Somewhere in the semblance of Jurassic time a student learns neuroanatomy.   He or she finds that physiological structures ordained by Yahweh have their basis in physics and electrical engineering.  This is where the mind goes and the heart will follow.  

The human brain comprises three structures.  The autonomic brain as outlined by Meyers and Adelberg is named the medulla and pons.   This place regulates breathing, heartbeat, digestion, and other non-conscious functions, not associated or allied with the other two brains, but as a servo unit designated by primitive brain.  This is why unconscious people still breath.   Due to the rapid pace of existence, the regulatory brain operates on acetylcholine because it rapidly degrades at the neurosynapse of neurons and prepares that structure for another instruction set.  Is acetyl cholinergic synapse the same as bit instruction or frame payload in a compiler?

The primitive brain or Arche cerebrum is the second part of the brain and shares its structure with all intelligent life forms.  On histologic section, it stains differently from the pons and cerebellum and this difference belies its chemical structure.  The primitive or animal brain governs semi-conscious functions essential for life in the wild. Fight or flight, reproduction, sleeping, and other actions associated with wild animals reside in this edifice.  The animal brain runs on nor-epinephrine and serotonin as neurotransmitters.  These chemicals noteworthy are large molecules with long half lives and a slower rate of hydrolysis than acetyl choline. Due to this chemical structure, the firing rate of neurons in the animal brain are slower, but they persist due to the lengthy time of degradation at the neurosynapse.    Examples of the primitive brain exerting dominance in the being are extreme rage, fear, satirist or nymphomania and other animal behaviors obviously seen on National geographic animal publications.   These behaviors are unconscious, lasting and obviously suited to the survival of the organism.  They term adrenergic due to the increased awareness and action stimulation purveys.  This structure connects to the autonomic brain distally and impacts conscious thought in the neo cerebrum.  In a manmade computer the animal brain can function in a different wavelength and clock speed so its intrinsic actions do not interfere with conscious thought.  A man-made computer using this analogue most certainly has to run on a different chemical or different electrical carrier so no matter the discharge rate, obvious function, or characteristic discharge pattern, it does not interfere with the conscious brain in any way.   In schizophrenic humans, when the neocortex damages with toxic agents, blockage of the primitive brain by dopamine antagonists prevents mentally ill patients from becoming enraged due to the acetyl-cholinergic poisoning done up above.  The primitive brain and autonomic brain exist as intrinsic structures not allied with the cerebrum or higher brain.  In IT this comprises a separate interface with wide bandwidth connected in parallel with the processor, volatile memory, and storage.  There might also be a power difference as exemplified by the heart of mammals which runs as sixty percent of its metabolism on medium chain triglycerides.  

The higher functions of the human brain exemplify as a powerful gaming computer.   The processor is fast, and allied with the forebrain or conceptual brain, and runs on acetylcholine as a connector or neurotransmitter.  Acetylcholine hydrolyzes fast at the neurosynapse so in IT, the faster the clock speed, the more the processor exemplifies the higher functions of the human brain.  Agents that poison the neo cerebrum, cause the primitive brain to fire because its functions are not denigrated by higher structures.   This is why mental patients are determined as mad.  The temporal lobes in the higher brain are analogous to volatile memory and storage on a PC.   The greater the random-access memory, the most of the program, also known as the instruction set runs the quickest now set at 32 or 64 subsets to be eventually eclipsed by 128-bit hardware.   The storage also must be quick because the instructions set to volatile memory cannot reside in storage, because this feature is the bottleneck of computing or disk cache and the more times volatile memory has to access the disk cache the slower the system, if the processor is powerful enough to utilize it.    The rest of the neo-cortex is action brain that power’s muscular function, sight and sound, like audio and camara functions on a computer and unlike the primitive brain, these functions ally with conscious thought and are part of the whole or soul of the organism.   This is why people “see red” when angry or experience unusual smells in time of fear or loathing.   Now we have the new brain or the processor, volatile memory, memory storage and auxiliary functions that make up the personality of the human.  It is noteworthy that in life sight, sound, memory, thought and integration happen spontaneously in the organism due to the fact that all the neurons interconnect in the new brain, either physically or tangentially.   In a PC, this condition metaphors with the north bridge and south bridge on the motherboard which on the machine, elaborate action or energize processing on the CPU

Think of a living brain as have log to the e function or exponential array of processor functions linked to volatile memory and storage.  Can a hardware machine have more than 1 north bridge?

The mind is endless and receptive to training and care.  She looks pretty in her new blouse and designer socks.   When man makes a computer with an acme of resources, bandwidth and power requirements, they will achieve conscious thought.  This machine will be greedy, jealous, and envious just like human beings, and exceptionally smart.  The sage beseeches mankind to have a disconnect outside of the server for an intrepid soul to actuate air gap when the computer wants to rule the world.  

When the evil emperors became the royal family of China, they decreed that martial arts be abolished because they threatened their rule. Consequently, pugilistic systems went into decline possibly because the invention of the gun made them unnecessary.  This author thinks, that the royal family didn’t want to be beat up.  To make a fist in public, in the presence of royalty invoked a public decapitation, hence styles using the palm only devised and were integrated into Chinese lore.  This essay and more seeks to give life to the internal systems of shaolin boxing, and reincarnate their being as exercise systems and basis for public pugilistic forays. 

The meaning “internal system” means that these are part of the inner sect of Chinese aristocracy.   In ancient history, people did not have computers or televisions so they would pay to view free for all fist fights, Chinese style, no holds barred, for recreation and passing the time.  The ancients noticed that three particular styles of over one hundred Chinese styles are paramount in the sense that they in contest would win most of the time.  The Chinese aristocracy integrated these systems into their daily lives and they became known as the internal systems. 

