road trip quiver
Greg and Kinna's house
bin-bag
the quarry
cells from the art show the other night. No idea how it went as I had a ferry to catch. The KooK is the name of a surfing newspaper due for release this summer. In advance, I would like to thank all sorts of underground contributors for turning over work to an untested concept, graciously and with no payment. The KooK will be available online and from a few bays and shops, limited-edition. Watch this space.
I covered a lot of ground this weekend. I slept twice, once in a town car park and once on the driveway of a ruined gorse-mill. I read four pages of Suttree. I was greeted twice in a language I didn't understand and could only respond by grinning. I surfed three left points I never knew existed, one tiny, one windy, one perfect. I ran a red light on a pedestrian crossing right in front of a policeman who wagged his finger and smiled. I rode a fish, a longfish and an even longer fish. I bought four 1:25,000 Ordnance Survey maps and walked awkwardly along cobblestone shores. I didn't go right once. I caught my dogs licking a decomposed eel. Why is this important? Sometimes what you are looking for is right under your nose.
Inside the Stepper
The horizon painted sudden dark
Beyond the hallows; Doom Bar
The treachery a siren call
To watch the wane of springs
Teeth of Greenaway afright
And tease the naïve mariner
Then cast around the point itself
The sweep of supple webs
From end to end the Fishing Cove
Cautious for the catch-rock suck
Understudies clutching estuary sand
Salutes neath shadows of the mound
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