A private wave*

(cuz everyone has their own drunk shit.)

Joseph was a firm believer that two things matter in life:
to become
and to go.

Wondering around in dry land, he eventually found a couple life treasures. Good food, beer, a jam session every now and then
drums
drums

trompet and the sound of Miles


Drumming in his head was the idea of a lost quiver and a broken heart. Quiet at night he would cross the shore and watch the sea, endlessly
into the east horizon.
There was no tide, no swell, no ocean breeze. Just the calm easy waters of the end.

Dreams of salty waves would hunt his nights, and the cold voice of Mother Ocean and Neptune Soldier would whisper his name.

One night he ran to the most inner part of the country side. Too far away from the salted water reach, in an empty snow break he felt asleep. When he woke up, too drank he was – seeing himself ripping Ala Moana, with his buddy.
They talked about crazy shapers and quiver flowers blooming. A mermaid had the endless secret of the perfect board, and with a thousand seashells and wicked sand paper she formed the board meant to be.
It was she. Both shaper and fish became the same being, and in the unspoken wave of my dream I saw the backside barrel of my night.
When I woke up, fish scales were growing in my arm as a permanent, three-dimensional tatoo, water dripping from my unsuspected nose, head cracked open with a bottle of blues.

I wondered through the east for another year, effortlessly looking at the dead beach and its flying rats, drinking and listening loud to everything but to my own voice.
The board kept stucked in my head - and Neptune, God, how it was perfect! I would dream of her and her soft fins, everynight on my way to sleep. And Neptune – oh Neptune, you know I would fall asleep everywhere.

Went on my bucks until the very last cent got pneumonia and fucked my knee, handled with assholes and graffiti paint, until the day I turned West where my story was gained. Smashed mosquitos in my window shield, heading south with a twin keel I remained silent until this story became spoken. I remain the lonely guy in the empty line-up, and no fucking shit will ever take me away from here.



*This story is impossible to translate.