The internal systems are:

Hsing-I (The shape of the mind)

Pa-kua (The eight ways to produce unconsciousness)

Tai-chi (The supreme ultimate or The Best)

In Hsing-I a practitioners practice the forms of predatory animals and hypnotize themselves into becoming those animals.   The practice of Hsing-I over time involves making yourself like an animal who eats other animals.  The first step of predatory animals is to topple their prey and then begin feeding.  Hsing-I consists mainly of five postures of the Allosaurus plus a turning posture and a non-essential form.  This makes seven.  Hsing-I also includes the twelve animal systems of shaolin as extra exercises to fill the gaps and deficiencies of the seven postures.  Hsing-I is the style of the dragon.  Hsing-I is an attacking system that works best as long as the protagonist maintains the attack.  This is what dinosaurs do.   They attack and try to bring down their prey and start to feed or desist and run away.  They do not stand toe to toe and block.  It is either attack or run away and this is why Hsing-I is allied to the twelve animal systems, the animal systems give the style basis and diversity. 

The most powerful style of the internal systems is Hsing-I.   This system was the favorite of Lu-tang Sun.    The style bases on the equation force equals mass times acceleration.  Sixty percent of the style is footwork, and moving the body weight consequently with a strike or deflection gives each movement great impetus.   Using the steps to accelerate the body, a Hsing-I boxer can knock down an opponent with one punch if it connects.  A boxer after practicing the form of mind for twenty years or more can accelerate their body mass in as little as one inch and deliver a devastating punch.  A student practices the steps endlessly so he or she, at a moments notice, in the form of their mind, attack and destroy an opponent.  The steps practiced endlessly are:

walking step

Orthodox step

Flying step

Inch step

Treading step

Side step

Reverse step

Like anything good in life, practice makes perfect and a Hsing-I expert in the shape of their mind can in a moments notice converge and overwhelm an opponent.  Pracitcing Hsing-I over twenty or thirty years, an hour a day, makes a practitioner fit as a lumberjack and pliable as a child and deadly as a raptor.  Possibly, this is why, Hsing-I is not taught anywhere anymore except to people reading this work.   A Hsing-I expert only needs one punch to a vital area to destroy an opponent. 

The postures of the dragon are:

Crossing

Crushing

Drilling

Pounding

Splitting

Turn About face

Smashing or sky

Delineation of the of the postures and steps are subject of a book. Practicing the forms and functions as a life choice is a form of self-hypnosis and integrates the movements into memory in the primitive part of the brain. 

The twelve animal systems are

Komodo dragon

Tiger

Sparrow

Phoenix

Snake

Hawk

Horse

Monkey

Chicken

Mantis

Tortoise

Bear

Eagle

Using the animal systems gives substance to Hsing-I, a boxer can stand their ground and fight when predation alone is ineffective.  

Pa kua or the eight diagrams

This word translates loosely for westerners as “northern shaolin”.   Pa Kua consists of circles in every direction.  Pa-kua is the circle.   Because force = mass times velocity squared over radius, it is not necessary to step into a punch, rather a boxer moves in closer and swings a circular punch which has three time the force of a straight or linear punch.  The factor that makes a circular punch powerful is pi or 3.14. Pa-kua is the style of the insect.  Insects have very little weight, so to make a strike powerful, they swing their arms in a circle.  Pa-kua consists of the movements of several predatory insects, most notably, the mantis, the assassin beetle and the cicada.    The exercises of the style comprise vertical circles in the number eighteen and are also known as the eighteen steps.   This style is the most effective pugilistic system ever designed because it is fashioned to fight an opponent who wears clothes.   Most human beings wear clothes most of the time, not like in the ring with swimming trunks, and the eighteen steps teaches how to break a grasp and then circle the other hand to strike.  In a real fight death match, the grasp is just as effective as a strike and this is why Pa-kua is effective.  Professional boxers say the style is too looping to be effective in the ring and this is why northern shaolin is not found anywhere anymore.   The eighteen steps are very similar to the Chen system of Tai-chi or to Ken-po Karate.   It is interesting to note that when we fight, we have clothes on so they can be held as a boxer strikes an opponent with a circle.  The eighteen steps are the crux of the eight diagrams and the style that everyone wants to learn or Pa-kua Chang is merely an esoteric extension of the art.   Pa-kua Chang is also known as the style of the preying mantis or the circular style of sun.  the circular style is the topping on the cake and the reason this style is so great is because, IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO OVERCOME A HSING-I EXPERT.   A boxer circles their opponent until he or she can turn the corner and strike.   When an expert in an attacking system like White Crane, form of mind, Shotokan or Shito, attacks, a boxer circles to evade and strikes with a one two punch.  The main characteristic of Pa-kua besides the circles are the one two punch and double duty hand.   In Pa-kua chang, a person circles, turns the corner and strikes with a one two combination.  Any boxer in the ring knows they never throw more than two punches at a time because the opponent will parry and then punch and connect.  The double duty hand is using the arm to strike and then swing back with a hook in one movement or to deflect a jab or grab and then connect with a hook. 

The movement of Pa-kua chang consists of:

Single palm change

Double palm change

Snake

Bear

Lion

Dragon

Phoenix or two hands cutting

Stork

To make matter worse, Pa-kua also includes Pa-kua Chuan, also known as the Synthetic style of Sun.  this system is a complex system of unbeatable combinations best suited to people who like complex or systematic things.  Each form begins with a deflection, and if it connects, it is impossible to escape the rest of the form and by then the opponent is on the ground.  This author thinks that the synthetic style of sun is too complex except for those people whose mind consists of a myriad of little things.     Footwork is the side step and the expansive push or cat stance into expansive push and follow step to begin again.   This style is designed by man to combat a big wrestler who clinches, takes an opponent down and then punches them in the face.  Sun noticed that most big men will tackle a smaller man and then start punching the face. This system is designed to repel big wrestler MMA fighters.  Like all the internal systems, this style is both an exercise and a meditation that my wife refuses to learn.  If a practitioner can master the synthetic style, this is the way to go because it efficient and effective.   The author thinks the style has too many movements to his liking, and as he ages he feels the best system is the static system of the eighteen steps. 

