Sunday Thoughts

As has been intimated by a thousand clear voices ringing out of the binary night, torches alight carrying banners, crashing tambourines and yanking fig leaves off statues, it is a good time to be a surfer.  Yes, pollution is squeezing our sinuses, but our cars and planes get us to the waves with unprecedented ease. Yes, the great surfaris into the unsuspecting and untouched are a thing of yesteryear , but winter wetsuits are so functional as to render an endless autumn.  Yes, the moneyed tentacles of the industrial surfing complex nearly choked off any authentic documentation of the fluid sensibility, yet this has only hastened the creative backlash.

Everyone dreams of sitting in a well appointed shack overlooking a consistent break away from the maddening rush, surfing at leisure and making wearable art. Apparently Drug Money Art actually does it.