Whispers that command attention

It isnt often that you come within inches of dying. The proverbial distance between ones index finger and thumb can well be miles apart; yet closer than nano-science. When time and space are obliterated in the infinity of the ocean, you can guess that the most relevant thing is air. Relevant perchance in a way only because of need, the organs may demand it, but you want it. There lies the lines drawn between needs and wants. When you start out in the journey of being a surfer, your first tenative steps into the malstorm that awaits you, are best taken in amazed awe. 'Cause that Mother Ocean demands some serious pay back. Watches and time pieces keep time. Seconds, moments, minutes, hours, days. Erased they are, in the clutches of a hold-down under the wet wilderness.

It would start out like any other situation, just another bad decision in a lifetime of ill-thought out moves. Not as noticible or reprehensible as some may have been. Just a mis-judgement. Missed. As in got away? Or just unrealized accomplishment? More so the latter, since every wave ridden gives impermanace a place of mass in ones archive of, well, stuff you done. You get to set the rewind button on when you like, and relish every turn, droplet of water, sea breeze.

Decisions. Yes, or No? Go or Not? In seconds time, you are playing the dance of a thousand songs, yet the band is waiting for your chord.

The mass of water that was heading in my direction was not the largest mass of liquid gold I had witnessed. Yet, it forbode its intent by giving me no chance to out run it, harness it, or avoid it. It just came. Like it was the cell door closing in a jail, or the final stamp of an "F" grade on a term paper. All your preperation for naught, young souljah. A mass of already broked foam; not ridable, as my selection of placement was revealed to be moronic. As with most deer frozen in the head-lights, I laid prone to the pummeling ahead.

Already not in the best of mind sets for really any surf-session, tempting the fate of a North Shore winter, with its unforgiving crowds, lunatics, and general skull duggery, I trudged off to the miracle that winter waves hold.

And was punished appropriately.

Dark, man it was so fucking dark. I knew that darkness was coming. Even through the blazing whiteness of the already broken foam, I knew what laid ahead. Already having murmurred to the self - "I gonna fucking die" but without the faith in the saying, since it has been said to the self a million times. The first part of dark was just grazing of grey, the second go round impacted the dark into my skull.

Clucthed onto, my body spun over, and tumbled without reason. The paws that enveloped my soul were not gentle wisps of graciousness, but unrelenting demonic paws.

You know not to panic. Because panic uses air, and air is a precious commodity at times of mornonic moves and ill-thought out decisions. When you have no idea which way is up, or which way is down. What the hell is sideways, anyhow? It became clear that the extent of this was not going to measured in liters of air consumed, but rather in the amount of time it would take the miniscule brain that i own to realize "hey, bro, you be screwed" . Infinty is a concept to insert here. Infinity times a few 10's. What part of the reef waited to caress (by tearing of flesh) me? Remember the first thought? The way you looked sitting on the corner in first grade? How dumb it was to drive Unk's car at 100MPH + in San Fran? The taste of love?

Where in the hell am I going? It is endless. Brush of sand. A tug of the leash and then release. The leash to your board has broken. Fuck. It will get dinged, and then you gotta fix...What the fuck am I worried about the damn board for? Not panic, fucking out right fear is rising up, directly up, from my fucking balls. It is traversing my spine, waxing up to my shoulders, crusing past my cerebellum, and planting its unwanted flag directly over my conquerd soul.

Fear, the last great enemy before sheer panic.

The gaping hole of my mouth quits its sewer door trap. Water begins to descend to my lungs, and the breech of the waters edge does nothing to stop the puke from ousting itself from my being.

Survival, or a mere quitters revenge?

I'll never know.

After the washing was done, and the panic alighted. I drained the gallonage from my sinus' and headed to work.

And wait for another day.


Mental Sumo

Social security records indicate that somehow the man provided for many on an income just hovering above poverty. The man made extra money working side jobs in construction. He took 2nd jobs. There are X number of days in a year. There are innumerable responsibilities in being. In just being. In X number of days those dependent on the man, had needs of time and attention; these need tending to, as does an open wound. If X days are what they are, and X days are needed to be allocated, what of the needs of the man? Open wounds need tending. There are only X number of days though, are there not?

X days turn into X years; and X years into X decades. You can multiply that by the length of ones manhood and still have zero.