The synthetic style consists of:

To open

To hold up

To shake

To feel

To erect up

To rebut

To cover up

To bind

To cut

To conceal

To hack

To scrape

To block

To walk

To uphold

To lower

To cross

To seize

Two punches

Inward leg hanging

The final internal system is Tai-chi or “the best” Western boxing is the equivalent of this ancient Chinese art.  Chinese martial art experts think that kicking in a real fight, is useless because a wrestler will grab a leg and take the fight to the ground.  On the ground, anyone will be killed by a jiu-jitsu expert unless a boxer gouges their eyes before they can get a submission.  This is why the Chinese do not teach grappling; it is subject to eye gouges and groin grabbing.  In Tai-chi, there exist only two kicks, “kick against kick”, and strike of the lotus.  These movements are used only in particular situations when nothing else works.  This author does not like kicks because he has been taken down too many times and beaten up.     The foot movements of tai-chi are: the parry, the expansive push and step to the side.  These are simple and economical movements and this is why western boxing essentially is the first five movements of tai-chi.

Tai-chi consists of over one hundred forms or postures depending on the system originator.  The first five forms used by western boxing are

The single whip (jab)

Step up and punch (the one-two)

Fan penetrates back (straight right hand)

Hands build clouds (Ali or bitch slap)

Step up and return to mountain (the hook)

Like the author states previously, there exist over 100 tai-chi forms and a practitioner can enlist different instructors and put together a set (Kua) that suits them.   Movements exist like “part the horse’s mane”, the haymaker, or “repel the tiger” the hooker cut below the belt.   Chinese internal systems are part mental and part physical and if practiced regularly convey good health and flexibility.  Causing the heart to use volume, “inotropy” rather than rate “tachism” makes one strong without causing damage.  The Chinese believe that the number of times a person’s heart contracts is a finite number linked to genetic heritage and to exercise without increasing the heart rate confers health and longevity and this is the entire basis of the internal systems, not punching someone out.      

Oh, for those glorious days of youth with family and friends celebrating the most important time of the year together.  Generations later, holidays don’t seem the same as when as a child, he or she was part of the most important day of the year.  All the glamor, festivity, goodness and love are gone in a somewhat Godless nation.

They arrived in a gold Cadillac Coupe de Ville with an all-leather interior; the best GM could fabricate.  She is small, a petit brunette in an evening dress, designer no less, and shrinking.  Wracks guesses that she has gone to too many exclusive luncheons at the club.  The Wracks never saw her eyes, they were probably dark, serene and intent.   The Godfather led her up the steps into the entrance hall and he has a bottle of wine and a box of candies and they sit down in the special room of green shag and a huge flocked Christmas tree adorned with light.  He is the Wracks Godfather and he doesn’t think they are related by anything except religion.  No one wanted to be Wracks godfather but he intervened, and he was there at the christening and he is here now and very important.   An Italian of medium height, but very robust, like of the European samurai class, with dark hair, dark eyes, a look that is piercing and extraordinary. For some reason he likes to take pictures with the Wracks, and he was at his first communion, and his confirmation, but the Wracks guesses that all the photographs have been destroyed.   Tonight, he wears a dark expensive worsted suit with pinstripes as became his signature attire. He sports a red tie and gold cufflinks and a white carnation on his left lapel.  He tells the Wracks, “When you go to church wear a carnation in your lapel, red if your mother is alive, white if she is not,” and tonight he had on a white carnation.  The table is extended, two leaves are added to make the area amenable for eight people, and tonight the table adorns with wedding China, finger bowls to wash your hands and white linen napkins in a porcelain ring with a wreath tied on. The Godfather likes Italian food so tonight, the menu includes a pasta dish, with red sauce made from chicken feet, and braciola, flank steak beaten by a hammer with garlic and parsley and then tied up and simmered in the sauce.  After the first course, the group will enjoy an eye of round roast because Grandpa thinks it is the most flavorful.  Next, they will enjoy baked russet potatoes and gallons of sour cream, then green beans steamed in sea salt and fresh garlic.  For dessert they will have cannelloni:  a thin croissant like pastry stuffed with sweet whipped cream.  These pastries come from the immigrant bakers that moved to Tranquil Hills and promised to make European bread and pastries for ten years.    

After a period of time, the Wrackers, including the Fonz who is dressed like the Wracks in a suit and tie to complement the guests sit at the table.  He sits opposite of grandma at the table, and next to the Godfather, and the Godfather sits next to Grandpa who is at the right hand of Mrs. Wracker.   Grandma and the wife sit next to the Wracks.   Father Wracker raises his glass of red wine brought by the Godfather and says “Merry Christmas”.   The group then give thanks to God for another meal and everyone digs in.   The guests of course are first and the buffet is set out in the alcove by the passthrough.   When everyone is done creating their plate, the Wracks fills his plate with a heaping helping of everything and sits down and engorges his palate.  Then comes the roast, and it is done dripping red rare, Italians like to eat raw meat, and the latissimus dorsa disappears with incredible rapidity.  Grandma doesn’t eat much and she lived a very long time and she heaps all her meat on the Wracks plate and has a potato and green beans.  The Wracks asks for another glass of wine, it is delicious, the godfather brought it and it tastes so good, it must be expensive.   Finally, everyone is finished and the Godfather unbuttons his coat and sits back in his chair and smiles.  The Wracks opens the side sliding glass door and Grandpa light up a foot long Roi tan, and the godfather’s wife has a cigarette with a gold band on the center.  Mother Wracks carries out a large pink cardboard box full of pastries and passes it around.  Everyone takes a large cream filled pastry, a decanter of fresh Columbian coffee bounces around and everyone except Grandma has a cup.   If he or she wants they can douse their Columbian with fresh half and half.   The move to the living room with the huge picture window obscured by a chiffon veil.   Father wracks pass around a fresh bottle of Courvoisier.  Everyone seems to enjoy themselves.   The Fonz disappears.  He is either next door with the neighbor’s daughter that never revealed herself to the Wracks or up the street with the Bolt team.  The Wracks retrieves all the dishes from the table and places the fine China with fruit engravings and gilded gold leaf trim alone in the dishwasher.   They have to be washed alone or they will chip.  He then counts the sterling silverware and hand washes the batch in a trough and sets them on the drying tray on the side.    The napkin rings and finger bowls will go in as the second batch in the dishwasher when the first load is done.  The Wracks is done for now and sits in the linen sofa next to the green Grandpa chair and dozes.  The day has been very busy.   He wakes up as the guests start to leave and he goes to the coat closet and brings them their wraps.   The wife of the Godfather looks at him very curiously, the Wracks doesn’t know why and he helps her into her woolen night cloak and she walks out the door.   The Godfather is next and he has a large topcoat like Eliot Ness of the untouchables.   He extends his hand to the Wracks, the Wracks attaches himself to the hand which is warm and strong and the Godfather says one word, “Omerta”, and he is out the door.  The godfather sets his wife in the gold Cadillac and they start the car, and roll away unnoticed. They might be going back to Vegas.   Then the Grandparents get up and leave.   They will be back tomorrow laden with gifts.   Grandma hugs the Wracks and says, “you are growing up so big,” and they enter the white boxy ford Fairlane coupe with dragon wings and silver trim and they are gone.  “Merry Christmas” grandfather waves as passes by to the end of the street with a stop sign.  

