The Wolf approaches

You've pursued me all along, you've thrown me off course, and dashed my faith with fear. I am only a man, but a man with a mark. Like a target sprayed with mist for a sniper to see, you have always known what is inside me. You attack like a wolf at night, waiting for me to linger. You sense fear and feed on it. You've stolen my sleep, and made me believe in the darkness. I had to believe in darkness to believe in the light. You made me believe in the light, I doubt you had that in mind when you shook me. I saw you once, and and thought it was just you, but I had to see you to know someone else was standing sentry there. Your persistence has been like a goat's head stuck in my foot.....but that goat's head has been in my foot so long, it bothers me no more. In your effort to weaken my resolve, you've only had the same effect as a half-dose of antibiotics to an infection....you've only strengthened me and made me more resistant to you. Remember one thing, for i always will, you may strike me down, but the one inside me, you never will.

Luke 10:16-20

16 "He who listens to you listens to me; he who rejects you rejects me; but he who rejects me rejects him who sent me." 17 The seventy-two returned with joy and said, "Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name." 18 He replied, "I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. 19 I have given you authority to trample on snakes and scorpions and to overcome all the power of the enemy; nothing will harm you. 20 However, do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven."

found this online also:

^{"Of wolves and men"}


Away in the forest all dark-some and deep,

The wolves went a-hunting when men were asleep;

And the cunning old wolves were so patient and wise,

As they taught the young cubs how to see with their eyes,

How to smell with their noses and hear with their ears,

And what a wolf hunts for and what a wolf fears.

-Nancy M. Hayes

untitled

Time
Its moving fast now, fast as the grass.
Going to rain now, I smell it in the air.
Too late to cut the lawn, I put it off too long.
Let's sit on the porch swing, you and I.
Let's make up the time, let's try.
I make haste, but I am here.
I've always loved you so, my dear.
I've lived so long in yesteryear,
When you sported curls and you were near.
Leave me not behind, please take me along.
I am who I am, and I'm often wrong.
Peer inside, look deep, you'll see...
That I wish for you, to wish for me.
I'm wrapped around your finger, twisted like vine.
Precious to me, daughter of mine.
Let us walk out, let us undo what's been done.
Take off your shoes, and in the tall grass run,
Knowing that you're my number one.

Canned Time

My son got back from a summer spent with family in Kansas on Thursday the 19th of August. I'm glad he's home. He brought me something very, very important..... two jars i'd left behind in April of 2009 on my first trip back to Kansas after a 4+ year hiatus. I'd stayed away since my grandfather "Papa" passed away in 2005. The farm had gotten claimed by the state of Kansas for eminent domain so they could expand a highway prior to my grandfather being diagnosed with terminal cancer. It was hard for me to not hate the state of Kansas and want to storm Topeka with molotov coctails in hand. I'm just glad Papa got to spend his last days on that farm. Anyhow, back to the jars....I couldn't bring those jars with me when it was time to go home to California. My luggage was overweight as it was already, and so I left them in an upstairs room of my parents old house, tucked away in a drawer of an antique dresser. You may be wondering what is in these jars, well i'll tell you now. One jar is packed full of rich, dark, wet Kansas earth from the family farm...from "Goombie" and "Papa's" farm. (Goombie is my grandma, it's what we call her). In the other jar, there is a good amount of rocks and pebbles from the driveway that swooped out to rural route #1, highway 61 from the farmhouse. Rocks and pebbles i'd played in for years growing up. I made roads for my "Buddy L" trucks and "Matchbox" cars with a flat shovel, driving cars all day in the hot summer sun, taking frequent kool-aid breaks inside with Goombie. I played G.I. joes out there too....all day long. Rocks and Dirt, yup.
 I opened up that jar of dirt today, and it was still wet, strong with the smells that i remember. Fragrant. Strong. Rich. Pure. I grew up in that dirt. I saw Papa work in it, farm wheat in it, grow an amazing garden in it, chase grandkids out of it, lay dogs to rest in it, and most of all grow a family out of it. I could smell the thunderstorm rain in that jar. I was overwhelmed and tears welled up in my eyes as soon as that sweet smell hit my lungs and filled the whole of me with it's magic contents.
 I realized that as far as possessions are concerned, these two jars are the most valuable things I have to my name. I could lose all other earthly possessions, and wouldn't be nearly as upset as i'd be if I lost these jars.

 They are my time capsules, my snow-globes. I took that dirt out and held it, and it was as if Papa was holding my hands. For a time, all of my family was mended as i squished it between my fingers. For a time, my family had no loss, no disease, no hurt, no death, no divorce, no distance. That dirt bore witness to better times, but maintained even in sad times, even today, on this good day. I thank God for these memories, and for my family, and for the chance that I was born into this farm experience. It has changed my life for the better. I'll chase fireflies outside at night on that farm again. I'll climb the front yard tree on that farm again. I'll turn on that hand well and cool myself down on that farm again. Someday.....

H. S. T.

Lee Miller, US WW2 photographer and correspondent, images from the side that lost....

1. Lee Millers Papers

2. SS Dachau guard, murdered. 1945, Germanydrifting...
3. Nazi woman suicide, 1945, Germany.

4. SS Dachau guard, beaten up. Found in civilian clothes and recognized by former prisoners, he was beaten up and brought back to the camp. 1945.

5. Clark Gable while serving in the US Army Air Corps, 1945, England air field.

eggs, hulls, fishes, logs, and C-dog....

Yashica 44, 127 film, medium format......

