Sunday, May 15, 2005
we stayed to surf What say, the waves are totally buff and some kinda’ tuff thiswhen, eh? Waycool! So hey, while we in wonder wander willful ‘long these sandy shores of force the oleaginous ontological ocean betide, becomes our sole recourse. Say what? See, we supposedly bogus beachbums be downright decent at slashin’ glassmoothfast gnarlyass tubes, cutback chiaroscuros’ limned liquidlucent some nasty moves done by us demigod dharmadudes: slithering sideslips to lipstrikes wanton freefin, whitewater spumewhipped to windward away, screamin’ ‘cross vortices breaking wildly widdershins, shreddin’ swellwalls spunaesthetic in hyperspray! Try to focus and understand: that on the sands of time certain realities abide as ripples, (epiphenomenological swirls microgranular in sand), whose appearance and purpose permutate supereal the ethereal collective unconscious and its’ surface tension through scansion surreal and the expansion we feel’s everdue our ideal. So therefore, when sometimes we with booze petition the muse, of self induced epigramatic sententiousness we’re subtly subdued. Still, as abundant as virgin births are these daze, so we as metaviral avatars abide and abound. Couched in our dangerous comedic sheathing we are found to be ribonucleic acid gone awry! Why?! . . : ‘Cause our vaticinal skew, thislife, thiswhen, thismilieau is to train, and in training to remain: warrior platelets, (everbidden), to nobility hagridden; surfing waves on these seas in our brains, surely our domain and dominion we claim. While towards escape from replical overlordships’ repression we move and the expression is: “slash the seratonin”; (boards backlit and burnished by the light of nightly neurotransmitterlit sessions). I guess we gotta go for the ganglia gang. Trapped behind enemy timelines we play, hanging out and hanging in there. Where? Right here by this solipsistic surf An ominous, but numbly numinous, sense of divinity ubiquitously bitchin’, like catchin’ the best swell of the day, beckons: one nerve, one single synapse, (‘just one more wave, eh’,) away. So you see: we stayed to surf.
Posted by Jon Thrasher at 7:02 PM