It’s been raining, followup to the really cold spell. As someone reminded me, “It’s still winter.” Yeah. Blessed, I guess, with too much time to think about all the projects I could be working on, I chose to, yeah, finish “SWAMIS,” the novel* I’ve been writing for, yeah again, years.
*Finished, as in, got to the part, after 94,800 or so words, where I wrote “Not even close to the end.” As in, there has to be more of the adventures of surfers/lovers/eighteen-old amateur detectives Julia Trueheart Cole and Joseph Atsushi DeFreines, AND Junipero “Jumper” De Jesus, AND what I believe to be a totally believable supporting cast of characters.
IF ‘SWAMIS’ could be, as I imagine, with hundreds of pages written and set aside, a trilogy, AND with “Swamis” being such a convenient word, the name of the famous surf spot AND a reference to those who seek the truth, “BEACONS,” another North County surf spot, could be the second book title, “GRANDVIEW” completing the series. AND, YEAH, I’m thinking about it. SOME of the work is already done, the characters are set up, and I’m pretty sure how they respond to issues coming at them in the late sixties, early seventies. No, I’m pretty sure I don’t know. WE’LL SEE.
WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS GUY?
One has to wonder; compensation-wise.
I’m Not THAT Political, but… DEPARTMENT-
OR THAT RELIGIOUS… BUT… Shit’s going on.
And waves continue to roll in. I had a few fights with my scanner this morning, a few more with the wordpress setup. AND I have to go. It’s clearing up and I am driving my reborn VOLVO farther than downtown. Remember that all of my original works on realsurfers.net are protected by, not only the first amendment, but by copyright. All rights reserved. Yeah, that.
…AND REGGIE and DJANGO (the ‘d’ is silent) unleashed… and more
THIS is my VOLVO just after ADAM ‘WIPEOUT’ JAMES did almost all the tricky technical stuff in my attempt to save the ‘SUPER FUN CAR’ (the previous owner had a license plate ring that reads, ‘chocolat du coeur,’ chocolate of the heart) after, probably twelve miles from home and with darkness falling fast, a broken fitting on the hose that goes through the firewall causing water to spew out, the lack of water leading to overheating. I could, of course, stopped and called for a tow. I DIDN”T. Because of a stubborn insistence on my part to make it home, and with the added belief I could because folks stopped out in the middle of nowhere to give me, like, three gallons off water, I kept going. THIS involved, watching the temp gauge, stopping short of the red zone, allowing the engine to cool down, adding water, driving, cool down, water, driving, cool down, more water, driving. The gauge was approaching the red line again when I limped down the driveway.
As seems to be my usual response when driving in dangerous and/or tense situations that are no longer shared-with-if-not-mitigated-by chain smoking, though my white knuckled grip on the steering wheel remains, I spent an almost equal amount of the time between breakdown and home (probably and hour-and-a-half) swearing and praying.
AND THEN I replaced the broken heater thermostat, myself, and then, though the FUN CAR didn’t overheat, I discovered I had a blown HEAD GASKET. My friend and mechanic, GEORGE TAKAMOTO, currently being treated for kidney failure, asked, on the phone, “Is it water in the oil or oil in the water?” “I think it’s, like, both.” “OH. Bad.”
BEFORE I called KIRKY, local tow truck driver and junk hauler, to offer him the FUN CAR, I consulted a guy who works on cars all the time, MICHAEL SPEARS. He wasn’t interested in the car, even for free, but said, given the difference between the worth of the car and the cost of a professional head gasket replacement, I might consider trying this stuff, BLUE DEVIL.
SO, and I wouldn’t have attempted this without help, Adam agreed to help. ROUND ONE seemed to do the trick; but I didn’t trust driving it, and, since I still had half a bottle of the Blue Devil, we gave it another go. AND I AM pretty convinced the car is running decently. Adam also cranked up the idle a bit because, my gorilla hands trying to wrangle hoses and stuff, I did something to the linkage. I can’t explain it, but Adam figured it out and fixed it. NOW, the van story: It’s a thirty-year-old rig and, just before George had to go into an assisted living/rehab place, he diagnosed the problem with the back door on the van not opening from the outside as a broken bulb-like dealie on the end of the linkage. “Huh?” I couldn’t fix it, or wouldn’t try, and have spent a month or so crawling through the van to open the door from the inside. Not fun.