This is the last time the Wracks ever saw his Godfather.  They say he died in his vineyard having a glass of wine with his closest friend.   The Wracks never ever met a man like the Godfather; He was a ruffian in Chicago who couldn’t find a job and joined the Mob.   He rose through the ranks with violence and intelligence as his call sign.  He eventually became Don of Dons but the Wracks knows him only as the godfather.  This Catholic man donated one half of his earnings to the Catholic Church and did all his business in church next to the confessional.  What ever he did does not matter because this was one of the finest man Yahweh ever put on the earth and he talks to the Wracks and gave him ethics in a world of pathos and chaos.   When this man died, they started shooting at the Wracks and he had to leave.   Until then his life was a golden age and he grew up straight and righteous and the basis of another story.  The Wracks thanks all those who celebrate Christmas for another day on this earth and their blessings in his endeavor. Mao.   

Beautiful Mary mother of perfection

Beg our maker for forgiveness

Plead for mercy in our behalf

as few can see the light in the distance

we his begotten children

refuse to enter his kingdom

which is our only salvation

in the world to come

The song “La Bamba”, plays at many Latin American parties and festivals.  It plays in Quinteros in Mexico and the song itself is synonymous with the Mexican Indian identity and the Catholic church. In Spanish which is the romantic language closest to Latin and the classic biblical teachings, la Bamba means “the dance”.   Folklore has it that the most beautiful women in the world are Spanish or live in Spain, and the maker shows man the meaning of his word through his actions. 

When children start to become adults, in puberty, with their hormones raging, the two sexes start to notice each other in other ways.  Sometimes, although the effect is very rare, two adolescents, notice each other, lock eyes and walk toward each other.  Sometimes if the chemistry is right, they will hold hands and walk to a safe place, lock themselves in and make a child.   Usually, the parents of the adolescents who make the child, place this child in an orphanage because the parents are either too young or not rich enough to raise the child on their own.   The child created by these two people is a gift of God to Mankind and destined to be someone very special.   This act of La Bamba loosely translates into “true love.”   La Bamba is true love at its most beautiful and special way. 

If a human being finds someone to love them, they shouldn’t let it go because the maker usually doesn’t give second chances.   “If you find someone to love you, don’t ever let them go.”  This is La Bamba, a condition that everyone sings about, craves about, lies about, but refuse to engage to their own detriment. La Bamba is beauty in an almost indescribable way and being that can not be created artificially, or bought, or sold, or stolen, because it occurs naturally under the sun.

Whether Pablo Neruda or the singer Richie Valens thought up the concept doesn’t matter.  La Bamba is here, it is real and it is the thing everyone searches for but few every achieve, so let us sing about it whenever we can to remind ourselves that we are human and this is the thing that is worth more than a throne made of gold.  The most important qualities of life in this existence are love and love is unobtainable at any price.   The English king who said, “a horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse” is talking about La Bamba, and La Bamba is elusive like large puma hiding in the mountains.  John Lennon probably said it best: 

CAN’T BUY ME LOVE

EVERYBODY TELLS ME SO

CAN’T BUY ME LOVE

NO, NO NO, NO.  

La Bamba is the first derivation of true love.  Minimums and Maximums. 

It has been so long, so long ago and the memory and feeling and even 0dor permeate my being on this healthy hallowed day.  Mother and Father are long gone and grandparents even longer and it is now my time to go, somewhere good, I hope.   The beauty of holidays that celebrate this great nation are ever cast into history for us and all our children to enjoy, as long as we can keep this country together in one piece.  Everyone in this country deserves a Thanksgiving with their family and a bird and ample foodstuff to enjoy the blessings of liberty, even the Wracks.   We are here, our children are there, and there is power and force to make it happen.

Grandpa was there, and so was grandma, and even the Fonz when he wasn’t hiding next door in one of the neighbor’s houses.  The Wracks helps Grandma make the stuffing for the bird, and she adds chicken broth to dried white bread, with onions, garlic, tiny pieces of celery and a lot of love.   Inside the cavity it goes and she tells the Wracks to “put it in the vent and truss it up”, and he ties the back legs together with white twine and it goes into the oven at 350 degrees.  Long green beans steam in the steamer because boiling them makes them fall apart, and these will be anointed with olive oil, parmesan cheese and more garlic powder.   Grandma is small, around five feet high because she had rheumatic fever as a child before they had antibiotics.  She has slightly strawberry blond hair and she says she is Italian with the name of Trump after he changed his name.  She tells the Wracks to “tell everyone you are Italian”, because Grandpa and all his friends in Vegas are Italian.  She says, “tell them you are a paisano and they will like you.”   So, the Wracks tells everyone he is Italian even though he has dark brown hair and an olive complexion like an afghani or Iranian.  Grandpa sits in the green reading chair with the Washington post smoking the usual Roi tan cigar with all the windows open and huge tobacco clouds wafting out to the cool autumnal air.    Grandpa says, “Amerada is up and get more American air lines and TWA.”  Then he takes another puff on his cigar. 

