What is Antimatter?

Antimatter can be thought of as the opposite of matter, or matter that has properties to opposite or contra-positive of the normal steady state.  In a simplistic fashion, antimatter can have anti-protons that have the same mass as a proton but the charge of an electron, anti-neutrons: neutrons that have no charge but an opposite or out of phase wave associated with it, and anti-electrons which have the same mass as electrons but a positive charge. In a more real and concrete interpretation, antimatter has the same properties as matter but in a 180 degree out of phase wave nature associated with it.  For example, an anti-electron will have the same mass and charge as an electron but an opposite wave function.   It may happen that, an antimatter particle, colliding with a matter particle will annihilate and release energy in the electromagnetic spectrum equivalent to the equation energy equals mass times the speed of light squared.  A gram of hydrogen annihilating another gram of anti-hydrogen could be said to liberate approximately ten to the ninth power joules of energy in a microsecond burst.  This amount of energy released per unit time is astounding and may be used for producing work because of its magnitude.

Physics of antimatter annihilation

An antiparticle of given mass can annihilate another particle of matter of the same atomic weight.  To use dissimilar particles of mass and anti-mass results in an equivalent of a fissile.  Using like particles of anti-matter and matter brings wave functions that are 180 degrees out of phase into proximity for capture and annihilation. Bringing mass a1 and antimass a2 together in a magnetic field long enough, annihilation will occur.   The reaction of plutonium fission can be likened in a tangential way to reacting antimatter with matter in the sense that the two components of the reaction must be held together for a minimum amount of time for the reaction to ensue or the elements will quickly separate and the reaction quench. In a fission bomb, plutonium wedges must be held together to initiate a chain reaction. In annihilation, two particles of matter, anti and real must be collided and maintained in union for annihilation to proceed.  In a fusion reaction the constituents must be held together in a relativistic environment or the constituents may separate and the reaction fails.  In nuclear physics all reactions must be brought to relativistic state for the event to proceed.  This is because, nuclear reactions only occur under very special circumstances.  

Antimatter can be contained in a near vacuum within a magnetic field as long as matter opposite to the atomic number of the antimatter is not brought into proximity.  Two like but opposite particles of matter share the same mathematical but opposite properties making equivalence real.   For example: an atom of hydrogen antimatter under real conditions will not normally react with an iron atom because of the dissimilarity of mass and the shielding of the nucleus by barrier particles.  These will only react at relativistic conditions found only in nature at the center of a sun or neutron star.  This is the big bang of a dying star.

Production of antimatter

Antimatter can be produced on earth by spinning particles or atoms in a tokomak until the particles change nature at the speed of light.  Matter spun in a circle at the speed of light eventually changes character and can be siphoned off with magnets and contained in a vacuum.

On chemical scale, reactions are either exothermic or endothermic and have an activation plateau to achieve for initiation.  On a nuclear level, the constituents much be brought to a relativistic state before the reaction can proceed.    A relativistic state happens when matter is brought to the speed of light. A relativistic state occurs when transuranic elements are brought in high concentrations in close proximity.  The combined mass is inherently unstable and the atom fissions at the speed of light.    In a relativistic environment, matter can change into energy and back again as the wave function is similar.  Accelerating mass to the speed of iight produces relativity when matter is accelerated in a circle in a powerful magnetic field.  This is because anything moving in a circle at near the speed of light becomes the speed of light due to the linear velocity of an object revolving in a circle.  VSub *t   = AsubR / radius.  

Passing energy through various crystal lattices changes the frequency of the energy in the electromagnetic spectrum

Uses of Antimatter

At present no way exists to realize the great amount of energy liberated in a microsecond by the reaction of antimatter.  It may be possible to store antimatter in an evacuated bottle in a magnetic field.  It might be found that antimatter can coexist with matter as long as the two are not brought to a relativistic state.  In fission reaction unstable matter disintegrates into more stable forms with the release of energy.  A fusion condition will extinguish when the relativistic environment no longer exists.  Antimatter reactions progress to complete annihilation under the proper conditions.    Antimatter energy will power starships to different galaxies and fuel huge and create awesome lasers and particle weapons.  The harnessing of antimatter energy will provide the means to transgress time and the warp as envisioned by Albert Einstein.  Energy can be converted to specific forms such as gravity waves and the essence of time itself.

On a positive note

The universal field equation may become a plausible reality

Who is at the door asks the Wracks, it is after dinner.   I’ll go see.

Tell the Fuller brush man we don’t need any merchandise says father Wracks.

Its me says Kool, alive and well and I want you to come along for a ride. 

I haven’t heard of any parties says the Wracks.

I need a shotgun says Kool to pick up some merchandise.   I feel safer if I don’t go alone insists Kool

What are you going to get says the Wracks

A Q Z says Kool, it will be quick and easy.  They are professionals

All right says the Wracks, I don’t know any better

Wracks and Kool embark in the brown and yellow fully camperized Volkswagen van that his father had bought him.   He puts the car in gear and they exit bacon way.  

Look in the glove and see what I have says Kool

Wracks opens the glove compartment and pulls out a jet-black two-inch barrel Smith and Wesson thirty-eight special.  

Its loaded says the Wracks.   What are you going to use it for.

In case things get rough, just pull out the gun and blast them says Kool

I am not going to jail for murder one says the Wracks.   You blast em.

Yeah dah voy says Kool.   Yeah dah voy.

Down the one to the ten and soon the two are in an opulent section of West Los Angeles stuffed and festooned with endless two-story apartment buildings all sitting in manicured residential neighbor hoods. Kool pulls to an empty parking space and inserts naturally and the two exit the car and enter a group of apartments.

This is the one says Kool, 2202, apartment 10 second floor.  Let’s go, we are invited.

They climb the stairs and knock on apartment 10.  A Hispanic man of average height with wavy black hair opens the door.  He is dressed in jeans with a workers rayon shirt.  He has a Texas style silver belt buckle and the television is on and two others are watching intently smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. 

My name is Paul says the man.   Come on in.  I have been expecting you.   What can I do for you says Paul.

I would like to talk to you in private says Kool and the two walk into the other room.   Wracks walks over to the sofa near the television and looks in and the two Mexican Americans look back at him an ask him if he wants a beer. 

No thanks says the Wracks, I am on business.

Suit yourself says one of the other guys and they go back to watching a drama police show.

Kool and Paul reappear and Paul says to the Wracks, I have something I want you to see.   Go to apartment 15 and knock three times.   The wracks says goodbye and they walk over to the brown apartment door and knock three times.  A Mexican American man in jeans and tee shirt with new adidas sneakers lets them in and the Wracks beholds an amazing sight.   The entire apartment is filled with bricks of Marijuana all wrapped in pick toilet paper stacked head high.

Want to buy any pot asks the man?   All you can smoke.

I don’t have any money says the Wracks.   Kool, do you want any pot.   It looks like commercial grade green marijuana all bound in kilograms. 

No says Kool.   I have bought something else

If you ever need any pot, you know where to come.   Just talk to Paul first.  

Thank you very much, it was nice meeting you says the Wracks

Adios, says the man as he closes the door behind them

Well did you get what you came for asks the Wracks?

