31.7.09

friday

it’s Friday morning and the kettle in the kitchenette down the hall is gurgling to boiling point as the coils on the espresso machine heat up, dubcast #16 is coming through my PC speaker strained but it sort of sets the mood for what is a Friday desk day.

JB and I made the morning migration to the coast, hoping against all odds that the minimal buoy readings and high tide would still allow for some rideable conditions. our hopes were dashed as soon as we ascended the wooden steps and looked out over the unusually calm north Atlantic.

so it was back to bed at six hoping for another hour and half of sleep. the little one inside B’s belly was kicking me awake each time my eyes closed, perhaps reminding me that soon sleep will be erratic at best but mostly short.

the ride in to work was mostly uneventful. I peeped Babylon in his big white van at the stop sign about a block in front of me as I was cruising the wrong way on the one way. I slowed to a crawl hoping that he’d turn onto North Street before I was at shouting distance. don’t feel like no Babylon bandulu ginalship so early on a peaceful morning.

recommended readings for this morning:

Safe to Sea

the estyonage

"everybody wants to raid the barn, nobody wants to plant the corn." anthony B

23.7.09

Lawmang's wisdom

when trying to decide whether to head out or not D$ says to me,

"onshore is the new offshore. get out there."

life is great when you keep it simple

good relationships

good food

wholeheartedly immersing yourself into your passions

21.7.09

one

got up at 4:45 and called the buoys. 3' @ 8 seconds and wind dead. I already had my things ready -just hit the ON button on the kettle to heat water for coffee and packed the stuff in the car. within ten minutes from sound sleep I was heading East towards secret sandbar plain sight to see if she was doing her magic. my hope what that she'd be firing like a debutant drag queen on the eve of the pride parade. however, hopes were tempered by the fact that high tide was only 3 hours away and small kine swells love less water. either way the drive was good and the coffee better.

on the boardwalk mosquitoes were dive bombing from sights unseen. I think they breed in the reeds that cover the dunes. and at dusk they appear like small squadrons and attack the warmest flesh they can find. so after a quick scan of the glassy conditions I run back down the steps and pull on my 3:2 and decide on the fish sans leash. I sprint down the trail between the dunes and as I crest I see a small set detonating on plain sight number 7's. I put down the fish and run back for 3 fins. this time I'll use a leash on 'er as the last time I did this dance she broke her nose - mostly cosmetic but it took Blacks the better part of a day to fix 'er back up.

all in all the waves were less than stellar but then that is just a small part of the equation. there was a crew of black ducks making a ruckus a peak down from number 7's. screaming seagulls swung overhead sounding angry but maybe I just don't understand seagull. to the east red faced headlands with large foreheads look out towards the mighty Atlantic. and I, alone amongst this backdrop, not a soul to share it with and yet not lonely in the least. it is on these quiet mornings that I can identify and remember what is of value and what is not. hope you saw the sunrise too.

19.7.09

sunday

early bird went hungry this morning. solitary drive keepin an eye out for deer in the headlights -coffee in hand to sharpen vision. at the coast the fog still thick and milky. a southwest wind pushing through the fog with surprising stealth and the high tide making a dribbling weak mess out of secret sandbar plain sight number sevens.

alone on the boardwalk I admire the handsome Atlantic. her sands slowly gaining momentum in the less turbulent summer months as if we were on different clocks. in winter we swimmers get fat for warmth and perhaps from less movement while she slims, spitting her sands out with each long period swell that rocks her skirts. the icy cold brine like a tonic for making beaches turn to stone for months only to magically appear sandy in August.

standing there I relish sleep and so after looking over the dunes and admiring the sword thin grasses swaying at ten knots I got back in the car drove home peacefully. no music in the car for over a year now -a fact that seems to escape my attention but also provides solitude on drives to visit Maritime shores.

now I will turn my attention to other matters. bacon sizzling and later back yard shenanigans and if I'm motivated a run around the peninsula to see what Sunday people do with mid-days.

evenin edit:

got a call from Picaso 'round mid day -says he's gonna take a gander. I catch a ride and we score low tide grinders with two others at secret sandbar plain sight number seventeens. a surfy day after all.

