I was looking for a man
I'd made him up a suit
I hung it in my cupboard,
between my dresses, above my boots.
It had this perfect shape I like
was well tailored and good seams
It had a tag at the collar which read:
The Man Of My Dreams.
I won't describe this suit to you
we all have one, you know yours well
the size, the shape, material
the way it hangs, its smell.
Well there mine hung
day in, day out
day in and out again
I'd take it out sometimes, but quickly thrust it back within
As much as I wanted it to come alive
I was scared to break it in.
And girls, and guys I suppose you'll know too
You'd take it out occassionally
this most precious of suits
and hand it to someone, thinking:
Here, maybe you?
Someone nice, a person
big.. small ... fat... thin
nice looking hair.. the right sort of chin..
Likes movies, or boardgames,
good family, nice car
no obvious misgivings that you've seen so far
So here, think I'll give you a spin in my suit!
Give the outfit a chance!
We could both have a hoot!
And so over each shoulder
tugged down by each cuff
you watch them slide in
praying, don't be too rough
(because you can't afford damage
there's no tailor for love)
And maybe the widths good
the leg length, the zip
But under the arm
you can see a small rip
We try hard not to notice
the tear at the hem
or feel to let down when the elbows wear thin.
But sooner or later
and often too late
We must come to our senses and do what we most hate:
Prise that suit off them,
take our hope back
and put that worn suit
right back on the rack
with it's new dents and creases
and stains on the back
sad, and not new
hopeless and cracked.
And face facts!
Wasn't him.
I was wrong.
A mistake.
Thanks for your effort, but the suit didn't take.
And we SWEAR thats the last time
the last failed attempt
you'll be more careful next time to whom your suit will be lent.
Well my suit, my good one
I love above all
Came right out of the cupboard
without second thought
I don't know which moment
the first time we met,
but sometime that night
my suit of dreams got unpacked
And I wrapped it around you that night as you slept
I had my suspicians and needed to check...
And you can tell me now
what next I will say
Yes.
It fit you.
In every spectacular way
It was long enough
wide enough
good in the waist
the colour, the sleevelength
were all to your taste
and it FIT you
it MADE you
It was perfectly matched.
You wore my suit wonderfully
none of it clashed.
And i sat back and quietly smiled to myself.
i could see, by the fit, it could be noone else.
And just as i nestled down full with content
The most horrible thing that could happen came next:
You undid the buttons..
shrugged of the jacket..
You took off the trousers
and HANDED IT BACK!
Saying: HEre, it felt good, but I've got to make tracks.
Because you, my good man, just sold your old suit and you're not much of a suit wearing man anyway and mine really was the nicest suit you'd ever seen but that still couldn't sway you because you're just going to go bare backed for an indeterminant amount of time now, nice to know you but
THATS THAT
And gave my suit back.
Do you know,
I've been putting off having it cleaned?
I was hoping, secretly, things could still be redeemed.
But four weeks of that shit and i've finally got it
it's not you in my suit, not me in your pocket.
So after I hung up the phone to you tonight
I took one last big breath of the smell of the shirt
and chucked the whole thing in the wash on 'heavy duty dirt'
I can just hear the spin cycle doing it's rounds.
And then when i've rung it out, hung it to dry
got it down, patched it up, given it an iron
I'm putting that suit in a suitcase, what else!?
And i'm setting that suit case adrift on the sea
and the next guy, the best guy, the right guy for me
Can just keep on his flipflops and wear his old jeans
And he won't be compared to impossible dreams
Or have to fit perfectly
into tales impossibly tall
He'll just fit me, somehow, and thats all.
Thursday, July 25, 2024
Friday, August 21, 2009
passport please
Nothing could be easier than going to Oz, you can buy tickets with out ever talking to anyone, print them on your home printer, turn up at the airport and VIOLA you're going on holiday.
That is until you line up in the 300 person line for check in, glance down at your departure card and read: "Name" yep, know that one. "Passport number"
WHAT? HOw the HELL am I supposed to REMEMBER my passport number?
Are they serious? I don't memorise these things!
Hang on maybe I CAN remember it.. D... L
Oh. OH wait a second. Oh god.
I furtively glance around me to see if anyone's got their passports in hand. Sure enough, most do.
I feel my body temperature rise slightly, and my skin prickle. To avoid anyone hearing this conversation I leave my suitcase holding my place in line and walk out the front door to call dad.
Dad, guess what, I forgot my passport.
Though I told dad i'd be fine and not to park, I am not fine, and he did park.
