The good photo in this is someone (Steve England maybe?) getting shacked at Porthleven. It was taken by John Eldridge. I borrowed a slide film off John on a Hebrides/Thurso/Orkneys trip. The other right is full-bore Thurso in the early morning. We had to nail it to the airport straight after surfing so were on it pre-dawn. Chris Noble came past in the dark whilst we suiting up, quiet as a mouse. It was amazing to see his level of understanding with the wave. John got one of the prettiest backhand barrels I've ever seen on this day, I'd just kicked out and he was buried right from the takeoff past me into the river. I took the snap of Thurso as we turned the van around to go, haven't surfed it since.
Musing upon the second KooK
Over the next month we'll be contacting people whose work we value and wish to see.
If you would like to submit to the kook, please dig out the email address on the right and send art, stories, poems, photography, illustration, recipes, directions to secret waves, sizeable cash donations, that kind of thing.
It's gonna be a stacked lineup. Globally homegrown.
Stumps
There was a time when we sat
Upon the stumps of youth
About the roaring fires of night
Consumed,
Shared conversation and destroyed
Critical faculties
There was repetition in the verse
A forwards-backwards
Rhythm of destruction
As bludgeoned brains
Gently unravelled
So much wasted beauty
So many near-travelled dreams
The fucked and un-fucked ebbing
Of decisions
But do not judge the jury
Or cry derision
For what is shared between
Engorged pupils and the
Failing mind
Is much more than fun
There’s a hope there
That the stumps may seed
And the wounds heal
That love replaces greed
And dreams become real
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