I will soon see says Kool and he show the Wracks an automobile trunk key, holding it up int the dark night.  We are looking for a light brown Ford Granada says Kool.   Help me find it.

There it is down the street about one hundred feet away says the Wracks.

Let’s go find it says Kool.

They slowly walk to the car and Kool goes to the trunk inserts the key and opens it.   In the trunk is a small brown bindle covered in butcher paper with white string as a bow.  He takes the package, throws the key in the trunk. Closes the trunk and directly walks away.   Back at his brown and yellow van, he throws the package under the seat and speaks.  Get in, we are done here.

What’s in the package asks the Wracks?

Blow!    Pure crystal blow from Bolivia, uncut, and a lot of it.

What are you going to do with all that coke says the Wracks?   Cut it and sell it and give it to the girls.   They go wild over the stuff.  

Girls like coke says Wracks, why is that so?

They like it more than men.    

It is so expensive; it is out of my market says the Wracks.

If I see you later, I will give you a line.   We are almost back to your house.

Kool pulls up to the front of the Wracker house and says thank for being shotgun. There are going to be a lot of happy people tonight.  What are you going to do.

Study like I always do.   I don’t have an inheritance; I have to accept a career.

I will see you soon says Kool, have a good night. And he puts the car in reverse and heads off into the darkness.  The Wracks goes to the front oak door with marble centerpiece, inserts the key and is in the hallway with the big mirror and father is smoking cigarettes, and eating a bowl of vanilla ice cream.

How was it asks father.   Was it worth it

It was a simple drug score with the big league and I don’t fit in. 

You are who you associate with says father Wracker.

I am going to study says the Wracks, and the room is empty and the simple cheap desk with Formica top appears with the tensor reading lamp and the Wracks lights a cigarette and starts to read.  Time goes by and he looks up at the big clock and it is late and sleep awaits.   Tomorrow is another day.  

Wrack[RR1]  does not know why he woke up so early today. Today is Saturday and the automatic coffee maker is off and father does not have to leave at seven fifteen today after a cereal breakfast and a cup of coffee. Today is another day of summer in Tranquil Hills and the sun shines in the kitchen window now as it does almost every morning except in June when the coastal fog crawls up the canyon into Bacon way and Mellow man’s Lane. Wrack does not know why he drifts around the house so early today but notices his little dog Punkin is not on his cushion. Where is Punkin, wrack thinks.  Wrack walks over to his father’s Pall Mall cigarette pack and steals one because he does not have money to buy his own. I will go outside for a coffee and a smoke thinks Wrack.  Wrack opens the back door and steps outside where the garage meets the back door of the house and a little herb garden sits in front of the trashcans. GB is sitting on the ground playing with Punkin.  Punkin is sitting up and begging with his little paws making a praying motion.  If a person was not sane, they would think BG and the dog were having a conversation.  Any sane person knows this is not so.  “GB, what are you doing out back with my dog at 6 AM,” Inquires Wrak.   “I had nothing to do so I am playing with Punkin,” says BG. He ignores wrack and pets the little orange platinum Silky terrier. “Besides he says, a new south swell should be hitting right now and I want to see if the Bu is catching it.”  “Get your board and wetsuit and let’s go.”  “Get some food and steal some of your Dad’s cigarettes for the road.”   Wrack does not have a board, or is at least in between boards so he borrows his brother’s lily white seven foot eleven inch pipeline gun with winglets shaped by Dean.   “Be sure the board fits in between the seats before we start off,” says BG “I have my sack of stuff,” says Wrak.  “Light me smoke and lets have at it,” says GB.  

      The Pacific coast highway remains a beautiful stretch of road on the good side of town and touches in the opulent beach area of Northern Los Angeles called Malibu and Point Dume Estates.    The army corps of engineers built the road wide and the palisades to the east rise beautifully in the east and the ocean sparkles dazzlingly on the left and west side of the street.  Most of the movie star beach house has been torn down and the ocean beckons alluringly, sweetly and innocently as Catalina Island shimmers sixty miles away to the south east.  Surf rider beach has a parking lot and a wall and a secret house hidden in the moat inside of the creek belonging to the Getty family. Surf rider beach today displays three foot waves and a slight south wind which ruins the shape somewhat and makes the lines section raggedly as they turn inward into first point.  “Let’s go out,” says Wrack.   “There is hardly anyone here!”   “No!” I do not want to get in my suit for three foot mush and south wind,” asserts BG.

“I am deciding,” insists GB.  “Don’t talk, I am thinking.”  “Probably the swell is too south for the Bu and the tide changes right for the pipeline.  “What pipeline,” says Wrak?  At Newport Point there is a secret surf break only some people can surf.  Houses are built on the beach and no parking exists so there exists no way to enter the surf zone without having your car towed.  “I know Juan van says BG.” “We can park at his house on the beach.”  “Light me another smoke,” We are jamming to the pipeline.

   At seventy plus miles per hour the Chevrolet econocar propels down highway one.    Highway ten appears and then Highway five appears and the huge refinery burns by and highway 58 becomes a reality and then into Newport.  BG’s uncle is Richie Rich.

       “Who is the guy,” says Juan Van “GB you know better than to bring strangers here!”   “He is cool,” says GB “Beside; He is a friend of mine.”  “OK,” says Juan Van “Pull it in and close the garage.”  “I just finished the night shift as a security guard.” I am going to have coffee and breakfast and wake up,” says Juan Van “You two can go out.”  “It’s pretty good.”  A south swell hit last night.  Wrack learns quickly. He realizes that an extremely south swell blocked out by Catalina Island focuses on the point here the point faces south southwest and picks up any swell with a south to it and the predominant westerly wind blows side shore. . GBG and wrack sit on the beach at the point in the morning and the water shimmers like glass and the fishing boats sail out at the pier and the waves crest at six to ten feet and breaking like turning cylinders and spitting in the shallow end of the sand bar.   This is the Orange County pipeline and the wave looks better then Hawaii.  Hawaii always is windy.  The point today shows smooth as molten glass and green water waves break in perfect form and harmony onto shallow sand reefs.   “Let’s go surfing,” says GB.  “I can’t go backside so good,’ whine Wrack, “They will run me over.”   “Just tell them you know Juan van,” says GB.  “They will back off.”    “I will go surf the right on the other side of the channel. It looks almost as good.”  “Get a few waves and paddle over to left,” says GB.  “It really is good.” 

     The paddle out at the point seems easy compared to the washing machine up north.  Wrack waits outside and paddles into a twelve foot right peak, bottom turns and releases the inside edge of the pintail to ride the tube.  A huge blond haired local takes off in front of Wrack and wrack holds the edge of the board in the vortex then reinserts the inside rail as the wave spits foam and blows by the huge blond haired muscleman.  Inside the shore-break, the huge blond haired kook grabs the white pintail from wrack and says “If you take off on another of my waves I will kill you.”  “Give me back my surfboard you huge idiot, I am a guest of Juan Van.  The big blond surf God looks at wrack, looks at wrack looks at wrack, then grabs his own board and paddles away.  “I had better stay clear of him.” Thinks wrack, Time to surf some lefts.”  The channel at the point means an easy paddle out.  Half way out, GB enters a ten foot pipeline peak.  He goes straight off then turns hard and the board arcs up into the hook of the wave as the water forms a pipeline tube.  As the wave tubes over him GB carves back down the face then turns again up into the hook and then goes by Wrack as he paddles out.    Outside in the lineup BG returns.  “How do like the pipeline.” Asks GB.  “The waves are great but the locals burn aggressively,” says Wrack.  “Just do not snake Juan Van,” says BG “Then you will be OK.”  “Let’s surf till our arms drop off,” says GB.  “This is as good as it gets.”