And calm as a sleeping chook he says, okay, i'm still here, go ask someone if you need it.
This might sound silly to most, but it NEVER crossed my mind even one time to take my passport. Everything seemed so easy, so simple, pair of togs and a printed itinerary...
And dad, lives in his own very practical world where anything is possible until proven otherwise.
So I have to go back to the line, and in my VERY quietest voice (which you will all be surprised I own) ask a lady there: ah, this might seem like a bad question, (on so many levels) but do we need our passport to go to oz?
She doesn't laugh, I think maybe from shock, and just says, yes, you do.
To the CAR!!!! and step on it james!
We start out driving 88kph away from the airport, I"m clawing at the seats, dad is stuck behind a taxi, the slowest moving vehicles on the road.
Dad says "Damn 80k signs!"
and i'm like, oh Jesus dad, NOT NOW, you do NOT Have to go 80! (remarkable his law abiding-ness isn't it!), there are no people, no cops, and they won't even fine you til 110 now GET out from behind this taxi and step on it!
And god bless my father, he DOES. We are in a Prius, those bubble shaped cars that run on water, or air, or something, we call it the stealth mobile because it has no engine noise, it is not ergnomically designed for speed racing, infact it is specifically designed for modest, mature drivers. BUt tonight it gets it's first big night on the town.
We take a corner quite fast (empty streets don't worry) and the wheels screeeeeech and dad says calmly (whilst travelling 100kph) you know they say these cars don't handle well on the open road, but I don't think that's true.
Perhaps dad was just waiting for a good excuse to burn the rubber.
I growl and wave dad through an orange light, and he does me proud. Home and back to the airport in 32 minutes, a NWR (New World REcord).
I am the last in the queue, cleverly I have avoiding queing for an hour, the glance at my passport and say: you are the last, they're all waiting for you, go straight to the escalator and board.
I am in my very own episode of airport. Dads still there and we run run run up two flights, dodging people and through the doors to the boarding tunnel.
If only i'd known that was going to be the most fun i'd have for four hours.
Not so sure about travelling on thee cheapest flights on thee cheapest airline with all thee poorest of the cattle class. Ha, i just say that for effect.
Anyway I'm here. I have a new stamp in my passport. Got sniffed on the bum by a sniffer dog (who moved on swiftly thank YOU very much! No quarantine up there! haha)
And what I can say in brief about the Gold coast is that it is warm in the day, hot in the sun, and cool at night. Everything is bigger, brasher and noisier, in a good way. There are bats.
We are on the second story, sitting on the balcony of a tropicana paradiso building, one street from the beach, long whitey yellow sand and the real sea smell of salt and open spaces.
Surfers up and at it, working their guts out for 1.5ft of white caps. God blessem.
Coffee, eggs, holiday. :)
That is until you line up in the 300 person line for check in, glance down at your departure card and read: "Name" yep, know that one. "Passport number"
WHAT? HOw the HELL am I supposed to REMEMBER my passport number?
Are they serious? I don't memorise these things!
Hang on maybe I CAN remember it.. D... L
Oh. OH wait a second. Oh god.
I furtively glance around me to see if anyone's got their passports in hand. Sure enough, most do.
I feel my body temperature rise slightly, and my skin prickle. To avoid anyone hearing this conversation I leave my suitcase holding my place in line and walk out the front door to call dad.
Dad, guess what, I forgot my passport.
Though I told dad i'd be fine and not to park, I am not fine, and he did park.
And calm as a sleeping chook he says, okay, i'm still here, go ask someone if you need it.
This might sound silly to most, but it NEVER crossed my mind even one time to take my passport. Everything seemed so easy, so simple, pair of togs and a printed itinerary...
And dad, lives in his own very practical world where anything is possible until proven otherwise.
So I have to go back to the line, and in my VERY quietest voice (which you will all be surprised I own) ask a lady there: ah, this might seem like a bad question, (on so many levels) but do we need our passport to go to oz?
She doesn't laugh, I think maybe from shock, and just says, yes, you do.
To the CAR!!!! and step on it james!
We start out driving 88kph away from the airport, I"m clawing at the seats, dad is stuck behind a taxi, the slowest moving vehicles on the road.
Dad says "Damn 80k signs!"
and i'm like, oh Jesus dad, NOT NOW, you do NOT Have to go 80! (remarkable his law abiding-ness isn't it!), there are no people, no cops, and they won't even fine you til 110 now GET out from behind this taxi and step on it!
