At times when I find I'm fed up with modern life.
Trying to buy some free time,
most of the world living in strife,
I just want to break out of our illogical cage,
of inflated economy, and just turn the page,
to start a new system that is governed by age,
honoring the wisdom of each elder sage,
to turn it all around before they're
lowered into the ground,
pound for pound,
it's far more sound,
than running this whole ship aground,
as our democracy has been drowned.
Puppeteered by cold clowns,
sporting smug smirks and frowns,
without these haters around,
their wars would be unwound,
everyone everywhere would have enough food,
and all talk of politics deemed exceedingly rude.
It may be a stretch for your mind,
to imagine the world run this way,
and yet 500 billion dollars has been just bombed away,
on innocent families of souls just like yours,
who are sacrificed while they pray
the reality of this should have you floored,
we know problems aren't solved by the sword.
The troubles just increase with each dying day,
while paper money is power and the wise have no say.
So next time you see an old man or woman on your path,
humble up and respect them, for they've done the math,
and they've seen the changes and they've learned from mistakes,
they know what not to do, and when to put on the brakes.
So let's let them drive while they're still on the train,
so we all come out alive instead of dying in vain.
Sanity is in the mind of the beholder,
It's no wonder so many elders go crazy,
when an old lady's grandchildren scold her
and every one of them is dumb and lazy.
We're high-tech to the teeth,
and styled out to the moon,
we ignore all of the warnings,
proud and blind as bufoons.
Colon cancer running rampant,
and infertility at an all time high,
but you're still buying happy meals,
until the day you die.
as the litter piles high,
filling up to the sky,
you deny and deny,
to keep living in your lie,
all I can do is ask why, why why?
Life should be easier,
it should be much more fun,
there will be so much more free time,
once we undo what we've done.
So hire an elder and ask their advice,
take it all in and then decide,
if they are worth the asking price,
and i bet you will find,
time after time after time,
that they are worth their weight in gold,
when it comes to direction i say trust in the old,
come next election we should all be so bold,
as to vote for the the eldest,
still of sound enough mind,
to give politicians a rest,
and i am sure we will find,
that with wisdom of the elders,
there will be peace in the world,
and new hope for all mankind.
Friday, August 24, 2007
another daze work
Emitting the pulse of a fractured mind,
a drone is clear above our daily din of "how do you dos"
and "where have you beens".
We see our blind hero in his self acclaiming disease,
backed into another corner by glaring inconsistencies.
Another daze work,
another stale tale to sell,
he lives blindly trapped he owns his own hell.
Hopeless eyes that tell the story of his truly dire straits,
though we humor him in bearing his latest fantasy,
among the world's narcissistic greats...
and as we wonder what went wrong
for the deluded boy inside,
he cries out for our attention,
with bluntly pretentious pride.
Another daze work,
and no new tale to tell,
he talks on in his strife without knowing he's master of his own hell.
Hopeless eyes that tell the story of truly dire straits,
shouldn't someone wake him from this insanity,
instead of endorsing his cryptic fate?
A legendary faux,
a hero to himself,
another fictional character,
fallen from the shelf.
a drone is clear above our daily din of "how do you dos"
and "where have you beens".
We see our blind hero in his self acclaiming disease,
backed into another corner by glaring inconsistencies.
Another daze work,
another stale tale to sell,
he lives blindly trapped he owns his own hell.
Hopeless eyes that tell the story of his truly dire straits,
though we humor him in bearing his latest fantasy,
among the world's narcissistic greats...
and as we wonder what went wrong
for the deluded boy inside,
he cries out for our attention,
with bluntly pretentious pride.
Another daze work,
and no new tale to tell,
he talks on in his strife without knowing he's master of his own hell.
Hopeless eyes that tell the story of truly dire straits,
shouldn't someone wake him from this insanity,
instead of endorsing his cryptic fate?
A legendary faux,
a hero to himself,
another fictional character,
fallen from the shelf.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Board a Tidal Wave of Soul

Today was mostly about surfing, though it didn't begin that way. I thought I was going to work, but being that I woke up in Santa Monica and my work was an hour and a half up the coast, well...you can't really blame a guy for "living a little for today" once in a while--right? Allot of my days recently have been about surfing actually. Allot of my dreams at night too. I dreamed of tidal waves twice in the past few months. I recall one being exceptionally beautiful in its rise on the horizon, moving toward shore faster than any jet, and colored an incredibly light green-blue that seemed too inviting. It came up unexpectedly, and the crowded line-up was a thick mass of sudden chaos. My vantage point was from above, from the edge of a high cliff. I remember as the wave loomed high over the shoreline, lurching up, up , up and seeing only the few guys who got up in time and how they skittered off in speedy lines directly in to the beach, while most of the ant-like others were swallowed up and spit out or digested. Mostly I just remember the feeling that it was part of the plan, and nobody was really going down in a bad way. There was nothing to worry about. After all, they were surfing. I used to imagine that was how I would die. I don't really want to go out early, but that wouldn't be a bad way to ride out i guess...