I purchased a replacement on Amazon for, like, $115.00. While we were waiting for the Fun Car to cool down enough to replace the engine’s main thermostat, Adam asked what else I had that needed fixing. The part, of course, did not come even close to fitting, BUT, and I give full credit to Adam’s inventiveness to living down at the HAMA HAMA, being involved in the oyster business, with all kinds of gear and gear breakdown issues, Adam figured out a way to open the door. “Does it bother you that you won’t be able to lock the door?” “Hell, no; I was ready to go full white trash and put a latch and a padlock on it.”
IF ADAM is a superstar in the seafood/oyster industries. He is or should be legendary in the surf world. Because he travels frequently to places that buy oysters and, incidentally, have waves, he is known and ACCEPTED (this is a major part of this) at a lot of local (and localized) breaks.
Adam and I had a bit of a discussion on how many legendary surfers are among our group of friends, and why this or that surfer fits into the legend category. It comes down to this: A LEGEND IS A STORY. LEGENDARY figures in any and all fields have, ONE, stories to tell, and TWO, others have stories to tell about them. SO, if you want to be a legendary surfer, SURF.
REGGIE SMART, surfer, independent contractor, tattoo artist, working on his own legend, illustrated, working downtown with his new dog (not posing), DJANGO.
PICTURE-WISE, I just deleted, by his request, a photo of surfer/journalist/poet RICO, but now, because I want to call myself a surfer/journalist/poet, I’ve decided I shouldn’t be dissuaded from capturing images of surfers or whoevers. It’s integrity. Maybe. I did allow COUGAR KEITH the opportunity to pose, he declined and ran away too quickly for me to get my phone ready.
AFTER AND BEFORE photos of this dude who bothered me a while back while I was trying to work in Uptown Port Townsend, and then, more recently, at the hardware store. He also rudely wasted some of my Daughter Dru’s time while she was working, last day before her surgery, at the OLYMPIC MUSIC FESTIVAL office. I seems he’s in this play in which he plays his father- hence, and it makes perfect sense, he in the navy getup, no beard, dyed hair. When I accused him of wasting Dru’s time, he said, “Geez; old guys talk; that’s what we do.” OKAY. I did hear that he may or may not have been the old guy who was hanging around the middle school asking kids if they wanted to be in his play… or the guy was until cops told him he had to leave. SO, he has stories; stories are told about him. Legend? Maybe. He doesn’t surf. I asked.
SURF NEWS- I surfed. Once I complete a few test runs and get the insurance, including towing, reinstated on the Fun Car, I’ll be venturing farther out, working on some new surf tales.
‘SWAMIS’ NEWS- It’s more like bidding season than painting season for the ERWIN DENCE PAINTING COMPANY, and I’m actually working on doing some advertising. YELP! This is my excuse, ten or twelve pages from wrapping up what’s listed on the thumb drive as ‘final final final Swamis.’ Maybe, since I’m working on this tonight, I can write tomorrow. Yes, after I write two more proposals.
LOVE SONG FOR CYNICS-
Right now it’s time for TRUE CONFESSIONS, time for you to just come clean; Right now it’s time for true confessions, time for you to just come clean; Now, don’t be lookin’ at me that way, you know exactly what I mean.
Today your husband came to see me, after all I’m his best friend; Today your old man came to see me, after all I’m his best friend; He said he knows that you’ve been cheatin’, and now it’s too late to pretend.
He says he’s got his pistol loaded, he says his finger’s got an itch; He says he’s got his pistol loaded, and says his finger’s got an itch; And when that other man gets cornered, he’s gonna shoot that sonofabitch.
I said, friend, you’d better calm down, it won’t be worth the price you’ll pay; I said you’d better, better, better calm down, it won’t be worth the price you’ll pay; He said, “All I ever wanted, is a woman who will stay.”
Well, I can’t preach or shout if I’m talkin’ about the way you’ve been misbehaving, Bug your man’s made a stand, and he has a new plan, for a love he feel’s worth saving; If you can’t take a chance on one sided romance, ’cause of all your indiscretions, Then it’s best that you run, ’cause your man’s got a gun, this might be your last confession.
Right now it’s time for true confessions, they say the truth will set us free; Oh, yes, it’s time for true confessions, they say the truth will set us free; It’s hard for me to talk about this, because… the other man… is me.
Thanks for checking out realsurfers. Now go find some real waves, create some real stories.
ALL original work on realsurfers.net, unless otherwise noted, is copyright protected, all rights reserved by Erwin A. Dence, Jr.