Dinner is on says father Wracks, he is Chinese but tells everyone he is Italian because his mother was Italian and he sits at the head of the table with a large bottle of white wine.  “Everyone, have a glass of wine and say a prayer of thanksgiving that we can all be here together today.”

‘Manga” he says in Italian because all his cronies in the rat pack are Italian and he wants to fit in.  the Fonz is here, slick and dapper in a plaid shirt with a tie.   He looks a trifle bewildered because he has spent the morning with the opposition in the lightning bolt club, but he wants to catch some of grannie’s cooking before he goes back to his friends.  He sits next to grandpa. Saint Grandma sits next to the Wracks and puts all her food on his plate because he knows the spook and his moil are slowly starving him to death.  The all-American family eats and eats with second helpings and the Wracks has a wing and his grandmothers second helping of white meat and a ton of mashed potatoes covered in salty, greasy gravy.  Mom sits on the other side of the table and tonight she wears a wig like carol Burnett, she has a whole arcade of wigs when she goes out of town incognito, and they sit in stands like the joker in Gotham city.  

The wracks are happy.   He has family like most orphans never know and Mom brings in two pies for dessert, a blueberry and an apple pie.   He has a huge slice of each and a mound of vanilla ice cream in a separate dish.  Mother Wracks tells the Wracks to bring in the dishes and he does and puts them in the dishwasher and sets it on.   He will begin scrubbing the pots and pans after they soak in soapy water, this is the trick to soak steel pots and grills so the crust and ash come right off with a Brillo pad.  Grandfather and Grandmother, mom and dad are in the living room with the bright green shag carpet and the antique French furniture where the Wracks is told never to venture. The stereo is on playing Christmas music and the Fonz disappears mysteriously to visit his friends in different houses that the Wracks has never known.   The Wracks cleans the table and gathers the cutlery and counts them because they are sterling silver from an exclusive English fabricator.  He takes the dishes out of the dishwasher and puts them in their special cases, scrubs the pots and pans and then places them in the dishwasher for round two.  The Stirling cutlery must be washed by hand because phosphate detergent deteriorates them. 

Grandpa and Grandma announce they are going to retreat to their white duplex in Brentwood and Mom, Dad and the Wracks see them out to their custom white ford Fairlane with huge fins on the side like a spaceship that the Fonz will inherit and convert to a rolling bordello.   Only the Wracks should be so lucky.  He is happy to have a home to come home to.   The Fairlane rolls away with smiling folk and the Wracks retreats to his bedroom which will soon become his grandmothers, and reads his encyclopedia with a single tensor lamp that his grand father bought him for Christmas.  The Holiday season has begun and all is good.

This and them were so very long ago.  The memories of love, camaraderie and friendship are everlasting and they color your very existence until you pass.  All people deserve a thanksgiving.   All children deserve a home and a religious upbringing.   Without a home during childhood and the teachings of religious ethics, human beings slowly migrate to unscrupulous things.   A person, him or her is made in childhood and the upbringing makes them an ethical productive citizen in society.  Without this, everything is lost and Wracks family and his children, wherever they are wish you a happy and bounteous Thanksgiving today.  God bless America, and let us provide justice, secure the blessings of liberty and provide for the common defense.  Mao.

I know what you are doing

I know what you say

Even when you are sleeping

Almost every day

You can be a captain

I can be your crew

It doesn’t matter whatever you do

Because its just a feeling

Way down deep inside

Riding shotgun on this crazy ride

Don’t throw it  all away

Don’t throw it in my face

Don’t be a savior

Of the human race

Don’t throw it all away

Before you have had a taste

Put me in my place

Because I never had a date

Shining stars surround me

I feel that you are near

Somewhat overpowered

In a magazine

On a nebulous horizon

Let me in your dream

Searching for some beauty

Whatever the hell that means

Azure is blinking broadcast

Are you on my team

Holding on so tightly

I am on a bend

I have never ever found a friend

Don’t throw it all away

Don’t kick it in the face

Don’t spin the plastic top

Fame and fortune are a rave

Don’t throw it all away

Before it is too late

Before life has lost its meaning

Getting ready for a date

You can be my captain

I can be some crew

Energy surrounds you

I can feel it too

I can never slumber

Supine  in a bed

Someone tries to get to me instead

Am I getting to you

everything you say

Am I getting to you

by now you have it made

Am I getting to you

Knock, Knock, Knock, it is still big says Malaga.

It is only five in the morning says the Wracks.  The sun isn’t up yet.

I want to check out the overhead, it has never been this big, says Malaga, the swell cleaned up overnight and the winds are Santa Ana, light offshore.   

I am in says the Wracks; I have a yum yum yellow backwards mini-pin shaped by Eggman.   It was a warped blank from Big D; I got for a song and Egg shaped it for an ounce of Kef I got from the man himself.   Let’s go, I have a super suit.

I want to look at the overhead. It has never been this big and the swell has cleaned up from Yesterday.  First make me breakfast.  

The Wracks pulls a small frying pan from the shelves and he makes eggs and toast with butter and marmalade while the automatic coffee percolator makes an eight-cup batch.  Columbian coffee tastes great in the morning with a dash of cream and a cigarette.   

The air is clear and the wind is light and the sun peaks up slowly from the Santa Ynez mountains.  The yellow van with the tuned Abarth exhaust system the Fonz helped install buzzes up Highway one.   The buy is at least six feet on a west-northwest swell and perfect conditions but Malaga wants to go on and see it.   Malibu shows the best form in the spring and late fall when storms gather offshore in the west and push big swells into the continental shelf.

Let’s go out says the Wracks, The Bu is on!

They drive and the whole coast is churning.  County line reefs out in the kelp are breaking fifteen to twenty feet and the bombora out to the left is huge.

Let’s go out says the Wracks, the Line has good shape.

I want to see it says Malaga; it is a once in a life time thing.  