Yesterday i caught some fun rides at County Line where the conditions: clean waist to head high lefts and rights, no wind and few surfers at the point--were ideal. But today I passed it up to get to the all-too-accessible point break in Ventura. I was really tempted to surf Leo Carrillo State Beach along the way, but after seeing too many "too aggro" surf enthusiasts getting too few waves to themselves and mostly really short, spastic 'rides', I got back in my chair and back on the pacific coastal highway. In the drive as in life, I really just want to enjoy the ride. And not to tell you or anyone about it around the fire or at some cubicle-clustered-corporate-headquarter water tank. It isn't about getting the photo in a magazine or the trophy, or any of that shit. You know? I know that in the end, it's about the feelings. I feel good when I enjoy the ride, and let the fray go on without my 2 cents. I love to go out there and find peace of mind, and once in a while I catch a wave that surprises and stokes me, and that's it. that's all I need to go back to the grind and feel good about life, and wherever I stand in it. Surfing is as free as it gets. I like to think it will stay free. Just a board, the ocean's cooperation, and some surf wax--and I feel like a kid at the carnival again. It's been a good therapy for about every stress I can think of.
I went for the past several years dealing with ear issues though, and I let it keep my out of the water. The cold water winters back east and a straange foxtail incident (i won't go into just now) have really messed with my ability to tolerate wind and cold water in my ears, so I stopped surfing almost completely for a few busy/stoke-lacking years. My ears bug me now actually as I write, but so do allot of other things i cannot control, so.....
About six months ago I met Clare, my endlessly amusing and amazing muse. This dear woman I love came into my life like magic and jump-started an old artery somewhere deep inside of me, and I realized my second childhood has finally arrived. And so, within a month of meeting her, and with her encouragement, I got a new board. Well, it's new to me anyway. This board, passed on to me by its shaper, John Baum of Venice, CA, was originally shaped for his wife as a gift. There is a poem along the stringer in Hawaiian, and there are red footprints and a few of his hand prints across the deck to amuse and guide the rider in three surfing modes: "stand here for tube ride", "stand here for trim" and "stand here for bone-shattering wipeout!" I saw the board and laughed. I love the fact that it is so not-attempting-to-be "cool". It is a good fun shape, mellow nose and mid-sized. It is just what I've needed. Short, "knifey" performance thrusters are what I always looked for and rode before, and I was frustrated often in the water when conditions weren't just right for them. I took surfing too seriously. So I really liked this board, and its creator, John. Apparently, John's pretty much a legend there, by local accounts, whose friendly eyes gleamed with a reassuring stoke, even though he is going through a really rough transition. John went into the back story a bit for me before it became mine. It was a birthday gift for his wife, and it had traveled halfway around the world and been well-loved. But, a few years ago, his wife got cancer, and battled it for a few years. She passed from this life just a year ago. He felt that it was finally time to let the board go, and to get on with his life without it there to remind him of something can no longer be. I feel deeply moved knowing he allowed me to have this board, and privileged to own and to surf with it. It makes me smile inside every time just to see it. Thanks John Baum. If you ever get to Venice and want to meet a true soul surfer with great presence, look him up, or just ask a stoked surfer--they will likely be able to at least tell you a great story or two about him. It happened to me a few weeks after I inherited the board, while I was in a hospital waiting room. It is an amazing feeling to just watch the waves from inside or on the beach sometimes, with the appreciation that I can have this great freedom to play and connect with the earth on such a personal wavelength, without spending money or having to schedule or plan my visit. And to paddle out into that great green-blue body of life filled beyond our comprehension with animals and plants and free energy, whenever I want or feel the need to seems so surreal right now. Living in water from the time of conception onward until our actual birth, with the rhythms of heartbeat and breath, we aren't so far from our original environment out there. Ok, there IS a resined and fiberglassed polystyrene foam board under me and a skin of polypropylene tightly zipped over 90% of my body, and I am slathered in a "50 spf sunblock" concoction beyond that, but...the feelings and sounds inside of a waves vacuum-like slurping in the magic moment before sealing me in (or someday maybe actually spitting me out), I have to believe are pretty much primordial and prenatal in essence too. The "Green Womb". The tide was at its highest and a sieging of wayward wind blew out and closed out allot of otherwise fun waist- to-chest-high peelers as the sun sank into a thickening grey-blue marine layer. I was reminded again today how people so different in styles and personalities can find camaraderie and common ground, or water, when it comes to this unique pass-time. I stood nearly freezing tonight, long, long after sunset, with these two hulking characters, Sean and Robert, and then eventually a talented surfing seashell jeweler/artist named Donna who transplanted from Santa Cruz to C street, where we all stood in a circle of four--just laughing, sharing and taking in