And god bless my father, he DOES. We are in a Prius, those bubble shaped cars that run on water, or air, or something, we call it the stealth mobile because it has no engine noise, it is not ergnomically designed for speed racing, infact it is specifically designed for modest, mature drivers. BUt tonight it gets it's first big night on the town.
We take a corner quite fast (empty streets don't worry) and the wheels screeeeeech and dad says calmly (whilst travelling 100kph) you know they say these cars don't handle well on the open road, but I don't think that's true.
Perhaps dad was just waiting for a good excuse to burn the rubber.
I growl and wave dad through an orange light, and he does me proud. Home and back to the airport in 32 minutes, a NWR (New World REcord).
I am the last in the queue, cleverly I have avoiding queing for an hour, the glance at my passport and say: you are the last, they're all waiting for you, go straight to the escalator and board.
I am in my very own episode of airport. Dads still there and we run run run up two flights, dodging people and through the doors to the boarding tunnel.
If only i'd known that was going to be the most fun i'd have for four hours.
Not so sure about travelling on thee cheapest flights on thee cheapest airline with all thee poorest of the cattle class. Ha, i just say that for effect.
Anyway I'm here. I have a new stamp in my passport. Got sniffed on the bum by a sniffer dog (who moved on swiftly thank YOU very much! No quarantine up there! haha)
And what I can say in brief about the Gold coast is that it is warm in the day, hot in the sun, and cool at night. Everything is bigger, brasher and noisier, in a good way. There are bats.
We are on the second story, sitting on the balcony of a tropicana paradiso building, one street from the beach, long whitey yellow sand and the real sea smell of salt and open spaces.
Surfers up and at it, working their guts out for 1.5ft of white caps. God blessem.
Coffee, eggs, holiday. :)
Thursday, August 6, 2009
you say potatoes
Keep diaries.
All of you, keep a diary.
Because you will FORGET. You will forget the good stuff, it's richness, the exact words.
You will forget you FELT that way.
And you forget, oh how you forget, the bad stuff.
They say don't sweat the small stuff? Sweat it, and don't forget it.
Small stuff ends up being a big pile of Big Stuff.
Do you leave and leave your dust? And what happens? Big Dust.
I wrote in my diary last night, it's a bi monthly occurrence. The biggest things seem to happen to me once every two months. They are: Breaking up; And: Getting Back Together.
It's easy to think, when you're breaking up (like a phone line to the other side of the earth where loneliness resides) that this is the ONLY break up in the history of your life. It is VERY easy to question yourself. All day you swing (I swing) from certain to uncertain, from confidence to despairing.
What you need to do, is read back through your diary, and hear yourself tell yourself
how bad it has all been.
just how god aweful bad it has been, for so, so long.
There she is (you) waiting, falling off lines in scribbly handwriting, in your diary
waiting to tell you something urgent
from the other side of the earth
"It's not been good, Leave him"
And then you can close the book.
All of you, keep a diary.
Because you will FORGET. You will forget the good stuff, it's richness, the exact words.
You will forget you FELT that way.
And you forget, oh how you forget, the bad stuff.
They say don't sweat the small stuff? Sweat it, and don't forget it.
Small stuff ends up being a big pile of Big Stuff.
Do you leave and leave your dust? And what happens? Big Dust.
I wrote in my diary last night, it's a bi monthly occurrence. The biggest things seem to happen to me once every two months. They are: Breaking up; And: Getting Back Together.
It's easy to think, when you're breaking up (like a phone line to the other side of the earth where loneliness resides) that this is the ONLY break up in the history of your life. It is VERY easy to question yourself. All day you swing (I swing) from certain to uncertain, from confidence to despairing.
What you need to do, is read back through your diary, and hear yourself tell yourself
how bad it has all been.
just how god aweful bad it has been, for so, so long.
There she is (you) waiting, falling off lines in scribbly handwriting, in your diary
waiting to tell you something urgent
from the other side of the earth
"It's not been good, Leave him"
And then you can close the book.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
long lost blogger makes unexpeted return
I think i will write a blog again
and I might have an ambition to do something like, write a poem in it every single day
small or short, tall or long, bad, aweful or brilliant.
Here's todays:
Yes, I'm very happy, everything's going great
it's so good we don't fight much anymore, We've really got a grip on all that rage.
I'm sitting in the car, fog fills up the panes
I'm sitting doing puzzles, waiting for the rain to pass
And on the radio comes one of those perfect songs
About deep deep cool hot awesome love, Forever Ever Ever
It's not a cheesy cliche'd song
It's real and it's clever
And I feel my body clamp inside, my eyes well up with tears
Because I know you wont' ever love me for a million years
You won't make a song about how you love me down to your toes
Forever Ever Ever, so everybody knows.
