Man its a good day, same as any other. I knew there was waves, leftovers from a gracious northernly we’d surfed all weekend, or was it Thursday? Anyway that didn’t matter much to a spiritual being such as myself, the point is waves are waves and the universe was trying to communicate. I was ready to translate.
First things first, new day, new bandana. Then I had to ask Cindy to leave, it’d been a wild night, but my meditation practices were backing up and she had a habit of distracting me, biting my ears. Its super cool of her, and normally really dig it, but I knew it was time for some pre-surf enlightenment and her nibbling blocked my hidden chakras.
I made her a pour-over coffee to-go, and tipped it through ice into an old coconut husk I’d been using for percussion expression. I hate microplastics man, our ocean is life, also fuck Starbucks, such liars, mermaids don’t touch their poison. I garnished the brew with a bamboo straw and a cocktail umbrella, Cind’s was stoked. She put her swimsuit back on and grabbed the Daisy Dukes from the ceiling fan, her silhouette and the glow of her orange one piece against the rising sun tripped me out for a few seconds, I absorbed the positive energy. Cindy left giggling to herself. A strong imagination Cindy, she’d probably grab a couple waves later at big bay, man she can longboard. With Cindy out the door, I got to transcending.
Ommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
The dogs had got my rash vest, I saluted Chico and pulled the remnants out of Gnar Gnars teeth, no hope for that vest, mental note, head to the Stoke Fairy Store. I had to dig out a crusty old 3/2. It was a ‘83 Mark Occhilupo Jazz-blue and Neon-pink Flash Competition Series, maybe one of a kind. Okay I know everyone loves surfing in board shorts, but when I surf in this suit, I feel more superhero than when I wear my leopard print sex pants, added bonus of the Occy is it makes my turns all flared out like optical illusions. I’m pretty sure I paddle faster too, there is science behind that old technology.
Took the van down to nuggets to see what remained, it started first time. I pushed in my sun baked cassette of Electric Ladyland, I figured I could draw on more positive energy today, the stuff that Jimi’s left us in his oeuvre. I couldn’t have made it up… banks and banks and banks of crumbling love nuggets, luscious and spacious waves, I wanted to write poems on them. This was a swells rendition of blissful cuddles in a post orgy afterglow…
Man it’s good to be alive.
— the stokefairy