What?

what makes me happy?
Why?
Does what I think makes me happy--really make me happy?
What would ME  proud of ME?
Was I ever proud of anything I've ever done?
Why take pride in what I do?
What do I do? why?
My existence is temporary. like clean sheets.
Can we really change our own mood? Who is in control of my body, of my mind? Do I run the show? what about those pesky hormones? what about those ADD pills? What about that joint? ...what about it?
will I ever bask in the glory of I dream realized? Or will the moment pass me by?
 Do dreams ever become reality? Or does the appeal lie in their nonexistence?

I need my fellow man to recognize me.
...to fuck off and leave me be.
...to pave my way in this world.
...to stop standing in my way.

Why do I feel the need to write down all this crap.

Indifference. boredom.

SURF

 A youthful mind is seldom totally free from ambition; to curb that, is the first step to contentment, since to diminish expectation is to increase enjoyment. 

Frances Burney 

Ever since I was old enough to fantasize about my own future I dreamed of surfing. Years on end I pictured myself jumping into the ocean as if it were my back yard; ducking underneath the foamy waves, the salty water washing over my face as I open my eyes to the next oncoming wave, then effortlessly launching myself into a liquid turquiose barrel of bliss. The sun shining. My body bare. The water warm. My countenance a reflection joyous ease. It was my escape, the greener grass on the other side of my beachless inland existence. I promised myself that one day I would make this fantasy my reality.


Well, at fucking last, here I am. 23. Making it happen. What's happening is not the fantasy, but the  brutal reality of this captivatingly invigourating experience of taking on the ocean. She's not your friend. She owns you, and she will beat you, and spit you out. You must gain her respect, visit her often, and take all her bullshit. Only then, will this divine diva allow you moments of synergy between your puny form and her almighty gusto.  


This week I've been wiped out by a tiny shore break, stung silly by blue bottels, and had my leash ripped off my leg by waves that plant panic into every nook and cranny of your body.  


This week I stood up for the time on my board, saw a sunset so beautiful, it is a shame to try and put it into words, and I watched from the shore perfect waves barreling, churning wih power and grace, while people who have deserved the honour, rode them, and I felt myself elated in their moment. Waiting for mine.


Surfing is not for pussys. I did not know I was a pussy until I started surfing. I plan on rectifying this pussyness....one reason for this....

 I. want. to. be. in. a. fucking. barrel.

What a Cracker!

Passing the night in our usual careless manner of drinks, smokes, and jumping conversation, my friends and I start to dabble in religious talk. Just as our banter kicks off in its all too well known trend of Jesus jokes and the newest apocalypse conspiracy theories, my friend Francois cuts into the gab with a new line no one has heard; “I know there’s a God” He sternly gazes passed his audience as if back into the birth of reason, brandy in hand naturally. Now he’s looking us in the eye, “because the things we have to do…are the best.” we all stare at him in anticipation for the coup de grace of his little epiphany.

“To eat. To shit. And to fuck” he victoriously counts the three pleasures off with his fingers.Now he’s looking at us, grinning and nodding his head slowly as if waiting for us to snap the sheer brilliance of it. We don’t, and tell him to go take a holy shit.

Today, a good few months after this episode, I snapped it. All thanks to a cracker…

This morning a woke to a pleasurable breakfast of rice cakes with tahini spread, cottage cheese, tomato, spinach leaves, and some garlic for garnish. It tastes good. No doubt. I make another one and wonder why these crackers are so damn tiny. The day takes it course. Later that night my man and I smoke a fatty on our way home. I get stoned. Efficiently & effectively baked. All I can think is ‘Polly want a fuckin’ cracker!’ It seems the munchies have kicked in. When we finally reach our destination I’m drooling in anticipation. Like a homing missile I launch myself into the kitchen and start to recreate my breakfast. But it all seems a little different. The crackers actually seem larger, the tomato redder, and the garlic smells more potent. As I take the first bite, my face contorts in amazement. Crunching through the rice cake I feel the tahini scrubbing my tongue while the juicy tomato pours over my taste buds,the garlic electrifying my palate.I groan with pleasure as the flavors combine more beautifully with every mouthful . I find myself revisiting the words of my friend François with a new sense of appreciation. Maybe there is a God. Or alternatively I am God of all crackers and they worship me by have orgies in my mouth. I deem both hypotheses equally plausible.

So three cheers for the combo of chronic and crackers for almost getting me to believe in a higher power!