       Juan Van lets BG and Wrack redress in his garage.  His parents live upstairs in a two story house converted into a duplex.  “I have someone I want you to meet,” says BG.  “Let’s go meet the Brotherhood.” 

     We meet some friends in Irvine in an apartment in an upscale building with security and potted plants everywhere.  BG tells wrack one of his friends is deaf and not to make fun of him.  The deaf person is smaller, with brown hair, a deep chestnut tan in short pants and a Hawaiian shirt.  Another person is larger, skinnier, with brown curly hair and a beard, dressed similarly and who laughs a lot.   I grab a piece of paper and write on the paper what we are discussing so the deaf person can stay tuned.  The deaf person does not talk, but smiles and reads the paper. Smoke passes around and the boys share surf stories and compare the lifestyle of Los Angeles with the Beach and Irvine. “Is he cools,” they each ask GB in turn.  “He is cool,” says GB, and a friend of mine. After a while Juan Van shows up on queue and GB and Wrack decide the time is right to leave.  Wrack waves good bye to the brotherhood and will never see them again.  They provided hospitality and cordiality and all that can be expected of them in a place in time down south.  BG and wrak accelerate on to the freeway and rocket toward Los Angeles.  “Light me another smoke,” says GB.  “I am driving.”   The refinery and the large deep fence hiding the factory from the people appear then disappear.  The surfers arrive on the ten and then the one and up Moonrise to Bacon way.  Wrack pulls his board out of the hatchback and punkin jumps out from the fence and greets the pair.  “Hi Punkin,” says BG.  “See you later.”  The green Chevrolet econocar accelerates quickly and smoothly because the car weighs very little.  GB leaves as mysteriously and enigmatically as he arrives when the buoy indicators of big surf herald a new swell.  Wrack goes back to the daily rigmarole of reality sometimes punctuated by excitement.

        Wrack never rode the pipeline again.  Occasionally, when wrack would surf the area, he would park illegally and watch the waves from an aperture on the street that meets the beach.  Occasionally a skinny, tall, beach boy with a long head and blond hair would appear and menace him with a Ruger 10/22 varmint rifle.   The tall beach boy shot him once when he was in his wetsuit but the bullet did not stick in.  The pipeline is real.  The pipeline tubes perfectly.   The pipeline gives a great drop and acceleration.  The pipeline is off limits to commoners.   “The rich are different from you and me,” said the Great Gatsby.  Wrack knows what he means.  The brotherhood was formed by surfers with the object of supplying clean unadulterated controlled substances to friends; any profit was put back in the business.   All street drugs are cut with toxic substances and adulterated.  The brotherhood of eternal love was constructed to supply friends only.  Life is not black or white but shades of grey and the Wracks was not asked to join the brotherhood because he didn’t have a car and they couldn’t use him.   Life flows and goes and eventually the end is near but the waves and good times remain. 

---

 [RR1]

Bonk, Bonk Bonk on the windowsill at 6AM on a Saturday sometime in the winter in Southern Cal. 

It’s me GB he says, Let me in.

There is no surf says the Wracks, I checked the lookout last night.

I need a shotgun for a run up to SB with precious cargo.  There may be something coming in at Hammonds.   Are you out or are you in?

I am in says the Wracks, I will let you in the kitchen.

Meet you there says GB

I had a late dinner at work last night says GB.  Just make me some toast with butter and a cup of your delicious Yuban Coffee.

OK says the Wracks

Hammonds is a magical place says GB, kind of like the Bu.  It is the only break in SB that catches a southwest swell.  A wave rider can surf it all year long.   Rarely, when it gets really big on a west swell the reef works and a rider can get Sunset Beach Hawaii into a point in CA. Besides I have business up there today with the boys and I need a second to support me in case of a fail.   It will be the same as last time.  I have finished breakfast and my cup of coffee, let’s go.  Don’t forget to bring a couple of Pall Mall golds for the ride.

The Wracks loads his board in a board bag in between the seats of the General Motors econocar done in dark green.  He throws in his wetsuit and robey and they start off.

What’s all that white powder on the console of your car asks the Wracks?

Why don’t you wet your finger and taste it suggests GB

What is it says the Wracks, it doesn’t have any taste. 

It is the powder from the bottom of a bag of one hundred hits of purple dome LSD that I picked up last night.

Am I going to go on an LSD trip asks the wracks

Probably not because you didn’t get enough of it, If you want more it is on the dash.

How do you drive on LSD asks the Wracks.

Very cautiously and not as fast as I am used to.

On the one and over the hill to the five they go and C Street is about three feet.

We are almost there says GB.  Watch for the big freeway sign that says “Winterland” and that is where we turn off.

The big sign appears and the two take the off-ramp to a side street bordered by huge evergreens that must be at least one hundred years old.  A wooden gate station comes into view and the officer at the station waves to GB and lets them in the Gate.  In winterland, huge mansions rise out of a soggy meadow covered with green lichen.  The houses are two, some three story high, fashioned of wood in a gothic architecture and set in large lots with car ports instead of Garages.  Cadillacs and an occasional Rolls Royce populate the scenery, and sometimes a four wheel drive land buster.  GB pulls up to one of the houses and they all look similar with years of ivy and Ivy League trailing from the trellises and the smell of wet basement flora overwhelms the senses.  In one of the driveways, GB honks twice and signals out his driver compartment and a young man with brown hair and casual denims appears from one of the houses.

Wracks, Go in the trunk and get the briefcase underneath the wetsuits while I sit here in the car.

OK says the Wracks and he lifts up the hatchback and unearths a black leather briefcase with gold metal trim.

Bring it to me says GB

Kip comes to the side of the car and says, Let me see them first.

GB opens up the briefcase and inside set in red velour are five golden chips about the size of a matchbook.  Silicon wafers etched in pure gold lacing

Yeah, that is them says Kip. I am satisfied.   Your account will be credited.

See you later he says, the point is not that good today there is a south wind and he waves and disappears back inside the house.

We are done says GB.  It’s not worth surfing, let’s get home

What are those gold things says the Wracks.

They are computer chips for a mainframe system says GB.  State of the art.  They use them to plot the trajectories of intercontinental ballistic missiles at NORAD. They are worth at least fifty thousand dollars apiece.

How did you get them asks the Wracks

It is just business, says GB just Business. Let’s get cracking says GB.  We can be home before lunch

The drive south is uneventful and the wind in Ventura and SB picks up around eleven o’clock and blows out of the west till the glass off at five.  Up Moonrise Boulevard and the church of all Religions and the Wracks is back in his nest in the enclave of the west-most subdivision.

