‘Sie ist so Suess, sooo Suess, so Sueees…’, with the elusive insisted upon in repetition, brimming over, summing up all the wonderfullies of the moment, beyond straight reasoning.
So that I felt compelled to make a counter remark: ‘Ein Rrraubtier, ein Prrredator’. When I spotted a trace of dismay hastily adding: ‘for us boys that is, that’s what she does to us too.’
She smiled like the dolphin on Sunday, ‘Yes, aber so Suess!!!’
And she is, when she glides from underneath you, à la Starship Enterprise, a spatial entity, vast, fast beyond comprehension and peaceful, an active smile in the passing. Sweet eyes with a little mischief.
We do a little 3D hide-and-seek and the obvious choice would be, behind my back and always in my blind angle.
(Where has she gone
where is she now?)
Even not behind me in a full circle turn. Off to powder her nose again. Or somewhere lurking just out of sight. Only suddenly to be there where I forgot to look. Many flybys, fly-alongs, race arounds, inside I can sometimes swim up with the dolphin for a little while, ‘by the way’s’, when she overtakes, stops and half turns, crossovers, overtakers, close-up head-ons, tail glides and look heres.
Botox Jellies, click on the subtitles for the videos
They’re here again, off half July, Botox jellies, in staggering and virtually unavoidable numbers. If one touches your lips this swells up with a stinging agony that can last up to three days.
The other day someone drove on my tail and I found myself saying: ‘Get off my fluke!!!’. I hate it if people don’t keep distance. This I once told a city girl and she said, ‘Ach, bei uns fahrt es immer jemand hinter mich’. Things one remembers somehow.
My fingers acknowledge her silky body flowing by. Above the water we incessantly inquire after each other’s health. Here we touch a lot. We’re Touchalots. I hook my finger in her armpit and she turns towards me. I less than scratch her chest with my fingertips. And the other armpit. She keeps on turning and my hand moves towards the rear of her dorsal fin, slides along her peduncle, until the very end, where I switch sides as a refined ‘fare-thee-well’. A signature touch.
Alone again in this fabulous underwaterscape. There should be an exhibition of bottom portrays, photo’s of un-imaginable beauty, all right under everybody’s nose, the splendour, the weightlessness, the life force.
At high tide the chain that anchors the orange buoy is stretched nearly horizontally. A great rattle thread from very under towards the surface. The ripples in the sand, how they guide, but not always. It’s easy to get lost in simple choices, it’s just that the diff is so def.
Buoyancy drive. The wing leading, the mono pulsing and me in the middle, down in a steep angle, ascending under the as low as poss angle, driven by buoyancy, like having the wind in your back.
A mark in the sand, Dusty trailing her pec through the sand when Kate wrote something with her finger in the sand.
Coming out of the water is like a rebirth into gravity, pushing myself up with the waterwing, balancing against its weight to keep on walking. Unbearable pain in my legs, six codeine capsules a day and still.
Neo-toes. Because I couldn’t get my feet into my new monofin with my 2 mil neoprene socks on, I cut the toes off and put only those on. No problem and a great swim for I could put all my power in. Only I lost them when I took off the monofin again. Feck! But the 3 mil work even better! And socks I have aplenty.
I manage to get into my new Trygons monofin rather easier. So it’s not out of malicious intent, but from pure empathy that I post this video: an original way to get into your monofin.
Get a wild strawberry, get a Coppenberg Strawberry cider, pop in the strawberry when you have finished the bottle and when the bartender wants to clear away the bottle, say: ‘Hey, wait a sec for my strawberry’ and shake it out of the bottle and see a face amazed.
In each harbour you see an info poster about catching lobsters, that you have to put back the females. I’d like to see something similar for crabs. Often I see them dead on the seabed, the claws torn off as the are served as delicatessen in the restaurants. If you tear one claw off they may survive on the other one and the first one will regenerate. Eventually you’ll have more ‘harvestable’ crabs and a slightly more humane animal management. Little by little.
Believe me or see for yourself, but the other day I saw a sea-urchin cemetery:
I met a starfish and planted it on the waterwing. It took a while until it got it and then I saw it take hold. I began to swim and saw that it streamlined itself against the flow of the water, a kind of on-the-spot evolution.
Sofar the summer. It’s turned Indian now, but I’m going back to school, to learn drawing, painting and of the kind.