I'm sitting on the couch, we're going through some magazines
There's women in their wedding dresses, it's the perfect scene
And there's the handsome guy, he's ready and he's willing
I know that they're just models but it fills me with a feeling.
Everybody seems to find someone who doesn't scare them
And even though their threads are loose they love them and they wear them
To all the coolest parties and they introduce them like:
This is my sweet baby love,
My breath, My heart, My Life.
But not me, I seem to be, fundamentally flawed.
'Cause you don't love my loose threads
and you don't wear me out at all.
You told me you are just not ready for a family.
You just think marriage is bullshit
and I shouldn't take it personally.
And it's not like I'm sure sure sure
that you're the one for me.
Still, I can't help but feel like the fruit left on the tree.
All red, and ripe, and beautiful, waiting to be seen.
But winters calling, the leaves are falling, and nobody's picked me.
My sweety seeds, my heady scent, well, nobody will ever know
And from my love filled centre, only loneliness will ever grow.
I'm driving in the car, all by myself.
I don't have to go far, to feel like I'm somebody else.
It's not like me, to not be strong, to need somebody's help.
But when I look up I have driven half way to your house.
There. I don't think its' quite finished. I'd like to make it into a song.
Anybody still out there?
and I might have an ambition to do something like, write a poem in it every single day
small or short, tall or long, bad, aweful or brilliant.
Here's todays:
Yes, I'm very happy, everything's going great
it's so good we don't fight much anymore, We've really got a grip on all that rage.
I'm sitting in the car, fog fills up the panes
I'm sitting doing puzzles, waiting for the rain to pass
And on the radio comes one of those perfect songs
About deep deep cool hot awesome love, Forever Ever Ever
It's not a cheesy cliche'd song
It's real and it's clever
And I feel my body clamp inside, my eyes well up with tears
Because I know you wont' ever love me for a million years
You won't make a song about how you love me down to your toes
Forever Ever Ever, so everybody knows.
I'm sitting on the couch, we're going through some magazines
There's women in their wedding dresses, it's the perfect scene
And there's the handsome guy, he's ready and he's willing
I know that they're just models but it fills me with a feeling.
Everybody seems to find someone who doesn't scare them
And even though their threads are loose they love them and they wear them
To all the coolest parties and they introduce them like:
This is my sweet baby love,
My breath, My heart, My Life.
But not me, I seem to be, fundamentally flawed.
'Cause you don't love my loose threads
and you don't wear me out at all.
You told me you are just not ready for a family.
You just think marriage is bullshit
and I shouldn't take it personally.
And it's not like I'm sure sure sure
that you're the one for me.
Still, I can't help but feel like the fruit left on the tree.
All red, and ripe, and beautiful, waiting to be seen.
But winters calling, the leaves are falling, and nobody's picked me.
My sweety seeds, my heady scent, well, nobody will ever know
And from my love filled centre, only loneliness will ever grow.
I'm driving in the car, all by myself.
I don't have to go far, to feel like I'm somebody else.
It's not like me, to not be strong, to need somebody's help.
But when I look up I have driven half way to your house.
There. I don't think its' quite finished. I'd like to make it into a song.
Anybody still out there?
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
I remember now, or do I?
I just remembered my blog.
When I was two my grandma gave me a teddy bear. No I don't remember this I just know the story, shh now and listen.
He was (is) a rusty orange, he is a flat bear whose arms stick straight up and legs straight down and he wears a bib (for spillings) that is navy blue, with a thin red trim, and a red apple on it, with one leaf. He has a leather nose. He squeaks, but you have to know where to push. And he dances, but you have to know how to hold him.
One time he needed open heart surgery so he has a vertical line up his tummy, but that was later.
When I was two, mum took me to the doctor, teddy under arm.
If I was good, and didn't squeal or squirm too much, after seeing the doctor, I got dried apricots.
Dried apricots were and are still one of my favourite, favourite things to eat.
Well, so the story goes, that on coming out from the doctors surgery with teddy under arm and apricot in hand the nurse at reception says to me in singsong for children type voice:
"What do you have there!?" Meaning the teddybear.
And I, at two, said: Apricot.
And hence, my bears name is Apricot.
I still have this bear and I have taken him to every single country, home and bed I've ever lived in. THe one time I forgot him, when I went to visit my boyfriend of a very tumultous long distance relationship in Wanaka, and we broke up. And BOY DID I WANT THAT apricot.