Shuffle. Rewind. Accelerate. One can not imagine what one does not dream. In the grey matter of the mind, one accomplishes all things. Imagination can not be diluted. Reason is, once you are imaginative, you remain that way for life. You will cultivate that whether you want to or not. It is the DNA of your soul. The man will see faces in electrical outlets; letters in the building of walls; grace in the action of an athlete. Victory will equate greatness; losing commensurate with unprepared ness. Quitting, the death of the man itself.

By example, love is personified in the neglecting of self for others. Love of self, not a mental masturbation, but self ego building, can not exist in true love, can it? Sacrificial lamb? Perhaps. Stupid lemming? More likely. Love. Damn that’s some sweet drug shit, no? Common sense will never, ever hold a candle to Love. Get all those endorphins moving about like they are frying in a goddamn microwave, and fuckifiknow what may happen.

Gabba Gabba Hey; I wanna be sedated.

Thanks to The Ramones, that turn-stile saying will waltz the man’s cranium for ever. Take that, Wayne Newton.

It certainly would be fitting to explode in a cavalcade of wondrous anger. Fuck, that would feel so good. The accompanying stroke wouldn’t look so good on the mans permanent record, now would it? We all know how imperative it is to keep that permanent record clean, eh? Don’t want that shit to come back and bite you in the arse, do you?

Assuming of course, assuming you have an ass, and just aren’t one. Many associates or relatives of the man may feel bent on the term ‘Major Ass’ as an indication of the high ass standard he has obtained. High ass standards are not just handed out on the fly-by, no, they are hard earned endearments of ass-holery; not bestowed on the meek ass’ but only to Major Ass.

Ramble on, the time is now to sing my song.

Not only did Led Zeppelin steal the blues from the African Americans, and infuse it with rock, they stole major portions of the mans brain matter and high decibel listening capabilities. The song most certainly does NOT remain the same. It can not. See, the song must change, the song must evolve, because the man must. More DNA. Stop learning, stop growing, stop caring, you just as soon be gone. When you have the same tune playing over and over on the radio, you change the channel.

And you tune it in to a stronger, better station.

Those X days. The man never took off for want of self, not many times anyway. Those few forays into lazy days were better served by spending it in pursuit of youthful learning experience.

Ah, but the youth never sees that, do they?

As is just, the man must imagine so. Surly by repetition, the sacrifice will be enough to show what true love, what true manhood means. Truly? Then again, what does that man really, really know? When in question of self, of self motivation, it is perhaps with great sorrow that one must acknowledge that it was in self-interest. How better to be viewed then as a martyr? Yeah, them martyrs get all the chicks. I guess except if they are married or celibate. That’s the ticket. Where does the man sign up for crucifixion?

Is there a waiting list? Or does the man need to stand in line?

It isn’t a rant, it just a ramble.



March 7th, 1911 - November 11, 1985.

Aia a pa'i 'ia ka maka, ha'i 'ia kupuna nana 'oe.

E noho iho i ke opu weuweu, mai ho'oki 'eki 'e.

He lawai'a no ke kai papa 'u, he pokole ke aho; he lawai 'a no kekai hohonu he loa aho.

Assured I have shamed you, I love and miss you so.



For The Uncorked One...

I get my PSA done on time, all the time.

With A Touch Of Grey

My Doctor is female.

Moon river has a whole new meaning (think Chevy Chase here)



Just when you think it cant...

...get any worse, it does.

We ended up spending exactly 30 hours inn Las Vegas. My son fucked up our trip by being an asshole at home. So I had to purchase an emergency one way trip home for me and her. $910 bucks. Lady C got picked for the extra search after we boarded. More stress. Then a passenger got sick on the flight, needed a return to LAX. Our 6 hour flight home turned into a 11 and a half hour marathon.

I will not speak to my eldest son again.

I hold grudges.

I may be wrong in doing so, but right now, I dont fucking care.

A Royal Flush

I got a Royal Flush, worth a thousand.

And people were nice.

We went to the PinBall Hall Of Fame, wandered around, saw my HS graduating class for a moment or two.

Pinball Nostalgia

My cell phone is permanently a part of Bininons Casino's facade, as after I knew we had to go, I had had it with the bad news it always brings.

Was supposed to meet up with Little Kenny and his wife, but left. I am so sorry, K.

Was supposed to have 5 days ...

almost got 2.

Lady C

My grandkids and all are OK, and thats great. But I will be in a funk for sometime; knowing full well that I will probably never get to enjoy this life for sometime to come.

Back to 345 days of work.

Back to the grind.

Doubt I'll be back in the water soon, as I just cant do it.

Now it is just non-stop animosity between her and I, since ...I really dont know why.

Shit happens.

and thats how it goes.