Dreams
Last night I dreamt I was underwater checking out the fish and reefs. Today I bought a waterproof camera for $40 that you can use while surfing to take photos of your friends getting shacked in the green room. Last night I encountered the bands "the plot to blow up the eiffel tower" and "the locust" at the Jupiter/Teen Center in Santa Cruz. What chaotic performance-indy-hardcore-rock thrashings did I soak in. Plot had a horn and thrashed around blowing on the ground while thrashing guitars and drums all around. Locust wore costums like giant bugs and played the Moog and all screamed like torture victims with poudings and guitarings all around. Something very sadomasochistic about their sound.
I bummed a clove at half time and shared it with my girlfriend in the cold, watching the young indy punkers. I hadn't sucked the sweet numbing bliss since the Modest Mouse 5 clove decantathalon; maybe there is something about the soothing sound of music and soothing smoke of the spice that connect together in my cerebral cortex. The pigs dragged away one youngster, cuffed and stuffed, but not without hitting him first several times whith his billy stick. He, ironically, had been fighting (or reportedly was getting beat up). Fight fire with fire. Tit for tat. Wic wic for a wack wack.
Last night, before aforementioned mayhem, I surfed at Sunset at Mitchell's cove in Santa Cruz. The clouds, an atomic bomb explosion from a girly carebear cartoon to the south, and an Aladdin's Lamp purple pink Arabian genie encounter to the North...and there was I, Jonny Haywire, staring into the bowels of the sewer, the most sewerphobic post-staf infected guy the world has ever met... and I sit there exposed, save for my neoprene suit, waiting for these dirty Emeralds that would crank across the inside reef 20 feet from the rock boulder jagged jetty, aligned perfectly with the vomiting sewer....Don't dump in Drain: Flows to the Bay. Fecal coliforum, staffliococus, eboli, or is it ecoli... whatever. I didn't get tainted, this time. Tonight, I return for more. Cleaner water, as the ocean has had 24 hours since to cleanse itself. 4 hours, and I return... - haywire
I bummed a clove at half time and shared it with my girlfriend in the cold, watching the young indy punkers. I hadn't sucked the sweet numbing bliss since the Modest Mouse 5 clove decantathalon; maybe there is something about the soothing sound of music and soothing smoke of the spice that connect together in my cerebral cortex. The pigs dragged away one youngster, cuffed and stuffed, but not without hitting him first several times whith his billy stick. He, ironically, had been fighting (or reportedly was getting beat up). Fight fire with fire. Tit for tat. Wic wic for a wack wack.
Last night, before aforementioned mayhem, I surfed at Sunset at Mitchell's cove in Santa Cruz. The clouds, an atomic bomb explosion from a girly carebear cartoon to the south, and an Aladdin's Lamp purple pink Arabian genie encounter to the North...and there was I, Jonny Haywire, staring into the bowels of the sewer, the most sewerphobic post-staf infected guy the world has ever met... and I sit there exposed, save for my neoprene suit, waiting for these dirty Emeralds that would crank across the inside reef 20 feet from the rock boulder jagged jetty, aligned perfectly with the vomiting sewer....Don't dump in Drain: Flows to the Bay. Fecal coliforum, staffliococus, eboli, or is it ecoli... whatever. I didn't get tainted, this time. Tonight, I return for more. Cleaner water, as the ocean has had 24 hours since to cleanse itself. 4 hours, and I return... - haywire
posted by Jonny Haywire at 10:14 p.m.
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