14.7.09

bike polo, nike and tommy hillfiger




the other day I was taking a stroll and passed by the road hockey/basketball courts next to the fire station in the north end where a small group of BMI challenged hipsters were clumsily trying to play bike polo. when a trend hits the eastern most coast of north America we can safely assume that it's hit a critical mass and will be soon co-opted by the giant clothing franchises and whatnots.

nothing against tight pants and people who spend a majority of their time planning their eccentric outer appearances to look as if they weren't even trying to look that way only to sneer at their fellow city dwellers with scorn and hubris. but really, at some point someone's gotta call bullshit.

I'm not calling bullshit on the game of bike polo -in fact if I ever felt inclined to participate in a team sport, competition is not one of my strengths, I would consider bike polo. but would I wear a hipster uniform and starve myself to look a certain way on the court? probably not.

the Halifax hipster scene is in full swing now -even though often the north end hipsters are unidentifiable from the south end college crowd purchased their look at the mall.

I know this is sounding like a rant by some middle aged guy feeling bitter about getting older. sure.

but remember one thing you radical hipsters -actually more than one thing so I'll bullet:

-if yer gonna ride fixed with no front brake then at least clip in to your pedals somehow cause otherwise your gonna get bucked like a drunken cowboy at an underground hipster rodeo

-raise the seat on your bike and not only will you look more "stylish" without trying but your bike will also be more efficient and fun to ride

-riding a fixie doesn't make your 'core' score go up. who gives a shit if your riding a fixed wheel. every toddler on a tricycle is riding fixed and they don't front

-a bike is a bike.

-there's only one Gonz

"if you're gonna do a nose wheelie, fuckin do a nose wheelie bro."




-

9.7.09

in the face of drink and smoke I run

these are no longer disthymic times. the clouds have lifted and with them the figurative fog has given way to sunshine. a cold northeast wind still blows and the ocean is lake calm with lucky low tide sandbar sessions here and there but mostly smooth silky surfaces on the horizon. is it spring or strain of will that lifts the greys to lighter hues? I can’t say but one thing is certain, one step in front of the other gets me somewheres.

each day I try and try to remember. eleven years ago I asked skinny Rob to stop his Santeria for a moment and use his tattoo machine to etch a simple statement on my calf. “will transcends fear” I said to him proudly, displaying a mix of symbols, some as old as three thousand years. what did I know about transcendence and wills and waning idealism's in the face of drink and smoke so thick that for years I would not escape the fog?

what do I know now? nothing more than there is only one step in front of the other. legacy? that’s for sculptors or perhaps scientists. written words are no longer a path to remembrance for futures. written words are like so much dirt, so many opinions loosed upon us with disregard for thought or person or creed or even crude human decency. Burroughs knew it in his drug addled middle years as he led his ragged troop of beats into oblivion and shitty parenting –unwittingly (or perhaps not so much) outliving them all by decades.

surf? it is transcendental but we can’t write about that now can we. oh no. if you’re not producing you ain’t shit mister. “sit down and shut up.”

I grabbed a number ticket from the red dispenser and sat in the stale waiting room. H1N1 signs and sanitizing stations every 12 inches like sentries. who are the swine anyway? is it not we who are ruining it for we?

“again sir I will not ask you again. sit down and shut up.”

so now I run. at first from fear and, lookin behind my shoulder knee jerk reactions, left over from those early sleepless nights in Isnotu. could I blame it on my Tia? she took me at a tender age to see the old soothsayer in his dark dank home to see if he’d cure me through shitless scare tactics out of sucking my thumb again. after the celebration with the superman piƱata I slept less and less until 13 years after she didn’t come that night I lost it completely and then it got foggy.

surf? not to be underestimated in terms of power to reconnect those synapses loosed from the ether. like it or not we are beasts with intrinsic needs. we can philosophise our ways out of thinking we’re not needy but sooner or later the thin veneer that is our vanity vanishes and then what?

I run. for ego and self image and I can’t say it’s not a draw. I run from what I would be doing otherwise. sloth or time wasting.

I said it before and I dare say it again. I have these muscles and tendons and bones. and well honed they can move me through space with the grace and fluidity of any wild animal. fail for just one day to use them and I forgo the greatest gift I’ve been given. the gift of self propulsion. some praise our ability to think. but how amazing is it to ride the swells upon the ocean and then forget?

I run to surf.

surf? because you can.