Thanks for driving along says GB.  I am going to work now. See you next swell

So long says the Wracks and the wooden gate are worn by the teeth of his little silky terrier and he is greeted by the dog and he enters the house through the back.  It is Saturday and his parents are gone and he says hi to his grandmother, sits down and has a cigarette and another cup of coffee. The skies are blue and almost cloudless and the sun sends warm rays in through the family room window. He gets his text books and turns on the reading lamp and begins to read.

This is long ago before the computer became the Time Magazine man of the year and computer chips were available to all and everyone connects on the internet and the big information superhighway dominates the United States. There are a lot more swells to be had and the Wracks has a ride to all of them wherever they are in Southern California. Now in NorCal, the Wracks sees that a surfer always has waves to ride somewhere in the golden state anytime if they are willing to travel.   It seems the Wracks likes to go for a ride.  Hawaii is a very windy place.

On the Wall at Surfrider Beach, emblazoned in indelible spray paint are the words, “The Cat Lives,” and “Mik is the Cat.”  Over forty years pass and the words never wash off, wear down or go away.   The words seem to endure beyond the legend and the legacy of probably the most complete wave rider ever to surf in Southern California.  Who is the cat and what the cat is live as a story in it.  Is the cat a highly intelligent criminal?   The answer may be yes but a person can only be decreed a criminal if they are caught and sentenced by due process of the law.  Mik is above the law.  Mik is real and an ancestor of a very important and prominent California family who wish to remain anonymous.  Mik wants to remain anonymous.  Mik wants to return some day to the grounds which he loves more than anything else.  The stomping grounds of the legend, “The Cat,” exist as the place known as Surfrider Beach or to the local people as “The Bu.”  They say Mik retired to Cardiff Beach and had to content himself to riding Swami’s point at thirty feet while assuming the role as a certified public accountant.  The question remains, is Mik a faculty member at a state University professional school?   What has become of Mik? Where has Mik gone?  Did Mik die of pancreatic cancer away from his beloved Bu?   Wracks believes Mik is alive and has seen him somewhere out of the corner of his eye.  Wracks does not surf anymore but cherishes the memories of being one of the special people in a group who were allowed by Mik to ride the waves at Surfrider beach in all their majesty.  Wracks does not regret a minute of wasting time at Surfrider beach or sitting out in the water and playing with the Macrocystis kelp and waiting for a big set at the shift.  When the Bu is big, local riders sit at the outer reef and ride a wave to the pier and past the pier if they are skilled and brave enough. 

Wracks mother makes him a brown bag lunch of a cheese and jelly sandwich with an apple.  Wracks mother drives wracks to surfrider beach with a Jacobs 9 feet six-inch board with a couple of his friends and leaves him there all day.  Wracks mother then waves goodbye and does more important things then raising her child while being an oncologist at the big U.  Wracks mother tests smart and cannot content herself with the role of female and mother.   Wracks sits at the Malibu wall with his board and friends and watches Mik ride waves.  Mik rides waves expertly, never falls off and rides them all the way to the beach, disembarks and walks back up to the point to paddle out and begin again.  Mik beats up anyone who rides on a larger set wave in front of him. Mik has catlike reflexes.   Mik beats up someone almost every day.  Mik is king and few become brave enough to challenge his reign unless they are hopped up on some kind of euphoric drug.  They all ultimately stumble away with a bloodied face, dragging their boards behind them.  The Malibu masochist got his name because he consistently took off on a wave in front of Mik and Mik would pummel his body with blows.  The Malibu masochist never could learn.   The Malibu masochist is a Karate and judo expert and can never figure out how Mik beats him up every time.  This Japanese man simply goes by the title, “The Masochist.”   The masochist eventually moves away to greener pastures.  Lance Carson got his nickname “no pants lance” because he rode a set wave in front of Mik and Mik required him to spend the day naked on the beach or he would beat him to a pulp.  Lance became a legend in himself and the basis of National Lampoon Christmas vacation movies; however, this is another essay.  Wracks paddles out to the point at surfrider beach, and takes off in front of Mik in order to meet him.  Mik exits the wave and looks at the little kid with gall to take off in front of him.  Mik looks again and walks back up the point.   Wracks is the only person on the planet who took off in front of Mik and did not get his face punched.  This makes wracks royalty of a sort in a magical place with magical waves in a tumultuous time when the darkness starts to take hold.  Mik is the legend at the Bu and will someday return to reclaim his throne and empire.  Mik lives or did live in a strategic location.  Maybe his family rents out the house nowadays, Maybe Mik keeps it vacant with slip covers over the sofas.  Maybe Mik lives in the huge mansion on the hill overlooking Surfrider Beach.  The house at the point has a large deck and looks north and south.  The house on the point belongs to Mik.   The house on the point gives direct vision of the Indicator at third point and the reef at the Colony.   The house on the point still exists but who occupies the house is another mystery. 

The colony evidences as a group of houses on a private beach with a private entrance to a private clique on the northern edge of Surfrider Beach.    The colony has a rock reef that forms a wave similar to the Banzai pipeline on Oahu.  The colony reef produced the best pipeline surfers of the twentieth century, both of which have won at least two Pipeline master contests.  The Malibu colony reef breaks the biggest on a huge southwest swell and at low tide breaks better then the Banzai Pipeline although not as big as second reef pipe.   Wracks does not belong to the elite and does not have access to the colony or the pipeline reef.   The colony reef can only be watched from the lookout hill now holding a huge mansion with ramparts and looking glass.   Mik does not appear at surfrider beach anymore.  Mik left when the darkness started to prevail.   Wracks hopes Mik or one of his sons will return and reclaim the legend and title. 

We return to the question.  “Who is the Cat.?”  “What is the cat?”  “Where is the cat?”   The answer becomes the fact that Mik is a legendary and famous figure who serves as a role model or benchmark for other once removed.  A wrack believes Mik still lives.  Wracks hopes Mik still lives to ensure his progeny form roots, grow and control the substance of his fame.  Wracks also hopes that good will prevail and that someday they will invent a tree that grows money.  Wracks dreams and has imagined lots of things but the memories of youth that infiltrate conscious with every breath shall be born and grow to something feasible and concrete some day, some way, somehow.  Time passes, and all things pass and we mere mortals play our games and are blessed by the tears of Allah.

When the gang first saw it, they were in awe.  The peak rears up out of the open ocean and breaks right and left but the left is longer and hollower and steeper.  Up the beach, to the right, the locals surf the first peak which is left also and has a channel to paddle out in.  Out at the Jetty, a long right breaks out of deep water down the jetty and all the way into the first peak.  The locals jealously guard this wave and threaten to maim anyone they catch surfing it.   No one surfs the big peak to the far left that breaks off a sunken shipwreck because this is where the swell focuses and pulses.   The paddle out here is too difficult, it takes an experienced waterman up to thirty minutes to get past the beach break out to the lineup where the waves crest.   No one surfs the peak except fools.   When Zucky first saw the break he exclaimed, “it looks like a huge washing machine,” hence its name that lingers onward into the twenty-first century.   “It’s the washing machine, zoom zoom.”

