in Belgium to carry relief supplies. Mont-Blanc caught fire ten minutes after the collision and exploded about twenty-five minutes later (at 9:04:35 AM).All buildings and structures covering nearly 2 square kilometres (500 acres) along the adjacent shore were obliterated, including those in the neighbouring communities of Richmond and Dartmouth. The explosion caused a tsunami in the harbour and a pressure wave of air that snapped trees, bent iron rails, demolished buildings, grounded vessels, and carried fragments of the Mont-Blanc for kilometres."

style: greenough and warren

george greenough is often referred to as the father of performance surfing. on his kneeboard greenough would do super high speed cutbacks back into the pocket in a way that no one had ever done before him.



tyler warren is young kid who seems to be able to ride any type of board. he's got loads of style in the water and is easily one of my favourite surfers to watch on video. here he does his best greenough impersonation on a Velo spoon replica.





tyler warren has a film coming soon. check out more info here

home brew + winter quiver 09

India Pale Ale - 6 day primary fermentation, 15 day secondary fermantation. alcohol content around 6.5%. seems to be getting better after 4 weeks in the bottle. not as sharp and hoppy as Propeller but definitely an IPA. good at room temperature too.




6'8" Tom Neilson
6'3" Tim Patterson
5'8" Tim Stamps

stormy friday, first snow, big surf

yesterday I woke at 6:30AM to change Moe's diaper. in his room it was bright like morning and yet not sunlit. I looked out and realized that the brightness was street lights reflecting off of the years' first white snow. it was a peaceful scene even though the wind was howling at 30 knots.

riding my bike to work was almost like surfing shallow victory at sea beach break. in order to avoid slidin out I had to ride in the tracks left by cars, as the plows were nowhere to be seen. on the road, jumpy morning drivers with trigger foot on the gas pedal, become even more sketchy as snow plus cyclists makes them super fucken jumpy. in the end I made it to work at a decent time and escaped without a fall.

I watched the buoys all day, refreshing the screen even though I knew it hadn't changed since the last time I checked but it was like an itch that had to be scratched. phone calls were made, emails sent, no one knew what the conditions were like. there were few places that would handle the east swell and raging offshores and everyone knows where to go. at 2 PM I made the call. I pedaled home against a headwind that made it seem like a steep mountain grade. my legs burned when I put the bike in the garage. I ran inside and collected my winter gear and two boards. off I went like a crazed crack head with a $10 bill looking to score a hit.

I pulled into the lot and had to park in the back. the place was packed. the bay was sheltered and glassy between sets. the peak looked a little overhead and with 15 plus guys on it. I split and went to the next spot. as I parked JB pulled up behind me. we suited up quickly and opted for our thrusters. we were soon joined by a local head who dominates the area. no one else was out. the sets looked big but it wasn't until we made it out that I realized how big it really was.

I won't go into detail about the session. it's not important to review the details. I can however, say that JH and Blacks and JB and the rest of the crew were scoring. I was flailing. the small thruster that I'd been riding since spring now felt tiny in my winter gear. I kept getting hung up in the lip and getting worked more times than I care to remember -at one point running into shredder X like a nube on a soft top in summer slop. reckomn sometimes you got it sometimes you don't. needless to say the small thruster is gone. the doubt about whether it was big enough or not is gone.

the waves in Nova Scotia are mostly cold, windy and weak. but on those days when the stars are aligned and you are able to bail work...

inspiration: bunting and Oldfield

today as I walked down the sidewalk I saw a pigeon up ahead, standing on one foot and hopping around as if his foot was broken. I watched him for a while to see if he was truly injured. it seemed he was and yet was going along about his pigeon business, probably grateful it was a foot and not a wing.

inspiring.

below is a clip from Nathan Oldfield's film Seaworthy. Nathan is a truly inspiring figure in more ways than one. his films and photos are passionately crafted in a way that betrays any sense of commercial interest on his part. my favourite section of the film, and indeed one of my favourite clips of all time, is the one of Heydon Bunting.

