I actually am amused at the Superstore Ads and London Drugs ads that they throw at my door-step. It hit me quite suddenly -- the fact that I felt like a nameless john going to go a-whoring.

What?! you said... yeah, look at it this way... I was flipping to the kids' toys section of the two flyers and I found that they have these semi~utterly cheesy concrete surfboards on sale...that's 19.99 to 49.99... I mean, the graphics aren't that bad... buyt there is no sense of Personalization, right?

I went to town and went window drooling, and they have all these kick-arse rides but they are all so expensive -- like getting into a long term relationships and commitments( can we say "mortgage?") ... so suddenly, all these generic b(r)oards hanging by the aisles of those Consumer Bazaars ( okay, bizarres), suddenly felt... accessible...

(Cue: Belly dancers in the background, the exotic incense, and Middle eastern music)

I feel like I am in some ancient Arabic world somewhere between Constantinople and Bagdad, under the Ottaman empire, and all these purpled veiled women with khol-ringed eyes are trying to sell me a night of pleasures... yeap. those cheap concrete surf jobs are all there beckoning me.. they're saying "c'mon...take me fora ride, i'll guarantee a good time... i'm a nine-ply baby with good wheels.. and if we crash and I'm scrapped it's okay... it's only 29.99...i'm..economical"

before you come crashing down on my head and call me a misogynistic piece of sex-starved dick... don't. What I have just illustrated is the way how the sk8 culture have become so crass and commercialized, and there is no respect for the spirit of things.

I want passion and ecstacy that is prelude to a meaningful meditation, a conjugal consummation with the city and the neon and the techno-pulse of this Concrete Samsarah... I want to be ex-stasis-tic, to get some real Air.

I'm lookin' for love, baby... not a temporary high.
But tell me, who can afford true love nowadays?

sigh...

fuck it.
I'll ride the gulag of a public transportation, slum in the galleys with the wage-slaves.
Pigs with sticks on the banks of the downtown SUV rivers, all that tow and flow of cars and bikes...but I just wanna surf. No secret and lost lagoon... this is the tragic romance of embodied character.

Or as Cassius would've said:
Why, now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark!
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.

I just wish, somedays, y'know?