Hey, I’ve been busy, and I’m busy now. ADAM WIPEOUT is heading up SUrF ROUTE 101 to help get my VOLVO back on the road (101). I’ll get back with more… soon. Thanks, Erwin
Yes, I googled “Surfing Valentines cards,” hit on ‘images,’ and then, partially because this card is no longer available, copied, and now pasted it here. Obviously the couple are discussing which one of them will ride the board.
I do have some possibly romantic surf stories. However, you may have noticed there is sometimes (I want to say) tension between partners in surf couples, regular and power. Adding children to the mix doesn’t lessen the (I want to say) natural competitiveness between any two surfers once actual surfing is involved.
And then there’s the supposed to be supportive non-surfing boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever category one puts a significant or sort-of significant other into. “Oh, that was great, Babe; the way you almost made the bottom turn; all bottom, no turn… Whoo Hoo!”
In our relationship, which started out with Trish watching me surf, two spots, like four hours worth, the thrill of this wore off rather quickly. As perhaps happens, and I so very often mention, surfing became the other woman. Choices had to be made. Mostly Trish won. Not always.
Trish kept riding a surf mat for a while. I still had one. Mostly she’d ride it at Swamis Beachbreak. One afternoon we went out together at Oceanside, over between the jetties. We probably rode a few before we found ourselves together, outside, with a suddenly rising swell and a surprisingly strong rip. I have been, in my surf life, way more worried about being caught outside than being caught inside. Adding someone I care deeply about out there with me… it’s worse.
I’m not sure exactly how we got in. It wasn’t like I rescued Trish or she rescued me (and for those who already know, I have had women come to my rescue when I was perceived to be in trouble or was actually floundering in the shorebreak), but we made it in, and the last time I asked, Trish told me she wasn’t worried. “Oh, because you were with your man?” “No, because I knew what I was doing.” “Oh. Yeah. That.”
SO… Lovers, love.
IN “Love Songs for Cynics” News; I just had a meeting yesterday with a person willing to help me format a collection af songs and (I don’t want to say) poetry, and some essays. I’m in the process of collecting years worth of stuff I’ve written, quite a bit of it surf-related, but, surprisingly, a lot of the songs are not what would be classified as love songs. Possibly because our son James is a guitarist, I have written a lot of blues songs. Asked about my material, I had to say a lot of it is fictional; me putting myself in some situation I’ve not really been in.
Anyway, I have been making some progress on “Swamis.” Slow but steady, and yes, there is some surf action, and yes, there is some romance.
You say your woman left you, she took a one way flight, Now all that you can think of is your miserable plight, And you whimper all day long and you cry all night, SORRY ‘BOUT YOUR BLUES… I feel all right.
But you say you had to gamble, and you had to drink that wine, And you had ‘just a few’ ladies, so you had to dance and dine, Still you don’t know ‘xactly where you crossed that line, Sorry ’bout your blues… but I feel fine.
I feel good because my woman treats me something like a king, I just snap my fingers, and she’ll do most any thing; Oh, but I should add she keeps my ass in line, Sorry ’bout your blues… but I feel fine.
Now you’re right down at the bottom, never been quite this far down, Your once fine reputation’s shot throughout your own home town, And if you cry one more tear, you’ll likely drown, Sorry you’re not up… but I’m not down.
Now, I’ve been down in the gutter, I crawled out the best I could, Right now my life’s so good that I just have to knock on wood, I guess I should help, I only wish I could, Sorry ’bout your blues, I don’t think it’s what you’d choose, I’m just so glad those blues are yours, not mine, Sorry ’bout your blues, but I… feel… fine.
Yeah, all original work by Erwin Dence on realsurfers.net is copyright protected. All rights reserved.
SURF NOTE: If we can get past this February pattern of too cold temperatures and the surf doldrums, maybe… waves. We all love waves! Right?
I AM SKIPPING anything and everything connected to today’s SUPERBOWL. Various reasons, including my lack of desire to see any fat fucks trying to get creepily close to TAYLOR SWIFT and/or sending in ideas for sure fire plays, and/or it’s not like the SEAHAWKS or my possibly new favorite team the RAIDERS are playing.
I am all caught up on the WSL Pipeline contest. I did watch it live on YouTube the other day, got to see John John Florence and Barron Mamyia battle it out. And then, because this is what we do, I watched it again, checking out the comments. It is a pretty expected thing to criticize the WSL, especially the judging. On site commentators increasingly, it seems, defend the judging. As such, the judges who gave Jack Robinson a ten for his backdoor barrel must have seen some slight ‘point of difference’ with John’s.
