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.

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.

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.

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.

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

do it how you want

 

 

 

 

knee high to as big as it got and often cordless, buddy's one board quiver fit perfect on the side of his bike with tent and other living needs.

the long and the short

two right points in two days. saturday gone fishin, mid-mornin mid-tide. walked up to the point, waited for a lull. waded out through round rocks and kelp 'till it's deep enough to paddle fins free from danger. head high take offs and clean mellow walls. trying out a wider stance and fadin slow off the top. nothin to watch but fun enough for the pilot.

today paddled out to a different right point, same size but disorganized, like my desk at work. me, blacks and our other fishin friend and later a fellow fisherman on his new trifin. I traded off my log for the two fishes for a few reelin lefts into the point. paddle outside for a couple of bigger sets on the log. drop in, bottom turn to lock the rail and walk north.

interesting switching back and forth between the long and the short. fun. water is still 0 Celsius. the vibes mostly good. all in all good to be in the water with friends, sunshine and wind, piloting surfcraft across space.