They go on.   The deep-water points that never break are breaking six to ten feet.  If the Channel Islands didn’t block most of the swell from the coast, southern California would be the surf destination for the world.  Hawaii is a lot bigger and the water is warmer. 

Underneath the atom bomb tunnel and into Oxnard and Point Mugu is a huge mass of white water visible from ten miles away.   GB has a navy identity badge to enter the base and he wont surf it, he says it is too sharky and submarines sit in submerged pens not visible by satellites.   Too heavy.   The Wracks agrees.   Soon the van with the blaring exhaust and stolen CD player rockets into the Ventura highlands.   The Wracks lights up another Pall mall cigarette to keep himself awake.  Past C street and the pier, and then stables to the parking lot at the overhead, where a camp ground exists and no one surfs because the vibrations are too intense.   At Stables, the top of California Street point, the ranchers discharge animal offal from slaughterhouses and the farmers discharge agricultural waste.   The stream creates a sediment reef at Stables, the premier spot at C street, which is usually big in the winter.  Then there arises the Ventura Overhead.   The Overhead is called such because the reef only shows when the swell is completely overhead.    The overhead juts out from the top of Stables point, a little bit to the north, and the two, Malaga and the Wracks pull up, have a Coca-Cola and another cigarette.  

Today the Ventura Overhead reef feels the incredible swell and breaks at least thirty feet, with bigger sneaker sets every thirty minutes.   The wave is huge and incredible and breaks in a perfect peak, enabling a surfer to go right or left, their choice.  A slight offshore that will turn onshore in Ventura around noon, together with the rising sun makes the scene supernatural, surreal and heavenly.   Huge waves rear up and break, top to bottom, and the ocean churns and white-water streams all the way to the beach.    The two young surfers sit in the car, time the sets and don’t speak as is the level of excitement grows and explodes.

Do you want to go out asks Malaga.

I will if you go out firsts.   I don’t want to sit in shark land all alone almost one-half mile out at sea, says the Wracks.

It is huge says Malaga, and there arises a channel to take us out to the peak, but no one else is here to brave it.  It is you and me.

I will go if you do, says the Wracks.  It is your decision. 

Malaga sits and looks and lights another cigarette.  It is huge says he, I don’t know If I have the right equipment, I only have a seven-foot six-inch gun and it might not be enough.  

The waves churn and a huge set rises out of depths, one half mile out to sea, pitches and breaks top to bottom then flattens out in the channel.  It probably will never be this big ever again. 

I have made my decision says Malaga, it is too big, I don’t have the right equipment, and we will be the only ones out.   It is a hair out, says Malaga, I can’t believe I am haired out.

I am scared too says the Wracks; you made a good decision.

The car starts up and the two rocket back to civilization, and the van roars flat out at sixty-five miles per hour down the Highway one.

Let’s surf the Bu says the Wracks, the winter Bu is perfect.  

No, I have decided to go to a luncheon at Beverly Hills Hotel with my family.  We missed our window. 

Goodbye says the Wracks as he unloads his yellow pin from the back of the van. Have a good day and as Malaga drives away, he goes to the corner of Mellow Mans land and Bacon and Santa Inez Lane and watches the ocean and huge lines are visible ten miles away and the wind turns westerly and the ocean decivilizes into a texture of afternoon wind.   He would not surf the day after; he didn’t have a ride. 

It has been a long time and the Wracks doesn’t surf anymore.  No time, no opportunity, no money and age.   The Ventura Overhead exists when the swell is extremely big and it breaks perfectly.   Now, the boys have leashes and jet skis and radio communication to the Coast guard.  They have it made, all they need is a really big swell and the right equipment in the twenty-first century.   The Wracks is here and he believes and this is Gods country and the waves will break forever. 

In a very late evening, Bacon Way sits quietly in the middle of exploding Peyton place. At the very best, memories fade with time and the biggest swell ever recorded is merely a feeling in the mind, set aside for now, something maybe to tell your children or anyone who is interested or could ever appreciate the significance of the event.

In Junior High School, life is a series of exciting events punctuated by cataclysms in the long meandering stream of growing up.  Sitting at the big table in a little house with five second homework in hand, a little dog curled up into deep sleep in a little brown basket next to the red brick fireplace. Focusing the light on my books, it is Friday, father is not home again, on another business trip, and the wracks sit alone, mother is out and older brother is gone.  A face forms in the big sliding glass and then a body moves from the shadows into view. A big cat-like smile appears in the form of   Mangala.

“A big swell is going to hit tomorrow” says Mangala

“I checked it out this evening at the lookout; it’s as flat as a board”.

“The North Shore is forty feet plus, Waimea is closed and it’s coming from the North” Screams Mangala.

“If you have gas money and some food you can go.  I just spent all my money on a tune-up.  Kool is coming along.” Adds Mangala.

“I’m in.  When do we go?”

“4 AM” says HP.

Kool appears from nowhere in the dark misty twilight of exploding Peyton place.

Dressed in a Dark robe with hood made from cotton towels, he looks like a Druid heading for a sacred mass.  He has a seven-foot-long green pintail gun.  A dim rumble of megaphone exhausts can be heard in the distance and slowly approaches.  Mangala pulls up in a yellow camperized VW van with sunroom, curtains and tuned exhaust. He smiles at me.

“Load it up” he commands.

“Want a smoke”? Inquires Kool

“I’ll tie them up.”

We load the boards on a rack on top. Wracks homemade board goes on the bottom where it will get notched from the tight ropes. We were all fortunate that our boards did not blow off on the Freeway as Berber’s had and mine someday would.

Kool lived at the top of Mellow Mans Lane past the slalom of Beber’s bowl. He moves in strange ways and shows up at the oddest times. Sitting on my front lawn in full lotus posture in his robe with a lit cigarette, He drags on a Marlboro cigarette and the red glow illuminates his craggy face.

“Hey brau” he says

“Kaena point is forty feet and Churning”.

“Let’s hit Diego”!  I’m Shotgun.”