DEAR WSL OVERLORDS, I have no idea how this screenshot showed up on my phone. NO, wait a moment; yes, I was watching the contest live while waiting for the snowplow. No, not really; I was waiting for an online order to be delivered at the Fancy Store. One wrong click and, OH NO, I’m retransmitting without permisson. AND, yes; there is another step involved, but, in my defense, I will give the WSL full credit AND pass on ALL of the monies I receive for adding to your publicity. AND, yes; despite realsurfer’s WORLDWIDE AUDIENCE of tens of viewers, I do not receive any money.
PLUS, I kind of feel a connection. I ONCE wrote to JOE TURPEL when I hadn’t seen him for a while. AND he wrote back. Evidently he and his wife had a baby. OKAY, cool; OH, AND I did see and read an entire article about STRIDER just getting his home rebuilt when another fire took out other houses in the MALIBU area.
A judging panel for the 2015 (I believe) Cleanwater Classic Longboard contest in Westport. I’m the one in the reddish-brown hoodie. AND YES, I was rogue enough as a judge, calling them as I saw them, AND I was loud and disruptive enough that I was not asked to return, AND TOM BURNS, who recommended me for the position, also suffered a ding in his reputation that only took nine or so years to heal. Tom was a judge for the most recent incarnation of the Westport contest.
HOWEVER, watching the recent Pipeline contest, I was pretty ‘spot on’ (commentator talk), although, yes, I would have given John Florence a ten. He thought it was a ten, Barron thought it was a ten. There might be an ‘investigation’ before the ABU DHABI wave pool extravaganza. AND I am certain that Mr. Florence’s decision to not compete in any other ccontests this year was not a factor.
HEY, VALENTINE’S DAY is coming up. I have been working on some new songs to add to my “Love Songs for Cynics” collection, AND I have been trying to write a couple that are not blues, and are actual LOVE SONGS. So far, none that I’m stoked enough on to post here.
AND, OF COURSE, I continue to work on my OPUS, “Swamis,,” trying to get it polished to near perfection (9.79) before the painting season gets going.
NON-POLITICAL STUFF- A friend of mine who is pretty proud of pointing out how religious he is (not so much pride, probably, to constitute sinning-ness), recently told me he may have been fooled into believing the once and current president is in any way a Christian. “Oh, yeah;” I said, “I think I read that would happen somewhere.”
HISTORICALLY I have surfed or worked on Superbowl Sundays, and I might do so today. Whatever you do, ENJOY IT!
There are some surf windows that become legendary; December of 1969 and August of 1975, California swells, one north, one south; epic enough to get a mention in *MATT WARSHAW’S “Encyclopedia of Surfing,” and extremely memorable to me because I was out for both of them; the first at Swamis, the second at Upper Trestles.
And then there are the legendary sessions we miss. Waves are breaking, brown-green slop to sparkling barrels, all over the world; and it is easy to believe even the most fickle spot gets something rideable to all time, some time. Rather than tales told in parking lots and over coffee or beer, or perhaps, in the bread section of a grocery store, YouTube and Instagram pushes almost-live images that are so much easier to find than the waves themselves. Trip to Bali because you saw something? Hawaii? Maybe, if you’re lucky, you can hit something all time in Australia or France. Gee, Mundaka and Uluwatu look fun. Malibu? Sure, and maybe a few leg burners at Rincon or Jeffry’s Bay. It would be so awesome to hit Cloudbreak on, you know, an almost survivable size. Yeah!
Maybe. Time and money and, even if you study the forecasts and hack Kelly Slater’s schedule, luck. The WSL’s version of a Pipeline contest has been on hold for… a while; one day’s competition in self-admitted beachbreak-like conditions. Still, it’ll get better. Hopefully.
Getting back to me; it’s not like I dominated SWAMIS in ’69, with overhead waves as barreling, offshore winds as strong as I ever experienced there, and with a certain amount of pre-internet hype and publicity adding to the crowd of takers and watchers. No on the domination. Swamis was, for the time, extra crowded, this exacerbated by the fact that when the surf gets big, the places one can reasonably surf in San DIego County gets reduced to Swamis, Cardiff, Windansea, Sunset Cliffs, maybe that non-surf spot, La Jolla Cove. Remember, I did say ‘reasonably;’ as in get out, catch more than one wave. Undergunned on the first day of a five or six day run, I did better as the waves evened out and the crowds diminished. A week or two later, the surf was just as big, less hype, less crowded. I went out, feeling lucky.
