Converge and the wait for oceanic justice

I’m not going to mention a potential swell over-hype, that would be like pissing on Poseidon’s Trident.  Although inciting his anger may enact change we can believe in, change in the 5 and a half hours of holding I have witnessed so far today at the Billabong Pro Tahiti. 

Frothocytes were coursing through my veins as I logged on at 7am Tahitian time.  However, the subsequent holding has taken its toll and my mind, after initially wandering to dark interesting places, is now obsessed with the dust that has settled on the blinds that cover the window directly behind my open laptop screen.  I want to wipe it away.  The cloth that is used for dust wiping is in the kitchen in a cupboard hard-packed with plastic bags hidden from my conscience that have built up from repeatedly forgetting my eco-woven reuseable earth loving bags on the twice weekly visit to the local supermarket where there is always someone shaking a bucket and collecting change for a cause that I feel I should donate to but worry that I am only responding to the bucket shake not the cause itself and so I drift past donationless.

Fuck, they’ve called it off.



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