Hadn't I been good?
When I am 12 I have a friend from school, Alex. Alex is smart and arty and we are in Mr Dobson's painting class together. She has a pencil sharpener in the shape of a crocodile. He is called snappy the aligator. Alex pulls faces just like a fish. I call her Fishy. I still call her Fishy and this is 16 years ago. Some things stick. In third form Alex and I personally hand write and staple together a book called 'The Rules'.
This book is an adolescent girls perception on what it is okay, and what it is not okay, to DO.
ie. do not be Hazel Uzmar. (school geek much unfairly picked on).
I thought I kept that book, but we lost it. It's existence to our shameful judgemental smallmindness is hideous proof.
One day, I visit Alex at her mums house down the big hill road past where you get books cheap from the publishing company.
On her bed is a rusty orange teddybear, flat, with arms that stick up and legs that are sticking out (As it is sitting) and a blue bib, with red trim, and a red apple. And he squeaks.
And I can't quite get my head around it.
That's a little bit what reading my old blog is like, seeing the other apricot.
I think it's me, that girl on these pages. She does look exactly the same, maybe a little newer, cleaner, maybe you can't see the verticle scar. And yet... it's NOT me.
Oh I don't know.
When I was two my grandma gave me a teddy bear. No I don't remember this I just know the story, shh now and listen.
He was (is) a rusty orange, he is a flat bear whose arms stick straight up and legs straight down and he wears a bib (for spillings) that is navy blue, with a thin red trim, and a red apple on it, with one leaf. He has a leather nose. He squeaks, but you have to know where to push. And he dances, but you have to know how to hold him.
One time he needed open heart surgery so he has a vertical line up his tummy, but that was later.
When I was two, mum took me to the doctor, teddy under arm.
If I was good, and didn't squeal or squirm too much, after seeing the doctor, I got dried apricots.
Dried apricots were and are still one of my favourite, favourite things to eat.
Well, so the story goes, that on coming out from the doctors surgery with teddy under arm and apricot in hand the nurse at reception says to me in singsong for children type voice:
"What do you have there!?" Meaning the teddybear.
And I, at two, said: Apricot.
And hence, my bears name is Apricot.
I still have this bear and I have taken him to every single country, home and bed I've ever lived in. THe one time I forgot him, when I went to visit my boyfriend of a very tumultous long distance relationship in Wanaka, and we broke up. And BOY DID I WANT THAT apricot.
Hadn't I been good?
When I am 12 I have a friend from school, Alex. Alex is smart and arty and we are in Mr Dobson's painting class together. She has a pencil sharpener in the shape of a crocodile. He is called snappy the aligator. Alex pulls faces just like a fish. I call her Fishy. I still call her Fishy and this is 16 years ago. Some things stick. In third form Alex and I personally hand write and staple together a book called 'The Rules'.
This book is an adolescent girls perception on what it is okay, and what it is not okay, to DO.
ie. do not be Hazel Uzmar. (school geek much unfairly picked on).
I thought I kept that book, but we lost it. It's existence to our shameful judgemental smallmindness is hideous proof.
One day, I visit Alex at her mums house down the big hill road past where you get books cheap from the publishing company.
On her bed is a rusty orange teddybear, flat, with arms that stick up and legs that are sticking out (As it is sitting) and a blue bib, with red trim, and a red apple. And he squeaks.
And I can't quite get my head around it.
That's a little bit what reading my old blog is like, seeing the other apricot.
I think it's me, that girl on these pages. She does look exactly the same, maybe a little newer, cleaner, maybe you can't see the verticle scar. And yet... it's NOT me.
Oh I don't know.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
I'm Back!
I'm back. What can I say.
After watching the surf documentary Bra Boys on Friday and knowing that the surf was going to be great for the first time in MONTHS, i pried myself from piets side and warm cave of goodness to go out to Piha for the first time in months.
High tide was 9.48am which was approximately what time I got there. I tell you it was fun and a relief just to be out on open roads, driving fast, not in bumper to bumper traffic. I love the drive to the waitaks.
So the beach was deserted but for surfers, maybe 20 total.
It didn't feel that cold, out of the water, infact, i was wearing a singlet in the car.
It was cloudy but there was plenty of blue sky too, that sun just needed an inch of encouragement and i'm sure we would've had a sunny day.
So, feeling like I had completely forgotten everything, infact, wondering if i still knew how to unzip my board bag and get into my wetsuit, it'd been that long. I got myself already.
I needed more wax and forgot to bring some, thats due to the infrequency of the winter surfing.