TRESTLES: Warshaw quoted MICKY MUNOZ as saying the south swell in August 1975 was as clean as any he remembered. Mr. Munoz was the first person I saw when I paddled out on my round-nosed, small wave board at Upper Trestles. I, admittedly, shoulder-hopped the first few waves, my fin just vibrating. Still, I made a few waves. I feel, this many years on, so lucky that I had the opportunity to work up the hill from a classic spot, park on the beach, and surf it, from barely breaking on, with what would seem an absurdly small crowd.
LOCAL OR LUCKY, it’s a term that comes up often out here on the fickle-as-shit Olympic Peninsula. The sessions worth remembering do happen. As they do everywhere. Maybe not as often. It’s probably acceptable to savor, or even recount the magic of the best sessions while waiting for the next one. I mean, not like bragging. It just seems like bragging.
Okay, maybe it is bragging, but, hey, you have stories I might not totally believe. Tell me those next time I run into you at Costco or Fast Taco or… wherever.
*Port Townsend Librarian Keith Darrock would love to get (now)Seattle-based surf historian/writer for the next OCCASIONAL SURF CULTURE ON THE STRAIT OF JUAN DE FUCA EVENT. Not the only reason he is mentioned here.
I’m working on my collection of songs and (I always kind of chuckle when I say this) poetry, and used some of my winter down time to do a potential cover. I should apologize here for posting “If It’s Over” twice. So… Sorry. If you stick with me, we’ll get to “I Guess I’m Lucky.”
I’m not (all that) political, but I do pay attention.
I would have done it in color, but that might make me seem… political.
I GUESS I’M LUCKY, because I never get the blues; Oh, yes, I’m quite lucky, because I never get the blues; Now I might get suspicious, and sometimes I’m anxious, too; I might even get desperate and tear up a thing or two; But I count myself lucky because I never get the blues.
Please don’t tell me your problems, and think that I can relate; I don’t harbor jealousy and I won’t subsidize hate; If you want to complain, you can just go to Helen Waite; Don’t be telling me gossip and acting as if it’s news, ‘Cause I can’t share your problems, and I want no part of your blues.
Dream of tomorrow, you sacrifice all your todays; You’re so busy workin’, you haven’t got time just to play; But you still have to crawl on your knees to pick up your pay; Though I’m selling my blood just to pay up my Union dues; I still count myself lucky because I never get the blues.
My old truck’s still running, my dog didn’t die; not in love with a woman who told me goodbye; And my Mama still talks of her baby with pride, and I can’t remember the last time I cried.
But then… I’m lucky, because I never get the blues; oh yes, I’m quite lucky, Because I never get the blues; Sure, sometimes I get angry, and sometimes I’m hurtin’ too; I might even get lonely, but not like most people do; Then again, I’m just lucky; yes, I count myself lucky; Hell yes, I’m quite lucky… because I… never get… the blues.
PHOTO voluntarily REMOVED.
All original work on realsusrfers.net, unless otherwise attributed, is covered by copyright protections, all rights reserved by the author/artist, Erwin A. Dence, Jr.
YOU WON’T get lucky without trying. Find some surf, get on it! MORE stuff on Sunday, and yes, I’m, like, 170 pages out of 214 or so on my latest rewrite of “Swamis,” suddenly concerned that I did not, perhaps, put in enough description of the characters. You know, like, “Roger and Gary were both blonde, both assumed a stance that said, ‘casual,’ both with expressions that said, ‘cool.’ For the most part they maintained the image.” I have been, so far, realizing it’s almost a requirement for a novel, resisted describing the breasts of the women in the novel. So far.
…AGAIN. Yeah. I turned on the Seattle news station to see if there is a possibility of waves, where the snow is sticking, and while maintaining what has. become my new and elevated level of anxiety and concern over definitely destructive tariffs; over the imminent acceptance of more crazy and objectively and blatantly unqualified nominees, each ready to facilitate and complete the takeover of all branches and functions of government, and reek vengeance on lists of those not onboad; over the US Congress continuing its obviously suicidal mission to trade a legislative branch for executive whims and lightning round edicts; and, while wondering how the stock market will react tomorrow, I accidentally, almost, discovered Michael Hynson has died. WHAT?