This Saturday at five in the morning, Kool, Playboy and the Wracks gear up for a visit to the strand and the washing machine.   Wracks has a new 4mm super suit with a spigot to inflate with air when you are drowning, Kool has a red rocket seven-foot eight-inch pintail shaped by Rdick and Playboy has another potato chip gun because he is a team rider and Wracks has his homemade six-foot eight-inch three fin inspired by Craig Wilson of Makaha and relayed by the Lu—ay.     Wracks glassed two trailer fins on his Wilken Meth model so he has one too.   Up the PCH past point zero and Sakis and the big rock into the Nards and the turnoff on Channel Islands boulevard to Mandalay and the Strand.   The Pang-oh gang heard of this creation of God probably from Kool and they with their girls and their vans and the four-speaker cassette players line up at the store on the beach for provisions before the go out.  Yeah says WW who is dressed in a mink coat and spent the whole night dancing and partying and the girls are in mini skirts with trench coats to brace themselves from the cold offshore wind flowing outward from the agricultural valley.

Let’s walk down the beach and check it out says the Wracks

I have to finish my beer and get a new smoke says Kool

Let me put on my jacket says playboy.

The white sand with grey flecks in it is cold to the feet and the three get a first glimpse at 6 thirty am of the washing machine with a hard offshore wind.   A huge wave rears up out of the open ocean and grows and crests and then breaks left down the beach like the pipeline on Oahu.   Another breaks, then another, and the ocean near shore turns into seething white froth. 

It is at least ten foot says Playboy, I can’t tell because it is so far out

I don’t go left that well says the Wracks, I am a Malibu boy

You are going to learn today says Playboy.   I hope you learn fast.

I love lefts says Kool.   Big lefts and fast lefts, spitting.

They run back to the car and everyone is gearing up.  Wracks brought a bar of super psychedelic Sugarman surf wax and they share the bar as they wax their boards. 

Remember to time the sets says Playboy.   Don’t paddle out till the last wave of the set hits the sandbar or you will never get out.  I forgot to tell you, this place swarms with great white sharks.   If you see one just paddle into shore, they only hit something that is stationary. 

The waves carve a huge ledge of sand from the beach to the break and everyone jumps off into the surf.

Remember to time the sets.

A four wave set hits the sandbar and huge peaks break churning into the shallow sandy beach water The peak waves hit every fifteen minutes.   The Wracks wades into the spinning shallows and steps on something that moves out from under his feet.   A set hits and the Wracks starts paddling as fast as his body will let him.   Luck favors him and a small set begins to break just as the Wracks clears the inner waters and spray shoots out from his board as he barely lurches over the top.  He continues to paddle because he doesn’t want to be caught inside and face a long swim in shark infested waters.  He sits outside of his friends and notices that he is long way out.   A huge set hits and he sees Playboy scratching for the horizon on his purple gun so the Wracks takes the first wave and goes right towards the shipwreck and he barely gets into it because of the offshore and he drops and drops and drops and makes his bottom turn going faster than he ever has his whole life.  Shooting towards the top of the waves the centrifugal force glues him to the top of the wave then he spurts out of it in the impact zone.  His friends were not lucky, they got cleaned up by a huge set and are swimming in.  The set must have been twenty feet high.  Not only is it an arduous task to paddle out at the Washing machine but out in the lineup cleanup sets come out of nowhere and drown anyone brave enough to challenge mother nature.  The waves are at least four times overhead and no one can tell standing directly on the shore.

The Wracks flounders in the white water, times the sets and paddles out again.   He catches a mid-sized left tube and drops and turns backside and trims and the tube catches up to him and it is lights out.   Using the backstroke to get to shore quickly, the Wracks retrieves his board and sits on the ledge in the sand.   Kool drops down a huge monster, fades and turns and gets a ride like you see on TV and then he pops out the back and scratches for the open ocean and doesn’t make it.   A huge wave slams down on top of him, his board is free and he is swimming.   Playboy gets a nice left and kicks out in time and so does BA on his NP gun.   Wracks time the sets and goes out one more time.    He catches a huge wave at the peak, goes to the bottom and turns, rockets to the top and hits a white shark on the back, and is stopped dead cold in the water.  He saw the huge shark and couldn’t turn because he was going so fast he hopes the shark is not mad and doesn’t come and get him as he freestyles towards the beach as fast as he can. 

That’s enough for me today says the Wracks.   I don’t want to press my luck.

He watches his friends get a couple more rides and then the wind turns hard offshore, it is 11 thirty and the session is over. 

That was the hardest paddle out I have ever experienced says playboy

I got a big left tube says Kool.   Big and round

I ran over a shark says the Wracks and am still alive.   

Good session says, Playboy.   Let’s head home

The white and yellow Volkswagen camper with blaring tuned exhaust heads south after the boys raid the local dairy for fresh chocolate milk and donuts.  Playboy and Kool sit up front and share something smoking and the Wracks lays supine in the back with a rug and the surfboards covering his body.

Time flies by and soon he is home on Bacon land and he unloads his board and suit and thanks Playboy for the ride.   He goes inside and his father sits in the green chair and smokes and asks him

Where have you been?

I went surfing up in the Nards

Did you have a good time

I caught some big waves and ran over a shark and it didn’t eat me

You have a fervent imagination says Father Wracks.

I couldn’t believe it either because it was where the waves are breaking

It probably was a huge piece of driftwood says father Wracks

Driftwood doesn’t swim says the Wracks

Whatever says father Wracks, take a warm shower and continue your studies.

I will says the Wracks, I am really tired

The Washing Machine is still there.   It breaks three times bigger than any break near it on a northwest swell.   No one surfs it because the paddle out is too arduous and difficult.  There is a little convenience store on the strand that lets you park there if you buy food from them.  Later Wracks would drive up there and watch solo,  no one else on the beach with ten to fifteen-foot waves every day, and a couple of times he went out alone.  And time moves on and the past is gone and now Wracks doesn’t surf anymore.  It was just another Saturday in the past.   

Let’s go, says BG.  I have to make a run up to SB and visit some friends. Are you in?

Sure, says Wracks. Can I bring my board? 

We are going to surf Hammonds reef, says BG. This place exists as the secret spot of SB and only locals get to visit there.  Tag along and I will show you why.

Let me get my stuff, says Wracks.   I always wanted to surf Hammonds reef but never knew where it is.

The colony situates on the beach, north of the Con and its existence shrouds by a huge strand of tall trees that obliviate notice of its existence.  Bates Hammon owns the hotel at the hill overlooking the little corner.  Keep your mind open and don’t say anything and you will get by.  

A wrack grabs his grocery bag and loads the usual stuff of a surf adventure with BG.  In the sack goes American cheese, a loaf of bread, cans of coke, an apple and a pack of cigarettes.   Wracks scoops some change up from the change pail in Dad’s room and says goodbye to Grandma.  She sits in the green recliner in her bathrobe watching a small color television set with Lawrence Welk reruns,  smiles,  and waves her hand in the air without looking.  Wracks throws his blue south bay pintail gun in the car and the hatchback closes with a clang.   Thrown in with thinking, the NP bright blue full suit wetsuit double layer nylon goes in the trunk.  A wrack enters the car, seats shotgun, buckles up the shoulder harness, and the car accelerates into the early day coolness off the pacific coast highway. 