Oh well then, I thought, it can just be what it is, a hodge podge ramshackle stint in the water, a reintroduction, whatever it will be will be nice.
Strap on ankel in she goes. Yup it was really cold. I was expecting it though. It wsan't quite as biting as I thought it would be. As the cold sea seeped in through the knee pads of my wetsuit a gasped.
onto board and paddling! yaaaay! oh see i like every part of surfing, driving there, looking at the waves, putting on suit, paddling on board... so it was instantly gratifying.
ooooo the conditions were almost perfect. it was 2-3 ft, mostly 2, with the odd 3ft, completely offshore with really clean lines. the rip was a pleasant challenge and nothing to speak of. god it wsa JUST my favourite type of surf. SO out i paddled, i could get out, which says alot about the strength of the swell. i didn't go out to back line, no need. 2-3ft'rs were everywhere, i could hardly resist turning around and catching everysingle wave.
All the stuff about wave picking etc was there.. somewhere, faintly whispering to me. but the surf was so good i kinda just lucked it.
Did i catch waves?
A couple.
Did i stand up?
Nope. I only got onto my left knee and my right foot. three or four times. the last time i did it i say angrily to myeslf in the water NO KNEES! I think i'm mimicing pieter, or someone, saying, just don't even go there, knees doesn't lead to feet. just get onto your feet.
technically i'm useless again, but in that way that you know it will come flooding back when you spend a day or two at it. and partly because the cold was making me weak.
So i paddled around alot telling myself it was good exercise. loving the burn in my shoulders, and the pull on my obliques as i glide forward with each stroke. i love the water. i love feeling strong in the water. i'm sure we came from the sea because it is so natural and peaceful movement.
I'm alone on the waves, black seal like figures of surfers in suits, booties, caps, bob up and down off in the surf a way down. Everythings quiet, just the sea swoosh roar swoosh roar.
no pedestrians, no life guards, no screams of playful children, no motors... winter has definite benfits.
the cliffs are rich dark green plummage on grey and brown, very dark, and the light is really low and the sky is washed out granite blue. when the sun just winks out from behind the clouds the light is LIFE GIVING. but it doesn't really last, it passes.
It is cold, it is very cold. I don't sit up on the board cuz you need to be in the water to avoid the wind chill. My face is cold and my lips rubbery, i slap them together and go PAH! PAH! and stretch my face to keep it alive and moving, everyones face is bright red or purple.
My hands are cramping up, but thats okay, still good paddles.
But my feet are stinging. stinging. stinging.
I tell myself im a pussy and stay in longer.
probably about 45 minutes and then i've pushed it as far as i can and i'm too cold and i drift in to shore. by which time i can hardly paddle or kick and am just gliding. The waves seem so gentle and nurturing. Piha has so many personalities and is subject to change, just like a scorpion woman like me. Maybe thats why I never mind it.
What could be considered an unsatisfying surf by others was bliss for me.
At one point i just lie down on my board, stop paddling and close my eyes, and feel the rolling of the sea. Everything flows into each other, the sea lulls up and moves the wind the wind carves into the sea, and me between lulling in their peaceful love making. The trees echo this plump, circular dancing, swaying drunkenly, leaning down on us.
When i see my feet come out of the sea i feel justified in getting out, they are the white of white fish flesh, almost transparent. bloodless! numb.
With the air on my skin it is bullshit cold. I scurry to pull off my wetty and get straight into my clothes.
In the car i blast the heater as hot as it goes on my feet.
Myhead is swooning with the contraction of cold.
I scald the skin on my feet heating them in the car.
When i get home, i am greeted by warm loving pieter and a hot shower. i am calm and good, the only way i can be, for the first time in months.
After watching the surf documentary Bra Boys on Friday and knowing that the surf was going to be great for the first time in MONTHS, i pried myself from piets side and warm cave of goodness to go out to Piha for the first time in months.
High tide was 9.48am which was approximately what time I got there. I tell you it was fun and a relief just to be out on open roads, driving fast, not in bumper to bumper traffic. I love the drive to the waitaks.
So the beach was deserted but for surfers, maybe 20 total.
It didn't feel that cold, out of the water, infact, i was wearing a singlet in the car.
It was cloudy but there was plenty of blue sky too, that sun just needed an inch of encouragement and i'm sure we would've had a sunny day.
So, feeling like I had completely forgotten everything, infact, wondering if i still knew how to unzip my board bag and get into my wetsuit, it'd been that long. I got myself already.