"When I was a kid playing at the park I wanted to go on everything -swings, slippery dip, the see-saw, the merry go 'round, it's all good. That's how you get the most fun out of the park." Heydon Bunting

Heydon Bunting Sequence: From Seaworthy from Nathan Oldfield on Vimeo.

I've interviewed Nathan a couple of time on phoresia.org. check it out here.

swimming in the morning sea

I had a sleepless night. between changing diapers and too much coffee late in the day I finally closed my eyes involuntarily around 4AM. the alarm went off at 5:20. the buoys looked good for a specific place I wanted to check. I knew it would be dead high tide but figured it'd be something. loaded the car and drove through squalls and complete darkness. parked and jumped in the back seat. changed into winter gear. sprinted down the trail in darkness. first light just a few minutes away. it was flat. the full moon high tide made it too deep for anything to show. I was devastated. really. north east winds whipped across the open beach making for scarce chance of shorepound. all night tossing and turning, all I thought about was surfing. making turns on the new green machine. I sprinted back to the car. checked a few other places and no luck. finally I settled for a messy peak off in the distance. it was less than stellar. would be morning surfers walked out and surveyed the victory at sea conditions. no one joined me. I got a couple of shoulders which quickly turned to mush. an hour in I managed to get the one wall that swung wide and stood tall. I carved down the face like in a dream, not expecting it to wall up. three years surfing this spot and I'd never seen one wrap into the point like that and drop me so far in. east swell I reckon. I got out after that one. changed out of my suit in the driving rain. drove home in morning rush hour traffic. changed a diaper and then rode in to work on the bike in a heavy rain.

it would seem that it wasn't my day, my morning. but after some thought I remembered that I went for a swim in the sea at sunrise on a Tuesday before work. and that's something.

secret barrel
photo from MSW

thanks Stamps

JB stopped by today unannounced to surprise I with my long awaited Tim Stamps Quantum. This is an exact replica of my previous one but in EPS/ Epoxy construction.



this ain't no retro fish. this board borrows from the old San Diego style boards in the length and outline department as well as the use of the wide swallow tail. however, every other design element here is modern and Stamps has it dialed.



these boards have a thinner overall foil than a traditional Lis or Frye fish. they also have thinner rails and quad fin configurations.



Tim Stamps also incorporates a more curvy outline, single to double concaves and a flowing rocker. the board has a smooth and continuous rail rocker and the single concave flattens out the bottom. the rocker allows the board to fit in more critical waves and the bottom and forward foam make it a dream wave catcher.



my previous 5'8" Quantum was as close as I ever got to a magic board. it was beautifully finished with a resin tint and gloss and polish finish. I decided I'd ask Stamps to make a replica of the magic board but this time in the more durable and much lighter EPS construction. this board will last me for a long long time.



I don't tend to surf vertical and instead try to focus on smooth arcing turns for which this board is perfect. however, local shredder JH has this same exact board and surfs it vertical and in the pocket like any other performance shortboard.

the colour is based on a 1950's Fender surf green guitar. it's quite similar to the old Neilson green machine.

dims: 5'8" x 20.75" x 2.44"
6/4 6 glass

rhythm and meter

I’m off completely. been off for two weeks now since Moe arrived. and I finally realized that the pace of my life has forever changed. the rhythm and meter are slower now. the change was like an Art Blakey solo, fast and furious. it’s too soon yet to find my new rhythm. we gotta figure it out as a family. and eventually it will settle and the beat will roll like it did before, only slower.

it’s like surfing. for me progression isn’t only learning a solid cutback, but actually slowing down on the wave in order to see where I’m going. so many times I see a hump, turn and paddle into it, only to race down the line like a scalded dog (thank god people don’t scald dogs any more). but really progression for me now is to be able to take off and look down the line, see what’s transpiring in front of me so that I can flow with it. bottom turn to highline run to beat the section? or maybe bottom turn to snap off the top? and then when the section comes do I bottom turn, ass low around it, or float over it?

the guys that make surfing look easy are the ones that have slowed it down. not their speed but their vision. they can see the wave in front of them and are confident enough in their skills to know that they can generate speed at will or bury the rail for a smooth mid face turn.

