Sweet and Tender Fucking Hooligans

Up at 4am every morning to surf Ghost Point which only breaks when there's some lingering energy pulsing up from Satanic Acts in the Southern Hemisphere. This morning while the water heated up, I went out to give our beds an extra bath after the hellacious windstorms we've been having. In the gleaming moonlight I saw that some of the old heirloom Sunday Bloody Sunday beets were starting to bolt.

It was a black metal morning for sure so why not get all Nordic and have beets for breakfast? While the yierba steeped itself to 70º Celsius perfection, we chopped those nuggets up while burning churches and true love flitted through the old cabeza. Then,
out of nowhere, just as I was about to huck the second to last beet hunk into the steamer, the sagrada corazón appeared. Maybe churches were burning somewhere and maybe old neglected gods were returning to Earth, but in no uncertain terms, true love was hovering in the moonlit air...

Is it really so strange?

To wake up one morning with The Smiths rolling through your head and luke warm french press swill coursing through your guts to find that all of a sudden your barren urban ecosystem is completely overrun with mutant artichokes?

Early morning...