a few snacklets for you to sample … see if they just might Strap you up some accommodations in the Memory Motel.
appetizer: Little Reef aftermath … “I’d rather have a one foot perfect wave than a ________”
hor d'oeuvre: crisp, cool 'indian summer ' morning ... opening day to a new Super Sunday swell ... scanning the horizon … from the change spot vantage atop the 'hump' ... the dim dawn gives way to emerald wave-fields as far as the eye can see ... from Rat Point to Barf Bush … empty scattered two way teepees … boosting and smoking w/ the occasional jackpot spit … 'skunk' vapors from various and sundry backpacks and jeanpocketted baggies … wisping and wafting among the light offshores ... w/ all the Stoke in the foreground ... you hear a skirmish of laughter from behind ... grom paul harney on the grassy slope is changing w/ a wash cloth.
main fare: sun baked canyon walls reflect the thermal midday heat … which heightens the splendor and enjoyable suspense of anticipation ... 3 sidewinding pelicans signal the approach of a marching set ... moving wet mountains of saltine glass ... assembling ... jacking ... lifting ... then ... a convergence of inertia ... Slaughterhouse throws and refracts …. deep volumes of calm waters are displaced down the line ... igniting a rhythmic throttle-womp of cascading vertical suspension which envelops you as you’re scratching ... doinking ... and launching into a turbo-powered turquoise bowling nugget @ Wally's ... one special drop that tb would encounter ... and then dub ... "the 'overpass' ".
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ReplyDeletealoha tb:
ReplyDeletea few snacklets for you to sample … see if they just might Strap you up some accommodations in the Memory Motel.
appetizer:
Little Reef aftermath … “I’d rather have a one foot perfect wave than a ________”
hor d'oeuvre:
crisp, cool 'indian summer ' morning ... opening day to a new Super Sunday swell ... scanning the horizon … from the change spot vantage atop the 'hump' ... the dim dawn gives way to emerald wave-fields as far as the eye can see ... from Rat Point to Barf Bush … empty scattered two way teepees … boosting and smoking w/ the occasional jackpot spit … 'skunk' vapors from various and sundry backpacks and jeanpocketted baggies … wisping and wafting among the light offshores ... w/ all the Stoke in the foreground ... you hear a skirmish of laughter from behind ... grom paul harney on the grassy slope is changing w/ a wash cloth.
main fare:
sun baked canyon walls reflect the thermal midday heat … which heightens the splendor and enjoyable suspense of anticipation ... 3 sidewinding pelicans signal the approach of a marching set ... moving wet mountains of saltine glass ... assembling ... jacking ... lifting ... then ... a convergence of inertia ... Slaughterhouse throws and refracts …. deep volumes of calm waters are displaced down the line ... igniting a rhythmic throttle-womp of cascading vertical suspension which envelops you as you’re scratching ... doinking ... and launching into a turbo-powered turquoise bowling nugget @ Wally's ... one special drop that tb would encounter ... and then dub ... "the 'overpass' ".
M A H A L O
ck