I must change my rhythm and meter. slowing down is good because it is the present that we live in. why rush it thinking about the next swell, next board, next diaper change, next kid. baby steps baby.

baby steps.



PS

HAPPY BIRTHDAY D$ you old fucker
Burry photo.

mist

summer is over. winter storms bring bigger, more consistent surf. I'm ready.

the 24th

well our son is a week old today and doing well. he's constantly on the boob juice and is getting stronger and more alert each day. today I am 34 years old and aside from being in need of some outdoors time I feel great. looking forward to a surf soon.

Moe Kingston

...is the latest addition to the familial quiver.

dims: 8 lbs, 14 oz. and built strong.

his mama is amazing, enduring some serious business in the hours leading up to this little carajito's birth. I love her.

One and the watchers

it's mid afternoon on an October friday. the wind is howling its howl from cold northeast waters. waters cooling now as the leaves drift in the streets where just days ago they swayed freely from limbs on trees. the buoy reads ten feet at seven seconds this afternoon. it will continue to build as the first nor'easter of the year makes its way across the land. meanwhile I sit at my desk and bite my nails. one moment I raise my seat using the hydraulic lever. the next minute I lower the seat again and curl me right leg under me trying hard to find a comfortable position that won't be found. B's at home, belly like a homage to perfect roundness and beauty. the One inside is coming soon. we know it's soon but not sure when. so little and already a mind of her/his own. good. I obsess on sneaking another surf session in before my duties shift from self fulfillment to caretaker. surely self fulfillment of a different form will manifest itself across the face of the little One as it looks up at us wondering where the liquid darkness disappeared to.

a shift...

plenty of opinions out there these days. seems like everyone has negative opinions to freely offer like the air coming from lungs. few people offer positive opinions. human condition? perhaps. since my teen years so many 'mentors' I've had at work and school have warned against devoting so much passion and time into non-commercial ways. "you'll grow out of it." or my favourite and perhaps most cliched one - "soon you'll realize that it's time to grow up and stop playing games. that's what real life is all about." naysayers are often not exactly people to be admired for their own personal successes and charisma. they are the watchers. they are the one's whose frontal lobes lost all risk taking proclivities after their adolescence. they are the ones who are satisfied with mediocrity. they are the ones who never get drunk and dance and sing. the ones who don't shed a joyful tear for fear of shame. they are the watchers. they are the critics and the judges and rarely the players. they are the ones who cannot see the beauty of the lessons learned in failure. or the sense of fulfillment found in reaching the summit. they are the ones who don't ride their bikes for fear of cars. the ones who don't know what direction is north and where the wind blows. they are the watchers. they are not the players. they abhor suffering and are afraid of true joy. they know not their limits for fear of testing themselves. they are the opnion givers. the watchers. watch on watchers. I'm going outside to play.

the Gonz

"if you can not be afraid to be laughed at, you could do so many things."

"skating for fun is like a different tactic towards making a movement... it's like a form of being on the fun movement."

someone asked me "who is Bukowski?"

waiting

for the new one
to arrive
for my morning muscles
to unwind
for the coffee to be ready
and for the yellow, orange,
and red lines
to march across the swell map
for the lottery
and for the new brew
waiting for the waning
of waistlines
and for the next run
around the city
waiting
to see my B when
I go home
waiting for reunions
with my brother
and his
and my folks and sis
waiting for winter’s snows
and diapering woes
waiting for new sea green
fish
and top to bottom turns
waiting to learn
to appreciate
the moment and
the process
waiting to wait
coming to come
ok
done
waiting

run

diy IPA & heirlooms

my sweetest B got me a beer kit for my birthday. here is the first batch. it's an IPA and all the measurements before and after were good. tasted right too. two to three weeks in the bottle for the final sugars to give it some fizz and its testing time.

second fermentation at a steady 67F.