I needed more wax and forgot to bring some, thats due to the infrequency of the winter surfing.
Oh well then, I thought, it can just be what it is, a hodge podge ramshackle stint in the water, a reintroduction, whatever it will be will be nice.
Strap on ankel in she goes. Yup it was really cold. I was expecting it though. It wsan't quite as biting as I thought it would be. As the cold sea seeped in through the knee pads of my wetsuit a gasped.
onto board and paddling! yaaaay! oh see i like every part of surfing, driving there, looking at the waves, putting on suit, paddling on board... so it was instantly gratifying.
ooooo the conditions were almost perfect. it was 2-3 ft, mostly 2, with the odd 3ft, completely offshore with really clean lines. the rip was a pleasant challenge and nothing to speak of. god it wsa JUST my favourite type of surf. SO out i paddled, i could get out, which says alot about the strength of the swell. i didn't go out to back line, no need. 2-3ft'rs were everywhere, i could hardly resist turning around and catching everysingle wave.
All the stuff about wave picking etc was there.. somewhere, faintly whispering to me. but the surf was so good i kinda just lucked it.
Did i catch waves?
A couple.
Did i stand up?
Nope. I only got onto my left knee and my right foot. three or four times. the last time i did it i say angrily to myeslf in the water NO KNEES! I think i'm mimicing pieter, or someone, saying, just don't even go there, knees doesn't lead to feet. just get onto your feet.
technically i'm useless again, but in that way that you know it will come flooding back when you spend a day or two at it. and partly because the cold was making me weak.
So i paddled around alot telling myself it was good exercise. loving the burn in my shoulders, and the pull on my obliques as i glide forward with each stroke. i love the water. i love feeling strong in the water. i'm sure we came from the sea because it is so natural and peaceful movement.
I'm alone on the waves, black seal like figures of surfers in suits, booties, caps, bob up and down off in the surf a way down. Everythings quiet, just the sea swoosh roar swoosh roar.
no pedestrians, no life guards, no screams of playful children, no motors... winter has definite benfits.
the cliffs are rich dark green plummage on grey and brown, very dark, and the light is really low and the sky is washed out granite blue. when the sun just winks out from behind the clouds the light is LIFE GIVING. but it doesn't really last, it passes.
It is cold, it is very cold. I don't sit up on the board cuz you need to be in the water to avoid the wind chill. My face is cold and my lips rubbery, i slap them together and go PAH! PAH! and stretch my face to keep it alive and moving, everyones face is bright red or purple.
My hands are cramping up, but thats okay, still good paddles.
But my feet are stinging. stinging. stinging.
I tell myself im a pussy and stay in longer.
probably about 45 minutes and then i've pushed it as far as i can and i'm too cold and i drift in to shore. by which time i can hardly paddle or kick and am just gliding. The waves seem so gentle and nurturing. Piha has so many personalities and is subject to change, just like a scorpion woman like me. Maybe thats why I never mind it.
What could be considered an unsatisfying surf by others was bliss for me.
At one point i just lie down on my board, stop paddling and close my eyes, and feel the rolling of the sea. Everything flows into each other, the sea lulls up and moves the wind the wind carves into the sea, and me between lulling in their peaceful love making. The trees echo this plump, circular dancing, swaying drunkenly, leaning down on us.
When i see my feet come out of the sea i feel justified in getting out, they are the white of white fish flesh, almost transparent. bloodless! numb.
With the air on my skin it is bullshit cold. I scurry to pull off my wetty and get straight into my clothes.
In the car i blast the heater as hot as it goes on my feet.
Myhead is swooning with the contraction of cold.
I scald the skin on my feet heating them in the car.
When i get home, i am greeted by warm loving pieter and a hot shower. i am calm and good, the only way i can be, for the first time in months.
Monday, June 25, 2007
It is Monday
My beautiful blonde honey man.
I love you so much I cannot stand it
you are a river of happiness, lets go to the moon
you are the northern lights
you are not really, you are just a boy
but you are bright and unfathomably beautiful and hard to believe in tho i see you with mine very eyes
so you can see how i got confused
just a thought of you, has as much calories as a piece of cake and i can eat you all day
you give me sustenance
first i put the pietnut butter on my clarebreadslice
I am toasty hot and you mix with the butter and melty drip down my holey bits
and together we are sooooo yummy
so yummy there isn't words
your little face
your blue eyes watery lovely squinty twinkly smiley bright blue eyes
that smile at me over the lip of the blankies big and wondering when i wake you in the night
smiling and trusting me eyes
your curly smiley lips
that open before even your eyes when you wake and i wake and we find each other again
and smile in the morning
smile cuz we woke up and found that we were together
and it is still the best thing ever and life is a happy tree
can you see a pea shell, a bright pea green pea shell?