all kinds of info. on you-name-it. To look at these guys I would never have guessed it could become new connections and the time it was, in the scene that it was. Sean seemed like he could take you out pretty quick if he had to--or if you dropped in on him more than once in a session. He seemed like maybe a linebacker-wrestler-turned-lumberjack. He was actually involved in high-tech design sales to our military, and a proud and committed father of three, as well as seasoned surfer, environmentalist and hardcore East Cliff local up in S.C. He also had a hell of a case of poison oak all over his arms from weed-whacking mass amounts of the bastard plant life to clear a trail to the surf a few weeks prior, which made him look even gnarlier. He really isn't the kind of guy you walk up to if he isn't smiling at you first, but I did, for some reason, and I was stoked for that decision. He was someone worth taking time to meet for sure. If I ever ge up to S.C. again, I will look for him in the line up. I will be sure not to drop in on his waves though... hahaha... Robert, his friend, looked more like an inland investment broker with a Gold's Gym membership, and was mostly quiet and just learning to surf, so he did allot of listening. Another nice guy though, who seemed genuine and reliable if you needed financial advice. I forgot what he actually did for work. Then there was Donna, who began and owns the "now international" Betty Belts apparel company, with a storefront of great fashion and gift ideas, and surf photography by her mate Dave... and me--well, you know, regular old goofy surf/skater, house painter/modern day shape-shifter... but I have no idea what pigeon hole I fit into visually speaking. It just depends on the day really. So we talked for an hour+ past sunset, realizing common homes, friends, attitudes and we kept half-joking about going back out to surf now since the moon was so high and the tide getting so low. The lines had noticeably increased in size and the lefts were getting cleaner and cleaner, which was really doing it for me. But, poor Donna was freezing (she had been out in a short John with no sleeves at all) and dinner was calling us all too, and so we peaced-out and I went to a local taco hall for my fav. standby chili relleno burrito. Good stuff...worth the heart burn every time. I didn't work at all today, and I felt pretty bad about it for most of the morning into the afternoon. But after surfing and shooting the shit with some friendly surfers--everything seems just as it should be...in fact, even better than that! Thank God for the waves free energy and for bringing good people together... I hope I never get too old for surfing. I am so grateful to be out there with the dolphins and seals and unique people who paddle out to ride waves, instead of just watching for the world's end on the evening, as fools bomb the faux foes for 500 billion dollars worth of bullshit control of the precious oil stock and worry about their junk bonds all day long. The bonds I've made in the surf have been free, priceless, high-yield and I wouldn't trade 'em or my freedom for anything.
Tomorrow should be bigger, and the next even bigger still. Dawn patrol is on the itinerary. We will see if my arms still want to work after that. Best get to bed. I hope for more dreams of big waves tonight.
Surf's up...ummm hmmm...ummm hmmm.... Board a tidal wave...
~S
Entry Into The Bloggerdome

Tonight, I adventure into vast and uncharted territory...ok, maybe not so uncharted for you, but for myself--this is high adventure. It is 3:35 am here in Los Angeles, CA, and I should be dreaming up the next scene in my soon-to-be-born feature film...but this could wait no longer. I met a guy named Howard Shum tonight on my way in to a screening of "Feast Of Love", which is an exceptional film I definitely would recommend seeing two or three times soon! A well-casted and deeply moving film with great comical moments, beautiful shots and strong, atypical writing.
So I was in line with Howard Shum, discussing screen writing and then art. Howard inks for comic books, is a talented artist in his own right, (check him out: www.howardshum.com) and an interesting and genuine character. He was also generous enough to share a "Gun Fu" comic book sample with me which he writes and inks. It had great style with lots of pop to it. I went from there, after the screening ended, into Shum's website and checked it out pretty thoroughly. I came across his blogs, and next thing you know... I am here beginning my own blog. I knew I would have to sooner or later, but when...? I guess it is right now! You may be the first to read this. It is late for me, so I am going to simply say, for the moment~~These words of my own personal advice:
There is no financial compensation for a life half-lived. Start living up to your own expectations and putting your dreams back together. Trust that what you love to do will keep you fed and clothed and sheltered.
I am going through this transition in my life right now of trusting in my art and writing dreams. I have held my light under wraps for a long time. This is the dawn of what I intend to make into my true career path. NO MORE painting houses while my soul aches, chained down by a lack of balls to trust my instincts. NO MORE waiting around for the ship to come in. I begin building this mothership tonight, and I welcome you to climb aboard, join the fleet or lead the way out of port! AAAaaarrrrrgghhHHH!!!!!! hmmmm.....
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Whoa, I think it's time to sail off to sleep... Oh--thanks! Knowing you only get so many minutes, I appreciate that you spent a few in here in my new blog... More to come soon...I am so tired.
Peace...
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