1.7.09

whys and how comes

I never said I wasn’t doin it anymore. just that I wouldn’t be doin it as much. because doing mostly happens on my feet, outside, away from these keys. in the interim since the last post I’ve received a small heap of whys and how comes and yer kinddin’s and assorted other whatnots. there have also been a healthy number of encouraging and complimentary cues from friends in flesh and virtual too. thank you all.

today is Canada day and we have a day off of work. I’ve been working, however lightly and haphazardly, since before seven am on various virtual projects. the irony of this keyboard for me is that somehow I’ve learned to use it and the inteweb in ways that some find useful. so it is that I spend so many hours sitting in a Western pose developing a weak core and perhaps other less than glamorous ailments. so to balance this life I get up at four in morn to surf small kine waves and arrive at work tired as a dog but clear of mind. things don’t make sense but the experiences that I remember are the hardest ones to come by. now I have to go for a run.

read the Esteyonage today it good for you.

19.6.09

putting an end to the fuckery

A one surf week is ended with the usual blog roll and interwebs fuckery that is a morning at work. Recently the word fuckery has been used profusely by Lewis Samuels in Post Surf. Not sure where he got it from. I heard the word used often in Jamaica as in “ gwaan man -yuh a fuckery” or maybe in reference to political news on the radio you would hear someone say “a fuckery dat man” or when a rum head came beggin around the shop for a drink old P would yell “come outta ere with yuh fuckery man! Guh wey!”

For a cynical mind like mine fucekry is the perfect looking glass for deciphering the cipher. In my waning interest to keep talking about how my latest surf session went (it’s just a bunch of fuckery anyway) I wonder if it’s even worthwhile to continue Ku Yah all together. I can see the hits decline as the surfy posts subside. Of course initially Ku Yah was an exercise in writing –to learn to write. Indeed I did learn to write –if only in short ADHD spurts and mostly about fuckery so only time will tell if that particular skill will come in handy some day.

I’ve asked myself why I read other people’s blogs. Is it the grass is always greener rubber neck ego trip in my head that makes me do it? There is so much content on the interwebs and a lot of it rehashing of itself. Do I want to add to that fuckery too? Some folks I reckon actually use the interwebs for personal expansion and growth. And relationships of value can occasionally spring from the virtual black hole. But mostly it’s a waste of time.

If we are to consider our assets in life, and I don’t mean capital assets, what do we have? We have our health, our intellect, our ability to forgive and love (because that’s how you get forgiven and loved), and time. Time is as valuable resource and like trees or fish it’s a finite non-renewable resource. And god do I ever know how to squander it with fuckery.

Over the past five weeks I’ve been trying to develop a running practice. “Here he goes again with some fuckery” you say. Well perhaps. Certain incidences have inspired me to run; one being the coming of a little one and the practicality of running as a way of maintaining basic fitness. But there are other effects to a running practice like meditative moments, transcending discomfort and pain, learning self discipline, developing will power, experiencing the weather and its moods, expelling toxins out of my body via sweat, strengthening my heart, lungs, bones, muscles, relieving stress –all without spending any dough or fossil fuel. Running is simple and pure.

We evolved to run certainly for escaping danger as much as for pursuing prey. Our modern lives of sedentary livelihoods have all but eliminated running from our lives. So much so that running is seen as a fringe activity, something that body conscious people do. But it is as natural as breathing or taste.

In short I may not write much here anymore. Instead I will focus on action. On using my muscles and tendons to move through space –whether it be splitting lanes on the cruiser or surfing or running. I will read books. Something I’ve neglected for some time. I will cook and finish some creative projects that have been marinating in the basement or in my brain. If you’ve read this far I’d like to say thanks. Thanks for stopping in often and for your occasional commentary. If you want to be in touch feel free to send me a note at rasblog at gmail.

cheers

ras

15.6.09

respite

there's nothing to report. last week I joined Facebook. then I closed it. I learned what's inside Facebook -wasn't missing anything. I ran a lot last week and went for a fun trail spin with JB and buddy Michael. muddy trails and fun descents. one gear and springy front end. new content? original content| that's what should be here. no surf. flat. a nice reprieve from humdrum of surf surf surf everyday surf. what board do I ride, do I need? can I ride that? will it float me? run to trim the fat and make the thin sled fit the form. then flat. no waves for even logs. so run and ride the single track. lady slippers and new ferns. greens everywhere. after the rains, puddles of mud. pull up the front wheel and let the back one dip into the brown thick mix of post winter soil. run some more. one foot in front of the other. focus on three inches below my centre. focus on even breath and smooth form. focus on what feels natural. intentionally bring one foot forward even with hip to keep up with forward pulling gravity. in the evening? single malt, three cubes of ice and soda water. or one or two pulls. track the mileage and time. make tea and dream and start again. it's flat. no surf. this thing is running its course. it too may need a respite.

