THE HIDDEN TRACK

The following passages are dedicated to Leopold, to the vernacular, to certain evil women (you know who you are), to certain wonderful people(they know who they are), to soft afternoons and quiet Sunday evenings, to Fall and seeing your breath for the first time since Spring, and to Isabelle Ya Feng ... a soul slipped by like two ships passing in the still, moonlit sea.
-- Abraham Ahmed, the Surfing Beatnik



Surfers: Allan & Bill



















It was perhaps the greatest moment in time:
Just before the sun spoke,
Before the day broke,
Before others woke.

I met Allan at the point - a spot we'll not name so as to keep it available for only us when we need it most - he packed my board so I could ride my 'sickle through the dark, crisp morning and feel the Southern California chill on my shins and cheekbones. A elderly Mexican gal pushed a cart down the hill near the Altamac lookout -- I slowed as I passed. She studied my shorts and sun-bleached hair oddly visible in the morning fog.

"Looks like it's gonna be a gas man, an absolute gas!!"

"Looks like it's gonna be gas alright! fuckin, run outta gas and drown's'more like it!"

We waited and watched.

"Gawd Billsey... look at that!" Allan watched the sea lurch and crash and churn. He leaned back and twisted to look at the roadside "...and not a single cat out here!" He laughed and slapped my back - hard as hell too.

A careening dive,
Completely alive,
Our own shown hive of meaningful jive.
Posted by

No comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)