Our once great nation.....

during the War in Europe and abroud, our once great nation ran strong at home under the steady hands of our American wives, daughters, sweethearts, and widows. We had a reason to be proud. Everyone, I urge you to take a good look. Look long enough and you'll see why we used to kick ass as a nation, and i'm not just talking about militarily. I'm refering to our values. I'm refering to our pride. I'm refering to our integrity. I'm refering to our ethics. I'm refering to our leadership. I'm refering to all that is lost today, and not completely, but our flag has faded. We'd all do well to take a look at these images and remember, lest we forget completely and lose our way for good.

(images courtesy of the Library of Congress archives- Flickr.com)

say hi to "Jill"

The newest member of the family.... a 5'6" Hobie Circa '71 model twin-keel fish. TITS

Papa.....Oct.1932- Oct.2005

None better

Leroy The Masochist

Leroy....... living in a world full of hodads.

Gone Fishin'......

Little Obie....

Dig on the coupe, Dig on the tear-drop trailer, dig on the whole scene. Roots- Heritage-Culture. We as surfers have it in spades thanks to guys like you see here, laying the foundation for a new way to live. Probably up somewhere around Cojo Ranch or perhaps Mexico. Who knows, but wherever they were, it was the place to be.

knees in the breeze.....

I had to let my '53 Triumph chopper project go on down the road to a new home a few months back to make some things happen- man do i wish i had just held onto it. I am feeling the need to get my knees in the breeze......

Custer's demise

I heard all this bravery crap in high school.....Sorry. I ain't buyin' it. I'm pretty sure Custer soiled his cavalry uniform when he saw this cat leading his war party up the hill. I would. here's the skinny on "Low Dog":
Low Dog, "Xunka Kuciyedan", Oglala Sioux Chief (b. 1846)This powerful and respected warrior became a war chief at age 14. In 1876 he joined Sitting Bull's hostiles on the Little Bighorn and led his band against Custer and the 7th Cavalry. Low Dog's account of the battle is one of history's best known.Photograph by D.F. Barry, 1881, Fort Buford, D.T.

Good Times

saw this pasted up on 4Qconditioning blog..... SICKO. Guy's name is Wes Lang. Crazy and I love it. Nice touch to put this on Chateau Marmont stationary.... pretty much says it all.

Keys.....

A piece i did in 2009 (dec. or Jan.) sharpie/acrylic paint on acrylic canvas. I seriously need to get going on a few more pieces and finish them already. This guy is getting lonely.

Folks

my parents- not too long before my Dad was drafted into the USN to Vietnam

Nonconformist

Ed Roth

stranger on the road

I was recently discussing some dreams/goals of mine, not out of reach, but they're up there- obtainable I think, with a little work. Anyway... after i shared with this fellow, probably in his 50's, he said this to me:

"As you think, so you are. As you dream, so you become. As you create your wishes, so they create you. "

I thought about it since yesterday and looked it up online and found the author to be Emily Garrett. I beleive it's no mistake I was given those words of encouragement, rather I believe that people are placed in our path for a reason. I can't recall the fellow's name, and may never see him again, but I'll not forget what he said.

I heard......

..."If you want what we have, do as we do. If you want what you had, do as you please"

"I'm gonna drown, and all you're gonna find is a shitty old board..."

"I don't wanna be a star. Have my picture in magazines, have a bunch of kids looking up to me. I'm a drunk, Bear, a screw up. I just surf cause its good to go out and ride with your friends. I don't even have that anymore."

Sometimes....

....this is the only answer

Surf bros.......

A good surf bro is priceless. You go into these relationships much the same as you would looking for a prospective wife....these are meant to last. You analyze important factors like "will this dude get his ass out of bed at 5am for a good swell or will he still be digging eye boogers and yawning when you show up at his house to roll?" or "will this potential surf bro push my surfing to be better, or does he lack the eye of the tiger in the water?"...This shit is serious. It's a place for me to decompress, in the water....but when it's ON...I'm not there to dick around. I want to rip that shit up, and i expect my bro to be as amped as I am that it's offshore, tide's right, and it's head high! And above all.....NEVER is it acceptable to flake out a good surf session for a woman. EVER. That will put you in lifetime Bro-bation with no chance of parole. I have to admit that i have been seriously bummed out in the past when a bro moves away, or gets married, leaving me "single" again. I fuckin' hate crowds in the lineup. I occasionally surf alone, and while its nice sometimes, it's not the same. At least your odds are better in the event that there's a hungry great white cruising around. So with the importance of the surf-bro summed up in my own way, let me now give a shout out of sorts to some of my surf bros over the last 15 years. All of them different in their own right, but when it comes to what matters- the surf session, these guys got it down. Hell, here's proof: when i got stung on back of the head by a jellyfish one session, Craig offered to pee on my head to nuetralize the sting! Now that's a surf bro!
here is a list of my surf bros worth honorable mention: Craig, Kevin, Don, Tyson, and good 'ol Pat. Pictured above is Craig (on the righ) and me on the left having a post-surf smoke.

perspective

What i once saw as a way down, i now see as a way out. I heard somewhere, perhaps in a film something to this effect: "What does one do when one has no way out? He digs himself further in." This does prove to be the case often times. Luck was on my side and i stopped digging. We all need to put the shovel down and look around to see how deep we are sometimes. Deep in a pit of our own making, walls grown up around us while we dig, eyes fixed downward, unaware. Someone threw me a rope. A cab driver from Manhattan. Who'd of thought? Giving back that precious gift that was so freely given to him. Now I have this rope i carry around with me....ready to throw it down should i find someone who wants out of their own rabbit hole. I'm alive.