13.6.09

tally

ran 5 of 6 days since monday for a total of 18 miles. cycled every day. cooked every day. it's good to move. it's good to use my faculties and guts to enrich the days. for this I give thanks.

roots and herbs

10.6.09

Rashoman

Rashoman is probably one of the best films in terms of examining the human condition and our inhumanity. Janus Films has just remastered it and apparently it's going to be making the rounds in theaters. For those of you in SF and NYC please take advantage as I very much doubt we'll get the pleasure here in Halifax. Kurosawa is by far my favourite film director (I'm not much of a film buff) and Toshiro Mifune never disappoints.

9.6.09

me no wan no rub a dub is only backshot me love

my evil friend surprised me with this photo he snapped sometime this past winter somewhere in Nova Scotia. my backhand has improved since moving to the land of rights three years ago.



the photo is kinda funny -looks like I'm holdin on to a ski rope.

"me no wan no rub a dub is only backshot me love" Lady Saw and Spragga Benz

8.6.09

been a while

since I made somethin.

got out to the spider lake trails on the old single speed for a spring spin. been a year since my last time out there. only saw one lady slipper in bloom. the ferns under the trees green like emeralds. mosquitoes only got me when I stopped for a breather.

riding a bike through the forest is exhilarating. recommend it to anyone. and you don't need a three thousand dollar bike. mine is from 1999 with one speed, V type brakes and an updated fork. I like keeping my bike dialed in so it always feels good with everything tight and straight. no squeaks. all I could hear was my own labored breathing and tires slipping over roots and rocks. I followed the ride with a three mile run and now it's time to rest. it's good to feel my muscles and tendons and joints and guts.

7.6.09

rubbish heap summer transport




dug this frame outta rubbish bin. striped it and threw on an old set of wheels and bars and gone again. simple and basic no fail transport for cross town runs. whole heap a freeness out there. people love dash good things inna trash.

5.6.09

bike week

I love riding my bike and do so most every day exceptin ice or minus 17 temps. yeah I know I'm a pu$$y.

I still remember clearly Christmas day as a kid in Venezuela when my parents presented me with my first wheeled machine -a shiny red and white trike. I dogged that little thing for a long time.

I learned to ride a proper bike in '83. ol Jack got me a Krate style bike from the used bike shop. I ran it up a giant oak tree in the church lot across the street from our house on the first day.

then back in the Andes Calitos and Manuel were bolting 5 speed derailleurs on our beater bmx bikes with t-shifters on the top bar. we'd climb the winding steep road to the village above Las Virtudes -a slow grinding climb that seemed to take hours. at the top the boys would buy a flask of agua ardiente or Anise and then we'd come flyin and hollering down the mountain road like pre-adolescent maniacs with no regard for safety -your standard risk taking youthful behavior.

riding my bike is still as fun today as it was then in my youth.

so if it's been too long since you rode your bike, take your tire back from Pooky the pup and go for a spin. not to save the environment or to advocate for cycling rights, or to be healthy but just to have fun. simple old fun.


4.6.09

RIP David Carradine

rest in peace grasshopper

3.6.09

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Ice Cream

here's a scene from one of Jim Jarmuch's best films Down by Law.

stop

things are supposed to die -to come to a natural end.

we do.

yet we strive for some sort of legacy that we may be remembered.

old Chinaski had it right. it's a wonder how long people will wanna read about his gamblin and whorin and drinkin and fightin. about dingy LA and other failed writers and about his cars and listening to classical music on the radio while drinking beer wine whisky.

all things are naturally meant to come to an end, to fulfill the cycle of energy moving across our earths surface and through its guts, moving always and endlessly.

humans?

we like to prolong the inevitable. we like pretend like we can stop change. like we's some sorta power above the antelope when in truth modern man can't even chase the antelope.

these are the good old days no?

this dribbly rubbish inspired partly by Juana's Addicion

2.6.09

sons of slaves

as times change and one generation's seeming demise shifts into the next generations pop culture emblems one thing remains constant. humanity is not humanist. humanism is nothing but a construct of our romantic ideals of peace and love. humans are in fact animals (duh)who live by the basic code of survival using intrinsic instinct. where's the hope? self reliance. it is our nature.


classic Junior Delgado tune with Lee Perry production

1.6.09

style: fixed lean 1930's



when the surf is flat my mind turns to bikes