clean


final racking


puttin a cap on 'em


and today we picked our tomatoes. a cold north wind has been blowing for several days and the nightly temperatures are getting really low. we'll put this batch in the basement to see if they rippen. a big thanks to the man with my same name and birthdate for sprouting these beautiful heirlooms tomatoes. thanks Blacks for kickin down a few starts. sorry the summer was so foggy out your way eh.

friction free connection

"A human being is part of the whole called by us universe ... We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings as something separate from the rest. A kind of optical delusion of consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us." Albert Einstein

I would take this idea into a smaller arena in the sense of how we think of ourselves in terms of body and mind. our culture tends to see body and mind as two separate forms, dependent on each other only for the basics of oxygenated blood flow. but is this really so? can our mind function at its peak analytics if our bodies too are not at their peak?

there's no Utopian movement. there will be no critical mass towards a humanizing of our race. there can be however individual and independent change. each and everyone can choose how to move through the space and time in which he finds himself. I am only now learning that and only daily work will allow me to discover more.

I squandered my twenties in drink and inaction, actions that were a cause or perhaps caused, my dysthimic downs. and it is only in the last few months that I am beginning to see what is possible. I am not referring to social achievements or feats of strength. I am referring to a refining of my own skills and abilities. whether it be striking keys or riding waves or even riding my bike to work. the more I realize the interconnectedness within me and with our greater ecosystem the more I reduce the friction with which I move through time and space.

dig?

a few good things

1. The Esteyonage has made this list before. The author is a Canadian journalist living in Monrovia, Liberia -a country where close to half of the population suffers from post traumatic stress disorder due to years of violent civil conflict. The Esteyonage is an important reminder that there is more outside of our own easy livin.

2. Wooster Collective - street art and surfing have something in common -both are fleeting. street artists create pieces which they know will be defaced or erased completely and only a memory of the work will remain. it's the same for those who seek the experience of riding waves. it's the process and the moment that matters.

3. Buk because a little surliness is good for ya.

4. Richie Havens - "sometimes I feel like a motherless child" makes me think that we may need to, as a collective society, reconsider our values. but I know we won't. so in this song I find solace.

in case you didn't know

10' @ 10 seconds

today I turned

consumer culture consumer

I went out in the rain today to get the latest issue of Surfer magazine. The issue has Joel Tuddor sitting in as a guest editor and two of his subjects are people that interest me – Richard Kenvin and Tyler Warren. I get home and sit on the couch to read as B lays quietly watching the TV, her biggest ever belly moving with the little one inside, restless as ever and just two weeks shy of first light.

I read Tuddor’s introduction. He tries to be everyman but really wants us to think he’s an intellectual. “It’s OK,” I think to myself thinking of him thinking of himself. Then I read the short interview with Lewis Samuels – a man of deep intellect with a keen understanding of modern anthropology who also happens to be a wiseass who also happens to surf. “That’s better” I think but would have rather seen a little more space devoted to the witty one. Then I finally get to the RK piece. I start to read and it’s moving fast, one word after another is scanned into my reasoning centre and it seems as if nothing registers. I vow to take a brake from the article to return when I’m more prepared. Finally I get to the Tyler Warren piece. It’s short, shy and he seems humble -the kid has style to burn. I flip through the rest of the magazine and wonder “why?”

In late summer of 1987 we packed up some of our shit and traveled from rural Isnotu, in the foothills of the Andes Mountains in Venezuela, to rural central Florida where we’d settle down to live in conservative Bartow. I was immediately drawn to skateboarding. That year would be the beginning of my new life as a consumer culture consumer.

It’s hard to say why I feel compelled to read the surf magazines and follow the surf blogs. Perhaps I want to see where I fit in, to see what lineage or legacy I’ve descended from. But I won’t find one as I come from the consumer lineage, brought into the “culture” by slick magazines and sometimes-good writing. Thrasher magazine was a staple in the late 80’s and 90’s. Thrasher sucks now, or I’m just not a teenager any more who knows.

