T-Roy yelled outside of my window this morning. "Get the fuck up Lil' Jon!" he yelled. "Let's go surf."

It takes a lot to figure out the next paradigm in your life. Ten years ago I read the Celestine Prophecy while living in Hawaii for a month, unemployed, with a severely limited bank account, and only enough gas to get to Waikiki (Aina Haina is in the southeast corner of the island, ten minutes from Sandy Beach and Hanuma Bay, twenty minutes to Ala Moana). My buddy Vince was back in California and I was driving his car that had no registration. "Don't go to town. The cops are dicks," he said.

So with no town life, it was quiet. Paradise became monotonous. There were two huge mastiffs and a pitbull that belonged to one of the borders who was staying at the house for the summer. I met this jiujitsu guy the day he got home from Kauai and fucked his girlfriend for a few minutes and stopped. I couldn't go in the backyard for fear of getting maimed.

Linda, north shore, 2002...

The Celestine Prophecy is a hippie book. And my hippie friend Linda asked me why I don't go more in-depth with my exploration of life than these "metaphysics" books. I eventually did through a college education and life-in-general. But the idea of having your life as a part of a bigger plan was a major theme in the book. Coincidences lead you forward. You think of an idea and suddenly the little parts that create the synergy of the idea reveal themselves.

This is happening. It has to. I have to believe this. We can easily interpret this as existential: life becomes redundant, monotonous and devoid of meaning, time starts moving faster and from then on we either hurl ourselves into oblivion, off bridges and buildings, in running cars in closed garages or baking ovens, or we decide what direction our lives will move.

Synchronicity. Self-evaluation. Cutting the cords that we weave like strange spiders. electricity, music, internet, passing glances. Run-on sentences. Fragments.

So needless to say, I slept in, the usual reaction to having too much to think about. I'll go surfing tommorrow. The sun's out, a weird occurrence in Pacifica in June. I'm gonna head to the city and meet up with my illustrator friend and face the world, hyperbole vs. hyperbole.

So I'm glad. Psychotic angst combines with work ethic. You are beautiful.