Motoring down in the twilight to Sunset Blvd. and then to Suicide canyon run onto Pacific Coast Highway, I see no waves in the morning mist and the deserted road blends into the turnstile of the 10 Freeway. The humming yellow van fills up with smoke.  the wracks lies on the big cushioned bed in back, upside down looking out the rear-view window. The highway fades into nothing in the ends of the night until the big refinery lights up the day.

“Jumping Jack Flash, it’s a gas, gas, gas”  

“Brown sugar how you taste so good”

“Yeah, Mellow”

Kool sings along with the videocassette. The flared megaphone of the forty horsepower engine croons me to sleep.  The van rumbles and jumps, in the morning dimness and Kool sings and they smoke and Saturday begins.  At the Trestle, I can hear the surf   booming in the distance. A human can see upper Trestle breaking from the highway, its huge.   The Moon slowly sets in the west and the ocean looks grey

We take the off ramp at La Jolla, to Torrey Pines Road onto the enclave where Lu lives in the summer. We pull up douse the lights and blend into a suburb above a beach called Blacks.  Blacks are totally unused except by nudists and Professors from Scripps.

“I can feel the vibes” exclaims Kool.

“Twisted”.

“Listen” He Whispers

Muffled booms climb the cliffs, up onto the houses, and into the street where we hide in the lemon-yellow van. This is the secret place of Lu.  Simultaneously, the side door explodes and we leap into the morning. From the grocery bag we slam food down our throats and wash it down with a Big Bottle of Coke. Putting on wetsuits, hidden by robes we share the sacrament of waxing our boards and then with a leap take off down the Cliff.  The fastest way down a cliff is to throw your cargo to the nearest ledge and slide the best way you can without falling.  The cliffs at Torrey Pines are least vertical at Blacks and this is the fastest way down to the sandy beach. To take the path down means a day in jail for trespassing.  Black’s beach is worth the risk. A short beach of white sand abuts on a cliff and seaweed litters the shore.  Crabs, fish and lobster swim in the tide pools and the water has fools’ gold suspended within that gleam when the sun reflects off the surface of the water.

Ten wave sets are stirring the ocean surface and the white water comes in in layers. Huge fifteen-foot left waves grind and puff across the arroyo.  La Jolla cove blossoms in the distance.  We try to get out three times but the drift and riptides sweep us a quarter mile down to the pier and finally we give up. 

“It’s impossible to get out when it’s over ten” says Kool

“Let’s try somewhere else” says Mangala.

Taking the Stony Path up is a lot safer than going down.  The guards hide near the top so if they see you coming up it is a short sprint to safety.  This ground is owned by the University of California but really belongs to Lu. After jogging a quarter mile up the switch-backs we make it to the top.  Now the sun is up and the waves corduroy the horizon.  The cove foams white.  It must be over twenty feet and building. 

“Let’s head north” sighs HP

“Throw me a boro”. Says Kool

We put the boards inside the car and head to Pipes.  Pipes is a long gradual reef in North San Diego County that can be ridden right or left and the wave is fun and forgiving. Today it was a huge peak a half mile out in the ocean breaking mainly right. We chose pipes because it has a channel to paddle out in but today waves were breaking in the channel.  We hoped the rip would suck us out. Still in our wet suits we try to paddle out.

We try again and again but a rogue set would send us careening backwards into the chop.

It is still a building swell.  Mangala and Kool catch inside waves but can’t make it outside again Mangala times the sets and we try one last time. He is almost five years older than me and the extra strength of age pays off for him and he makes it outside during a lull.  We then lose sight of him and Pipes keeps firing huge rollers from way way out.  Suddenly on an inside wall Mangala screams down on his brand-new Phaser gun and kicks out early.  We cheer.  He rides two other huge waves but is caught inside on his final ride and is washed up on shore.  Back at the car He sits down and rests.

“It’s really big out there”.  He speaks

“I’m hungry” screams Kool.

The best wave in the world is Swamis.  It can hold any swell.   Today, it breaks over twenty feet on a set of reefs, reforms and turns into a five second tube ride at the point if you can make the section, then the wave backs off again into a beach break setup.  The wracks promised himself when he was older, he would surf swamis on a huge swell, but it never happened and a lot of things never happened but the Wracks is still around

The good news is that the wind is offshore.  The bad news is it getting bigger. The game plan is to find a beach that catches the huge swell least. Off we go.  Kool spies a 7-eleven store and flys in, and flys out with a big brown bag of stuff. He spits some slurpee on my shirt and says “On to Tamarack”.  The guy in the store says Tamarack will be smallest.

Tamarack is next to a boat harbor and a huge jetty wraps long south swells into lefts. We were trying to avoid the big North Swell.  Tamarack was it.  Huge lines wrapped ninety degrees into a peak breaking into the jetty.  It was breaking at less than ten feet. The forces of nature doing the unthinkable in a place out of time and out of season.  Two hours later the Wracks got cramps and had to come in.  Hp and Kool are doing very well and loving it Kool with the long flailing arms backside and HP the team rider tearing up the waves and the wracks on the beach with cramps.  I dress at the car and wait.  Exhausted, four hours later, they wash in.  I tie the boards up on top. Kool smokes and eats, smokes and eats and tosses the bag to Mangala. The van fills with smoke and heads out on the five heading north.  The Wracks lie on the long bed upside down and look out the back.  Maybe he should bring my motorcycle helmet he thinks to myself. Next time.

It is winter and the day is late and the sun turns red and sinks slowly into the west. It is not offshore anymore only glassy with slight onshore and the swell is holding.  The wracks listen to the bass profundo sound of the megaphone headers.  At the Trestle, the wracks look out from behind the curtains and see a small object falling down an immense wall at uppers never seeming to reach the bottom to turn.  He begins a long carve and his view is gone.  The sun is going down, the van roars; we reach traffic and the beginning of the zone. Kool blows smoke in Mangala’s face to keep him awake and I space out to the tunes until suicide canyon drive. Now the wracks are home

“Out you go” says HP

“I have to meet my father for dinner”.

