big messy surf this morning, whitewash everywhere, i'm out with some tattooed dude who's staying close to the shore. i feel like going out further, the pull of the rip seems to have me and my resistance is diminished by indifference, out i travel, sucked like a amoeba through a straw, waves crashing, exploding, i tumble and twirl, until i'm out there. 
yeah out there. 
the waves are neither good nor bad, they are just not suited for me, crashing indiscriminately, breaking everywhere but where i need them, i finally find one that takes me to the shore, rocketing past the tattooed man who looks at me, 'not very friendly surf,' i say as i glide by.
out on the streets of terrible hardly anyone else is up and about but i manage to get a coffee and read a few chapters of my book, carol joyce oates can write. i'm impressed, her novel of vampyric hysteria takes a very gothic turn, and i'm intrigued to see how she concludes, can she bring everything together in a satisfying way? that will be the test of her mastery, she is excelled so far.