We are going to take M. canyon road up to the 101 and get to Ventura faster than taking, the coast route, says BG. Hold on to your hat.   Light me up a cigarette, says BG as he motions with his right hand. 

Wracks grabs a gold Pall Mall Cigarette, pushes in the car lighter, pulls the lighter from the socket and burns the new cigarette with the glowing red coil.  Wracks hands the cigarette to BG, s open hand and BG takes a long drag and blows the smoke out his nostrils like a flaming dragon. 

Good draw, says BG, hold on to your hat.   Wracks  puts a Jim Hendrix album, Electric Lady land into the cassette player that swings on a Pod off of the console above the manual shift. They both smoke and the car rockets in the fast lane of the 101 with the rear vent open and smoke streaming out in a long trail.

How does your car go so fast, asks Wracks, I thought it only has a four cylinder engine?

I put model plane fuel in the gas tank, says BG, it has nitro methane in it like a dragster.  It really makes your car go. 

Entering the PCH at California Street from the 101, the green car merges into the flow and soon the little corner comes into view on the left as a long point sticking out into the Pacific Ocean with a bunch of houses inside.  The front houses have forward viewing rooms with telescopes to watch the ocean with. 

The big sign says, “Winter land next turnoff,” and BG veers the car off and down into a private road that disappears into a strand of trees in a heathen wood and white pillared gate.  The thick steel gate pillars opened as if the two are expected.  BG enters slowly, cautiously in first gear, looking for someone, something or at least a signal.    Large southern mansions with cypress borders and green lawns abut majestically, and green lawns with Rolls Royce automobiles fill the driveways. 

What is this place, asks wracks, It is like the New Orleans ride at Disney land done in Hollywood.  Who owns those cars?  The richest people in Central California maintain a house here at Winter Land.  They do not like outsiders, says BG.   Don’t move quickly and do not pretend you are taking pictures and they will not molest you. 

BG goes to the back of the car, lifts open the hatchback and pulls a small briefcase from the wheel well where the spare tire lives.  He examines the case, closes the hatchback, and starts walking towards the driveway of the biggest southern mansion in the colony.

Sit in the Car and stay put, shouts BG without looking back.  I shall be back soon.

BG walks up the flat white driveway with the suitcase, goes to the front door, knocks, the door opens and BG enters and disappears.  The huge door looks like it fabricates out of oak with brass fixtures and lists at an impressive eight feet high with windows on top.  Wracks sits in the car and about fifteen minutes later, BG reappears with another person who has wavy brown hair and stands at about the same height as BG. 

My name is Kip, says the man.  Nice to meet you.  Park in my driveway and surf the reef, it is about six feet today.  He turns and leaves.

BG starts the car and pulls it in to the driveway of the huge southern mansion.  The house looks wet and moss and cypress hang in strands from the rafters of the domicile.  Wracks and BG strip in their Druid Robes and walk to the strand where the reef lies.  Hammons reef looks like a semi point with a wave that peaks up at the small point.  A large conglomeration of stones form a reef and the wave rears up like a pipeline type wave tubes and then turns into a long shoulder wave that breaks down the point. The surf runs inconsistent today and BG and wracks surf for about two hours and get some good rides. The wave peaks up at takeoff and the drop feels critical and the acceleration feels positive.  Seaweed grows everywhere and Wracks long fin catches the weed as he takes off on steep bowling waves.  Super glassy, good takeoff and rip able face categorize the reef.

I feel sharks, says Wracks, where are they he asks BG

All the houses have septic tanks and the sewage attracts them, says BG. They are well fed.  I have never been chased in.

Bg takes a set wave in and Wracks feels the feeling and his hair stands up on his head and he hurriedly paddles in on a small inside wave.  A wrack exits the break on the boulders in waist deep water and turns to look back at the water.  The kelp bulges and undulates but no fin appears and Wracks continues his exit up the beach back to the mansion. GB is changing and his green robe and fit in perfectly to the place, time and situation.  The Wracks puts on his blue robe and strips off the blue wetsuit and tosses it in his duffle bag.  They both stow their gear in the hatchback and Wracks grabs his chow bag and enters the passenger side of the car.

Can I have some food, asks GB. 

Sure says Wracks, I will make you a sandwich

A wrack takes two slices of American cheese and peels off the cellophane. He inserts the cheese in-between two pieces of bread.  BG takes the sandwich and shoves half of it into his mouth and bites and his eyes roll back in his head like a big shark. 

Throw me a coke, intones GB.  I am late for work. 

GB finishes the sandwich, shakes the coke can and pulls the tab in front of his mouth while holding the can upside down.  The coke spurts into his mouth like a fire extinguisher and the can empties in two seconds. 

That was good, says BG let’s get home.  Light me a smoke.

Wracks pushes in the cigarette lighter and lights a cigarette for GB. BG takes a huge draw, puts the car in gear, expels the smoke out of his nose, and accelerates.  The two adventurers pull outside of the gate at a fast clip and exit winter land.  A wrack turns back to wave goodbye and sees the gate already has closed and a huge bolt holds it closed and off limits to everyone.  Everyone except GB and Wracks, just GB and wracks. 

The most epic wave in SB reveals as Hammonds reef.  Hard west Swells funnel through the gap lying between Santa Rosa and San Miguel in the channel islands and focus on Hammonds.  The reef at Hammons can hold any size swell and when the reef works, everyone in SB, SM, and the central coast go there and try to get in.  The wave builds up like a huge A-frame peak and throws out top to bottom at thirty feet.  Be aware, the water brims with sharks that smell the septic tank waste filtering directly into the break from the colony on shore.  Wracks felt them there. 

We will be back, says BG.  They like you.

Who likes me, asks the wracks. 

Them, says Bg.  Don’t talk anymore, I am in cruiser mode.  We will come back up next shipment.

Nitromethane fuel makes a car go really fast, thinks Wracks.  Maybe I should buy a can for my motorcycle when I go riding, he thinks. 

The long two-hour ride to SB goes by quickly and Wracks finds himself moving by the self realization center up moonrise Boulevard toward tranquil hills and the Death star.    Like usual, his dog waits for him at the gate and barks and Wracks unloads his gear and board and GB pets punk and gets back in his car. 

Thanks for the ride GB, says wracks

Anytime, says GB and he rockets off again. 

A wrack reenters reality through the kitchen door into the world of electric ranges, refrigerators, microwave ovens and home life.  Mom is home and asks wracks if he wants some food and dad works at his second job downtown, teaching business at night at the College there.  Wracks sits down and has some more of the stewed chicken that he lives on made with onions, green peppers, tomatoes, garlic, chicken quarters and a little bit of love.  Reality is not what it seems.  Reality is people, people who love you and make significant contributions to a person’s personality because everyone ultimately becomes something and the best trained and most loved rise to the top.  Like a family doctor once told Wracks.  You don’t have to worry because cream always rises to the top, the very top.  The day ends once more and books open and the lights focus and sleep overtakes the mind and the darkness interludes and sweet bliss of dreams hold the respite in this the living of life.  Dreams behold in the darkness of the night.

