NOTE: I reposted this in order to add a new illustration. The latest addition to realsurfers is the story and illustration on an encounter with James Arness at San Onofre in 1967. Maybe I’ll repost that in order to get it to the top of the site.
I once bragged, and even believed
I could remember every wave I’d ridden up to that point.
Now they (the memories) are waves, waves of waves, and lulls,
and if I remember one or more from a particular time;
the first one, the one I rode in on, the one on which I couldn’t help but laugh,
hoot, arch my back as I ride, in equal parts,
across, forward and sideways-down.
Moments, waves of moments.
Ah, but I also believe there’s song, music and words,
slightly out of the rhythm,
instant, too fast, out of control, sideways-down.
Waves of sound and a bit of broken verse.
At volume loud enough to recall.
I usually found that when I cut out of a wave I could remember what had just happened, as if the NOW of it was completely out of phase with memory. drew
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