Surfing is definitely without a doubt one of the more important aspects of my life. But like many other things surfing can be simple or full of trinkets. My childhood Catholicism came replete with its statues of saints and special rosaries and candles and church clothes. Home ownership has it’s own TV shows and magazines and clubs and self help groups and messiahs of decorating. Entrepreneurship has a zillion trinkets and books and gurus. Anything and everything can be overdone and consumed 'till we’re fat and diabetic and dying.

Or things can be simple.

Most likely I will continue to consume surf culture. There’s lots of good shit out there, especially in the blogosphere. There’s RK and RT. Somewhere else there’s Doc and Mic and Sways. But I’m not Californian. I don’t see California as my Jerusalem. Its toe headed children and surf “icons” are but silhouettes on the pages of magazines crammed with advertisements for trousers and t-shirts. I’m sure that somewhere along the line I owe something to those early pioneers of surfing. But that something is so abstract, so inconsequential, and so diluted by its own commercialization that I’m probably better off making my own way, starting from scratch. Good job Joel. You’ve reminded me to look within and that I am what I do and not what I consume.

brion and bill...

...dreamed a machine to transcend the threshold where their drug addled analytics end and something else all together begins. today these two would be considered terrorists to be profiled and watched. bill talked often of his recipes for homemade botulism and other weapons of mass terror. and why? who knows. bill was a trust fund kid. perhaps they had too much. bill didn't only outlive his peers, he hurried them to their deaths with debauched pleasure, his own Constitution superhuman in its ability to stay high for nine decades. dream machine is all that's left. and iggy pop.

Tia Rafaela

my Tia Rafaela is an artist. he main body of work is her life, the sculptures, paintings and poems are adornments - a frame for her masterpiece.

maritime fall

in the valley the leaves are
red, orange, yellow
pink
at the bay
colours grey
baby seal watching as I
struggle with the set,
duck diving and going backwards
baby seal watching
and more waves coming
out the back
meanwhile
Blacks is there
and others
the wind from the southwest
the inside finally releases
its grip
and I make my way back
to the lineup
where’s my spot?
ok I think here I
fit
and then it comes,
a long wall
probably a closeout
the hell with it
go
bottom turn and
down the line,
all white like mountain ranges out west
the wall comes down
again the inside holds me
for another set
baby seal is gone
Blacks is gone
there’s no red in the bay yet
all is grey

afternoon vibes brought to you by smif n wessun

round II

scored some good surf last night for about two hours at a sheltered spot. some good surfing too going on out there from the two best kids in town. love to see the guys who generate speed seemingly without effort. lots of waves coming through too so there wasn't too much hasslin.

got up at five this morning which seems kinda late really but first light these days is 6:40 AM.

current conditions at 5:30AM:

Winds: SW 5.8 knots gusting to 7.8
Significant wave height: 9.8 ft
Dominanat Period: 10 sec
Air Temp: 57.2 F
Water Temp: 55.9F
Stoke: high

finally...

...the storms of the infamous north Atlantic are starting to come alive again. anticipation is increasing along with the building storm swell for a session after work.

from "the eagle of the heart-"

it is well
to feel good
for no reason;
or
with a limited
choice to
choose
anyhow;
or with a little love,
not to buckle to
hatred
faith, brother, not it the
gods
but in
yourself:
don't ask
tell.

Henry Chinaski

corre que tiran piedras

run for your life

the question

to get control
is not the question
-the question
to take each day and give
all that I have
to get what I want
like Buk
sitting at the typer
beer after beer
night after night
to write down his question
his musings
it was the process
of getting drunk
of hitting keys
of watching, translating
into the question
it is the process
the work
the sweat
that gets me closer
to defining
the question

es una question
si me entiendes?
la cosa es que hay
que meterle candela
y que ponerle valor
al trabajo

cliches abound
but I won't rely
on them
only I can see
the question
the process
the work
the sweat
we missed your truths sometimes
Chinaski
we washed them down
with our micro brews
strong beers and IPA's
we missed the process
the question
so now I remember to run
to process
the question
to be each day
in the process
to be
the question

partially inspired by Dead Confederates

Dead Confederate~The Rat from LaundroMatinee on Vimeo.