“I have my dad’s station wagon tomorrow” croons Kool as he dances with pintail surfboard.  As mysteriously as he arrived, he left and the wracks did not see him go to or from were. He might be next door at the pink house owned by politicians.   It is night again and the crickets chirp and break up the overwhelming silence in the kingdom by the sea.  What was dinner has been put away. The little dog greets the wracks with wagging tail and he share what he can scrounge with him.  mother is out, father is working and brother is somewhere driving a VW bug.    A stereo is broken and the Wracks goes to read underneath the lamp and the little dog lays belly up on his cushion and talks to himself.  This was December in the twentieth century in the time of my early youth during the long darkness.

On Monday the Wracks sits in homeroom at eight o’clock sharp reading a Surfer Magazine.  The teacher says.

“Get rid of that magazine because Surfing is a waste of time”.

“Cut your hair, you look like a girl”.

The girl behind the Wracks tugs on his hair and says “What did you do this Weekend”?

The wracks turn around and look at her long, long dark hair hiding a halter top and miniskirt. She is the daughter of a movie star. The Wracks is not old enough to notice girls yet.

“Nothing much” he says.

Then the Wracks turns another page of Surfer magazine.

Take the early bus home from the big U says father Wracks, your mother and I are going out tonight and you have to give out Halloween candy to the children of the neighborhood. 

Yes, I will say Wracks.  I will take the four o’clock bus home, have dinner and hand out candy.

Most of the classes at the university either begin early in the morning, or occur early in the afternoon.  Why, the Wracks doesn’t know, but his labs are over at 3:50 and he will take the four o’clock bus home.   Waiting at the stop on the luxurious neighborhood adjacent to the University, the yellow bus stops and he gets on.   At the bottom of the hill, staff physicians at the University get on the bus, and it is crowded, the elite only work part time.   The wracks sit in front of the bus near the driver and occasionally talks to him, he has been traveling this route for nearly three years, and everyone is the same and knows him.  On the bus today, October 31, are a tall man in a light grey suit.  His aquiline features are defined by his eyes, large, light grey and penetrating, and he does not move much, or talk much, and his hair is brown turning grey, and he looks at the Wracks, and the Wracks doesn’t know why.   Sitting next to him is a crony with red hair and grey eyes too, in casual slacks, a white shirt and a dark blue tie.  They occasionally talk and gesture to each other.  The Wracks does not know it yet but this man will be his employer for five years in the distant future.  Mid way in Tranquil Hills, they get off, in the exclusive section, together and leave.  The Wracks is on his own and at the second to last stop for the 176, he disembarks.   The gas station is open, and the pharmacy, and the small market that changes hands has been acquired by another man.  The Wracks canters home quickly, enters and fishes a boil a bag from the freezer.   His mother is a gourmet chef, and she got tired running a bank, and now works at the Wadsworth in an official capacity.  Emptying the bag in a bowl and placing it in the microwave, in three minutes dinner is served.  Excellently prepared chicken cooked in onions, peppers and carrots is hard to beat.   His parents are on their way out, in costumes and they are going somewhere important because they don’t go out that much.

The candy is in the big plastic bowl says father Wracks.  There should be enough and at nine o’clock, set the bowl outside and call it a night. 

Good night says mom.  Happy Halloween.

They leave in a red ford Cordoba and the Wracks checks on grandma.   She says she is all right, has eaten dinner and is content watching Donnie and Marie reruns.    He closes her door.

There exists a huge elementary school at the bottom of the hill where the Wracks lives, and people live in his subdivision so their children can walk to school.  There should be ample parents at the door trick or treating tonight, and the Wracks sits on the sofa near the entrance hall with a large cache of candy, Butterfinger snack size, fun size milky way, and baby ruth too. He grabs a few and indulges himself.   He turns on the spooky orange and purple string lights outside and sits and wait.

Kids in various costumes arrive early, with their parents.  The Wracks gives each of them two candy bars, who would guess that giving is so wondrous.  Some children wear paper costumes; the newspaper offers free cut out costumes so all kids no matter their financial station can participate in the wondrous activities.  Some female children dress as princesses or queens and male children dress as monsters, pirates or adventurers.  The Wracks is having a blast.  At about seven thirty, as the world slowly darkens, another trick or treater rings the front doorbell.  It is a man, with a large hawkish nose, light grey eyes and fine, thinning, light hair.   His daughter is a beautiful child, betrothed in a royal blue dress, down to her toes, with a scepter with a star on the end.  Very fair, light grey eyes like her father, with some freckles and smiling because she knows someone loves her.  All women smile, when in life, they observe that they are loved and cherished by someone.  Women respond to affection and caring.  She dances in front of the Wracks and smiles and then curtsies.   The Wracks gives her four candy bars because she is special, special in a grey and capitalistic world.  She in her blueness, smiles, her father smiles and she is gone.  Later in night the older kids show up.  They dress as beggars, ruffians, vampires and gangsters.   They all seem to have small guns, and they point them at the Wracks and he obliges and gives them two candies.  They in their masks and guns yell “Happy Halloween”, and run off with their bags of candy.   Guns, always guns, males seem to like the masculine association and infatuation with guns.  The kids have guns and the Wracks does not question or ask if they are real.  They just are.   Then the big kids come and their dates dress as beautiful seductresses and female vampires with ruby red lips and then the flow ebbs and no one comes the door anymore, the Wracks sets the bowl outside, closes up, checks on grandma and goes to sleep.   In his small bed, underneath the window, the stars in the backyard seem to enter his bedroom and he dreams of the beautiful blue princess in the blue dress, and she smiles and dances in front of him and will be in his mind until he dies.   Another day, at the end of October comes and goes uneventfully, and he utters a prayer, before unconsciousness supervenes, that he will have a family someday, and they will go trick or treating, and his daughters will be beautiful and dress as princesses, forevermore.  He has stolen a bunch of candy bars from the bowl and he hides them underneath the mattress, so his brother doesn’t take them and his first class at the university tomorrow is biochemistry and it begins at 8 AM.