This is a photo taken from a 2007 article written by Steve Barilotti, entitled “Rainbow’s End. It is also proof that a surf shop in La Jolla I visited once actually existed.
Famous, of course, for his role in “Endless Summer,” Mike Hynson was of the Miki Dora, Butch Van Artsdalen, Herbie Fletcher school of surfers with that ‘fuck you, I’m surfing’ attitude. He was about nine years older than me.
For surfers in the early to late sixties, the ability to surf way better than the post-Gidget, post-Endless Summer group (I’m from the group in between) made them stars. In my abbreviated catchup this morning, I read a piece in which Hynson claimed he and other “Red Fin” surfers (Barry Kanaiaupuni, Billy Hamilton, others) would go to WIndansea and, basically, dominate.
Surfing coverage in the sixties was limited to occasional surf movies at, in San Diego County, Hoover High, by word of mouth, and through every-other-month magazines. Surf heroes were the ones in the photos. Hynson was among the group.
When I moved to Pacific Beach in 1971, I was in Hynson territory. I knew he had a connection with Skip Frye, who I would see quite often, surfing his way from tourmaline to Crystal Pier, finding waves the hordes were missing. In building boards of my own, I would see Skip Frye at the Gordon and Smith factory. Skip had a completely different reputation than Mike’s, more cleancut, kind of religious. I always thought it a bit strange that they were friends.
Then again, there is reputation and there is reality. Surfing at crowded, late morning La Jolla Shores in, probably 1974, word spread in the lineup (such as there was) that Mike Hynson was coming out. “Doper,” “Asshole,” “Druggie.” Still, I watched him wail on a couple of walls.
The surfboard shaping world in the late 60s, early 70s period was, I believed, centered in San Diego; and the evolution of board design was the most important since balsa gave way to foam. Surfboards Hawaii in Encinitas and Gordon and Smith in San Diego were, I still believe, the leading innovators, with garage shapers and engineers (like Tom Morey) and ever-moving professionals (like Donald Takayama) melding radical contours into ever better wave riding vehicles. If others do not give Hynson at least partial credit for boards with down rails, nose to tail, I will. As does Gerry Lopez. RIP MR. HYNSON.
SURFERS OUT OF THE WIND
PHOTO voluntarily REMOVED.
Some fat guy in an ORIGINAL ERWIN hoodie, holding a ‘graveyard’ mixed soda and Jamie Fox standee at the Emerald Queen Casino. My daughter, Drucilla (Dru) had to have surgery last week in Tacoma. ADAM LARM, a friend of two of Trisha’s and my three children (Sean is less so because Adam and his brother James sort of, kind of, definitely tortured him a bit as a child- as friends of brothers do- still kind of friends), now a nurse (and a lover of casinos) decided to treat Dru to a night at the adjoining hotel prior to her 5am check in at St. Joseph’s Medical Center.
The surgery went well, Dru is recovering at her home, with help from Trish. There are a couple of worth-telling stories around the adventure. Another time. OH, and I did get a photo of my daughter in the recovery room, but she asked me not to post it. SO, you know, another time.
A SONG/POEM FOR TODAY- from “Love Songs for Cynics’ and upcoming collection:
IF IT’S OVER, then it’s over, guess we’re through; there’s no reason I should go on loving you; but you know that’s exactly what I’ll do; if it’s over, then it’s over, guess we’re through; but I JUST CAN’T SEEM TO LET GO OF THESE BLUES.
YES, I treated you unkindly, as you say, though I loved you, love you blindly, still today; it’s a love I’ll likely take right to my grave; If it’s over, then it’s over, guess we’re through; but I just can’t seem to let go of these blues.
Like the clouds the winds have scattered, my heart’s broken but not gone; like the coast have battered, I’ve no choice but to hold on; like a river at the ocean, I’ll give in eventually; but I’ll hold on, long as I can, to the memory.
I can find the bbroken pieces of my heart; I can build myself another from the parts; I need a new life, and it’s time for me to start; if it’s over, then it’s over, guess we’re through, but I just can’t seem to let go, gotta find a way to let go, I just can’t seem to let go OF THESE BLUES.
SURF REPORT- YES. Waves continue to break. Waves continue to break. Waves continue to break. Find some. Don’t be a wave hog if you can help it. Don’t be a wave hog if you can help it. Happy GROUNDHOG DAY!
All original works by Erwin Dence on realsurfers are protected by copyright, all rights reserved by the author. Swamis update on Wednesday. THANKS FOR CHECKING OUT realsurfers.
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