Wrack is sitting in Grandpa’s green recliner.  The chair grandfather would sit in before he died.  Wrack studies history in Summer school.  Taking classes at the local community college costs less than a University and the perquisites need to be fulfilled are cheaper. GB opens the front door and walks into the house and into the living room where Wrack sits on the green chair and reads a history book that weighs five pounds and looks like a phone book.  The history is American history from inception to 1945. “A southern hemisphere southwest swell is about to hit with ten to fifteen-foot waves on south-facing beaches,” exclaims BG as he waves his arms in earnest.  “I had a smoke at the lookout last night and the ocean seems flat as a board.”  Says Wrack.  “I have sources,” says GB. “What sources,” intones wrack.  “Good sources,” says GB.  “What good sources,” questions Wrak.  “Secret sources I cannot disclose.”  Insists BG.  “It is eight o’clock now.  Let’s go check the Bu.”  Get your stuff and bring some of your Dad’s cigarettes.  “History bores me anyway, “says Wrack. 

     Down the Marquee street, past the self-realization center with a swami dome stuck in secluded madness and on to the PCH goes Wrak and GB. This morning shows summer as the water looks green and the smell of sea weed and crustacean fill the air pushing into the green General Motors economy-car with a hatchback and Michelin high-speed tires.   Up past the Sealion and then Alice’s restaurant where you can get anything you want.  Drop right in around the back,  its only twenty miles from the railroad tracks.  Anyone can get anything they want at Alice’s restaurant and the mixed drinks taste good too.  The booths look directly into Malibu first and second point and when the sun sets, the restaurant lights up in color until nightfall.  Pulling into the parking lot BG and Wrak witness the current state of wave height and conditions.  A slight south wind makes the waves look weak and crumbly, kind of like broken cookies.  The waves appear a disjointed two to three feet at best.  “BG, you told me that a huge south swell is hitting now and the Bu breaks like weak mush in a porridge bowl.  “My sources are A1,” says BG. “Let’s go surf San Clemente.  I know the swell will be hitting there.”  “But the drive to San Clemente lasts about two hours,” says Wrak. “Even if the waves break big the coast will be blown out by twelve o’clock. “  “No it won’t, “say GB. “If you drive with me, this time you do not have to pay for the gas.”  “Why not, let’s go.” settles Wrack.   The green Chevrolet econocar revs up and BG patches out of the parking lot.  “Light me a cigarette.” orders BG, “I am driving.”

               After driving southward to San Diego a thousand times the route becomes monotonous and the sites breeze by at an incredible speed and time lapses until the destination looms upward in sight. From the one to the ten to the five and then off at Christianitos Ave. in San Clemente, the time flies by at seventy-five to eighty miles per hour.  “I still get twenty miles to the gallon flat out,” smiles GB.  A secret parking lot off the main street becomes the final resting spot for the two north county surfers looking for the perfect wave and the endless summer in a youth they both know will end soon.  “No one comes this way, “says BG. “They are too lazy to walk in.  The locals sneak into the south entrance and frequent Lowers never looking north to where the two true gems of the trestle lie.  “They hide in the brush with varmint rifles and sight on each other,” says BG.  The trail from the secret parking lot underneath the trestle and onto the first point reveals as a dusty path amongst scrub vegetation across a lagoon and onto a beach strewn with small pebbles of odd sizes smoothed by the constant action of waves on matter.  Now the two surfers are close enough to see the water and the waves are at least fifteen feet high.  When a wave gets big, the size of the swell becomes hard to estimate.  Surfers discuss wave height in terms of body length, one body length being six feet.  At the Cotton’s point the waves are at least three times overhead.  “I told you so,” screams Bg.  “It is three times overhead and churning.  Let’s go surf some rights first at Uppers.  Wrack hugs his yellow anti-meth model.  His friend John was drunk when he shaped the blank and put the meth model template on backwards.   The result becomes a seven foot seven mini-pin gun with square rails and a seven and one half inch fin in shark tasty yum yum neon yellow. Against all odds known to man the board rides beautifully and does not spin out in large surf. Wrack starts singing, “Every girl likes a sharp dressed man,” just like ZZ top.  Uppers roar huge with a peak and a huge throw-out inside section daring the intrepid to make or die and swim.  GB has a new gun. “I took it off the rack and Robbie shaped it,” smiles BG.  “Big Uppers, how delightful. “  Compared to the washing machine up at The Strand, the paddle out at Uppers remains a cake walk.  Both surfers time the sets and scratch out to the peak.  “Line up with the last trestle,” exclaims BG, “Then make the drop.”  A huge set of waves pops up on the Horizon.  BG likes to take the first wave of a set. He turns and paddles furiously and disappears with the hiss of a cresting huge wave.  Wrak scratches out and the second wave is three feet bigger and Wrak is too far out but exerts against the odds and is in to a giant and the run is on.  At large size, uppers yields a soft take off compared to Pipeline, but the wave then hits the cobblestone point and no time exists to turn back into the wave, only to turn at the bottom and go as fast as possible.   Wrack mistimes the huge inside section and chickens out. A huge lip starts to fall ten feet in front of the nose of his board.   He exits off the top and shoots his board upward so the wave cannot trap it.  Wrak is safe and scrambles to his board and starts the scratch to safety. Wrack paddles out to the lineup and finds the last trestle to align.  He sits on his board waiting for BG to return.  GB rode the first wave almost to the sand and now walks up the point to re-launch again at the impact zone. Something juts out of the water behind him and Wrak is scared.  A huge Great White comes up, opens its mouth, and licks Wrack. Wrack prays.  The huge twenty-foot Great White shark slides back into the water and is gone.  “GB, a huge monster just came up and kissed me,” screams Wrak. “Don’t get excited.” Drones BG.  “If it was hungry, it would have taken you. Lightning does not strike twice in the same place.”  “I hope it kisses you too,” whines Wrack.  For three hours the two are the only ones out in the water in triple overhead Uppers. The locals are lazy and wave after wave pours through the peak and into the cobblestone point.  “I cannot move my arms anymore.” Says Wrack.  “Let’s go in and surf the lefts at Cotton’s  point.” Says GB.  “Did you bring your canteen?”  “Yes, “says Wrack “But I saw someone walk over to it on the beach.  “What did they look like,” says BG “He looked small and with blond hair but that was all I could see, “says Wrak.  “I know who it is, “says BG.

