watchin wind blow out my window

sittin on a saturday wonderin what to do while Moe sleeps wrapped and swaddled like a banana. MF Doom rocks the computer speakers and outside the tree tops blow with the gusty south west wind -still naked . waves should be building. buoy is up to three meters at eight seconds. there should be a hamster wheel at a point a I know. walk to the top and get in. paddle, paddle, paddle against the current. snag one and milk it around the sections. get out. do over.  meanwhile Doom sings bada boom bada bing. the rats scurry under the sewer traps and the seaguls wait for summer for lotsa tourist scraps. some people do and some don't. the watchers are sitting at their screens right now.

just

like  me.

Doom and Sade move the next track through a double. why you've come this far I wonder? so I keep it going. remember that time when we went drinkin and ridin? you T -I'm talkin to you. don't remember what time it was. we were no-handin it down in china town and your front wheel turned and you went down like me on ice skates on winter ponds. then there was that other time -you ran into the back of that parked car and split your lip laughin through bloody teeth before we hit the next bar, bikes hung and locked on the fence to keep 'em off the sidewalk.

we used to drink heaps. "I'll get the next one" I'd say time and time again. and we'd talk about a whole heap of rubbish like some 20 somethins goin nowhere's fast. remember them days there? remember ten years earlier takin the door off your white vdub van so we could stick your motor bike part way in. power band kicked in 2nd gear and I'd almost get snatched right off the back. you'd be blastin the jumps with sneakers and shorts -no shirt no helmet. I was throwin down frontside slappys on the long yellow curb at the bank drive-through in downtown Bartow. the town was dead and dying. I was ready to exit but it would be a while still before I saw somthin new.

style: the hypnotic brass ensemble

my friend D$ just turned me on to these guys and I can only wish I'd come across them sooner. authentic vibes here -no posturing and no front.

run!

"So Simple. Just move your legs. Because if you don't think you were born to run, your not only denying history. You're denying who you are."

Dennis Bramble

four dubyahs

who: an 18 year old kid outta high school with a little grit, no sense, a library job for gas money and a white Karmann Ghia

what: a passion for moving across space atop magic carpets - concrete or water didn't matter

when:same as now -as much as can be fit in between things that otherwise matter less to him

how: with graceless abandon, sometimes timidity, in the heat of summer, with duct tape, no leash, behind the beach house after the hurricanes with no one out north of the pier, with cigarette dangling sometimes, with disregard for self harm -mostly always -no always passionately.

the author not the writer

Where do I begin? Over the past two weeks I’ve been endlessly devouring information as is so easy to do in the interwebs. Where has it gotten me? I have no fucking idea. One aspect of my personality that never seems to go away is this feeling of always wanting to do something, always on the verge of something great. Who knows if it’s simply remnants of childhood dreams of escape or if it’s adult escapism.

In an attempt to better understand myself I always ponder about my motivation to do “something.” For a long long time now, since my early teens I reckon, I’ve wanted to be a writer. I always pictured myself as a writer, doing readings and interviews, thumbing through the pages of my own books and admiring the fonts and page layouts. But therein lays the joke which I played on myself. I mean, I could I suppose, blame the joke on my ego. That is if there were a way to separate the I from the I. But their ain’t no way. So the joke is this: all I ever dreamed about was the fame and not the written word!

Big surprise eh! What a fucking brilliant mind I have. Well it’s probably why instead of writing wholeheartedly over the past twenty years I’ve got a half a book shelf of half scribbled-in journals and notebooks with hardly a word worth reading, and I don’t mean public reading, I mean me reading. I keep luggin the goddamned journals first from town to city, then across country and finally across the continent. And for what? Inspiration, material, nostalgia? I’ll tell you why –it’s a central theme in this here blog and for most blogs I guess. It’s for ego. Simple.

I mean who doesn’t want a legacy? Who wants to be forgotten? And who doesn’t want some recognition of their humanity within their own lifetime, even while they still have some youthful vigor? I’ll let you answer that one.

So here I am. Left to my own devices I’ll continue to devour information on the interwebs which will do me absolutely no favors. It’s a tedious life this life. Lucky for me there’s more to my life than ego and misinformation. Moe and B are waiting at home for to me cook super together, play together and dream together.

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.

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.