with two bumps for peas
well in one perfect half is me pea
wave hello!
and in the other perfect half is you pea
little mirrors
little peas
shut the pea i want to sleep
hee hee
me and my chinese doll face tired sleepy happy clean puffy eyes in the morning sitting drinking coffee smiling morning love
want to wrap myself around you
and around
and around
and around
twisted and deliciousand
kiss your soft body with my squishy sexy belly jelly bits
you are a big laugh
a blue balloon
you are the best thing in the world
like those old play ground things with four seats and a wheel in the middle that you pull on
and it spins you round and round and round
and you know how it is SO CENTRIFUGALLY GOOD
and the more you pull the faster it goes and the better it gets and the faster you pull!!!!
right up until you feel really really sick
well thats how good you make me feel
without the sick bit
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
even when you mad i wuv oo
cuz you not really mad
even when you beat me i wuv oo, cuz you are just trying to teach me to be better
and you only use phone books which don't leave marks
even when you grumpy i wuv oo
cuz you not really grumpy
you just being a lion
with injured pride
ROAAAAAAAAAAAAR
cuz i stung you with my heart shaped stinger tail and you jumped
but then we crawl back together
and it never lasts cuz i wuv you way too much to be mad at you
and you curl your tail around me and pull me into your arms
you are so gentle lion
endless gentle heart
you soften me
and turn my bad bits good
i love you if it burns down my forests
i love you even
when you drop crumbs in bed and spill your tea
and when you forget to bring me a towel
and leave me cold and wet to run down the hall
i always love you because ....
i don't know why
theres all those reasons but if all those reasons ran away i'd still love you
it's just a lucky happy thing i guess
you're gorgeous
My One And Only
Man
I love you so much I cannot stand it
you are a river of happiness, lets go to the moon
you are the northern lights
you are not really, you are just a boy
but you are bright and unfathomably beautiful and hard to believe in tho i see you with mine very eyes
so you can see how i got confused
just a thought of you, has as much calories as a piece of cake and i can eat you all day
you give me sustenance
first i put the pietnut butter on my clarebreadslice
I am toasty hot and you mix with the butter and melty drip down my holey bits
and together we are sooooo yummy
so yummy there isn't words
your little face
your blue eyes watery lovely squinty twinkly smiley bright blue eyes
that smile at me over the lip of the blankies big and wondering when i wake you in the night
smiling and trusting me eyes
your curly smiley lips
that open before even your eyes when you wake and i wake and we find each other again
and smile in the morning
smile cuz we woke up and found that we were together
and it is still the best thing ever and life is a happy tree
can you see a pea shell, a bright pea green pea shell?
with two bumps for peas
well in one perfect half is me pea
wave hello!
and in the other perfect half is you pea
little mirrors
little peas
shut the pea i want to sleep
hee hee
me and my chinese doll face tired sleepy happy clean puffy eyes in the morning sitting drinking coffee smiling morning love
want to wrap myself around you
and around
and around
and around
twisted and deliciousand
kiss your soft body with my squishy sexy belly jelly bits
you are a big laugh
a blue balloon
you are the best thing in the world
like those old play ground things with four seats and a wheel in the middle that you pull on
and it spins you round and round and round
and you know how it is SO CENTRIFUGALLY GOOD
and the more you pull the faster it goes and the better it gets and the faster you pull!!!!
right up until you feel really really sick
well thats how good you make me feel
without the sick bit
WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!
even when you mad i wuv oo
cuz you not really mad
even when you beat me i wuv oo, cuz you are just trying to teach me to be better
and you only use phone books which don't leave marks
even when you grumpy i wuv oo
cuz you not really grumpy
you just being a lion
with injured pride
ROAAAAAAAAAAAAR
cuz i stung you with my heart shaped stinger tail and you jumped
but then we crawl back together
and it never lasts cuz i wuv you way too much to be mad at you
and you curl your tail around me and pull me into your arms
you are so gentle lion
endless gentle heart
you soften me
and turn my bad bits good
i love you if it burns down my forests
i love you even
when you drop crumbs in bed and spill your tea
and when you forget to bring me a towel
and leave me cold and wet to run down the hall
i always love you because ....
i don't know why
theres all those reasons but if all those reasons ran away i'd still love you
it's just a lucky happy thing i guess
you're gorgeous
My One And Only
Man
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