               Ten minutes of walking north of Uppers is Cotton’s  Point.  The point reveals as a left jutting beach set out into the water.  There lie rocks on the beach just like uppers.   The wave at fabric point at large size shows as a huge triangle peak like Sunset Beach Hawaii.  The largest waves then hit the point and break in a tubing fashion all the way to the beach. For some reason, Uppers breaks bigger then Cottons but Uppers breaks right and Fabric breaks left and goofy foots love left breaking tubular waves.   “I am too tired,” says Wrak.  “I will watch you and be lifeguard.”  “How do you have so much energy,” asks Wrak.  “My arms ache from exertion.”  “Performance powder,” says BG. I use performance powder.  “He launches out from the rocks into the exploding surf.  BG caught three huge triangle peaks at Fabrics.  He descended straight off, bottom turned, arced off the top and then again and would kick out before the inside beach break and paddle furiously to get back to the takeoff point.  “Let’s go.” Says GB.  “I want to surf the glass off at the Bu.”  The pair jogs back up to the secret parking lot at Christianitos.   Youth and vitality are wasted on the young and the two gorge on brown bag food, pack the gear and head north at warp speed.  “Light me a smoke,” says GB.  “I need the nicotine.”  “I told you so, I told you so. Don’t forget I told you so.”  The econocar fills up with smoke and Wrak sips his red sugar coke and the machine rockets northward.

               “Are you sure we have time,” questions Wrak.  “I want to nab a few waves at the Bu just as the swell hits.”  Says GB “If we miss the traffic, we will be in Malibu by six thirty P.M.”  Sometimes the Northwest wind which flows through Malibu in the afternoon every day abates for the good and the faithful. At two P.M. in the summer every summer the Bu glasses.  At six thirty, Surf rider beach breaks six to ten feet high with a slight north wind which is offshore in direction.  The tide ran out and the rocky point shows like a huge bingo board and the waves break forest green tubes with misting lips flying down the point like a big machine.  Everyone and their mother are out in the water.  The waves break six to ten feet spitting low tide tubes and the sun sets as a yellow orange fusion orb set in a blue sky with wispy clouds and the island of Catalina illuminated in the distance.  If Poseidon himself came up to greet the world, he never would be noticed among the beauty, intensity and uniqueness of a glass off at the Bu in the summer, at low tide and spitting ten foot tubes. “I have my sources,” says BG as he turns his eyes up into his head. “I have my sources.”

      Out in the water Wrak sits by himself outside, like always, waiting for a big set wave.  For some reason, a terrifically tall left  peak looms up out of nowhere at the shift and Wrak surfs left at a right point.  “Just like Pipe, thinks Wrak, “Just like Pipe.”  The sun sets and the ocean drowns in  the orange red light with green-blue fullness.  “Let’s go now or you walk home.” Insists BG “I have to go to work.”  “Where do you work,” asks Wrak.  “In the city,” insists Bg, “In the city.”  Unloading the equipment at the house of Wrak again for the zillion times happens.  The boards are bounced on the ivy and suits thrown over the fence.  “Wash my wet suit in cold water,” commands GB “O.K. says Wrak.  “Thanks for the ride. “  BG takes the hose and gives himself a shower behind the fence near the trashcans and dresses quickly from a satchel bag, wave goodbye bye and is gone, again.  Wrak walks into his house and the little orange platinum terrier spins around and yelps.   “Hi Punkin,”  “I am home. Where is everyone.”  “Your mom and dad are out.” Says grandma.  “There is some chicken in the refrigerator.”  Wrak makes coffee and eats the chicken then takes a shower then falls unconscious in his bed. His last thoughts are: “triple overhead surf at Uppers all to myself.”  Wrack probably smiles as he sleeps because few are on the scene at the right place, at the right time, anytime during their life.  Wrack was there.  The swell peaked overnight and the Bu was not as good the next day.  Surfers know that when the waves beckon, they must entrain or the moment passes unfulfilled.  This reality stilts the life of wave riders who must decide whether to follow the tides or walk away forever.  Wrak sleeps in the grey house on Bacon way down from Enchanted way and close to the green house on the corner unknown until the present day.

We live in a metal age.   Cars, airplanes, guns, tools, and nearly everything have some metal in it.  This includes food.   The problem with metal is; if you eat it, the metal accumulates in your body cells, you age, get weak and die.   The secret to a long life is avoiding the intake of metal.   The establishment preserves foods with iron, lead, and antimony to prevent bacterial epidemics but alas, the metal accumulates in your body, and a human senesces and then dies.  Some metals are worse than others.   Some are almost innocuous except they accumulate in the cells and slowly block cellular enzymic processes. The most innocuous are aluminum and copper.  The worst are arsenic, chromium and mercury.   The rest lies in-between.   It would be best for mankind if foods were preserved with zinc for sweet foods and magnesium for salty foods.  The following is a brief list of metals, the diseases they cause, and annotations from the author’s mind.  The fact derives from Wikipedia and Cotrans- Clinical Pathology, the rest is conjecture. 

Most extremely toxic metals have a plus two valences in the ionic stage and mimic in the body the two most important chemicals that govern cellular metabolism or body makeup: magnesium and Calcium.   However, these metal ions known as divalent cations readily oxidize to a higher valence state and act as bleach like agents in the body.  These worst are Arsenic, Chromium, and mercury. 

Arsenic is a deadly poison in both its metal form and ionic entity.   It poisons the Krebs TCA cycle and causes death.  Chronic amounts from long-term ingestion cause cancer of the skin, bladder and lungs.  Arsenic is a plentiful element and easy to obtain

Chromium exists in several valent states and acts as a strong oxidizing agent in the tissues.  The inclusion of chromium picolinate in vitamins is madness.  Chronic exposure to chromium causes kidney, liver and blood cell failure and in smaller doses generates autoimmune disease.   

Mercury although rare unless obtained by new millennium man and administered poisons the brain, kidney, and lung severely causing death.  Chronic sublethal administration is associated with type 2 diabetes.

The next metals are the not so worse metals that find their way in quantity into the mouth of modern man.   These are iron, nickel and other transition metals on the periodic table of elements.   Some are horrible and beyond the scope of this discourse, the current medical establishment regard iron and nickel as health food and include them in vitamin preparations.  All the iron or nickel a person need is found in meat products and nuts and seeds.  Iron in high concentration causes diabetes of the pancreas and in low concentration accumulates in the liver causing hemochromatosis.   Iron in hemoglobin exists in the plus three valence state or ferric.   The administration sells iron in pills in the plus two or ferrous state so go figure.  Cobalt used by beer makers to give a good head of foam on a glass causes Beer drinker cardiomyopathy leading to heart failure and heart transplant.  There exist other transition metals that are far more sinister. 

Next are the heavy metals, lead, antimony, and selenium.     They are called heavy metals because they inhabit the left and bottom side of the periodic table.    When ingested, they are absorbed because they evidence a plus two valence, but because they are heavy atoms they accumulate and by the mass effect of Avogadro kill cells.    The heavy metals accumulate mainly in the brain and the kidney, organs that show very little cell growth in their terminal differentiation. With Prolonged and repeated exposure to heavy metal causes pre-senile dementia and renal failure.   According to the acts of God, it is a race to what gets destroyed first, the brain or kidney.   Hypertension is the kidney, organs body signaling the mind that the kidneys are poisoned with lead.  Antimony said to be non-toxic and used as a preservative because it is a heavy metal that accumulates just like lead.   Selenium now heralded to be a growth factor and included in today’s multiple vitamins is a heavy metal and accumulates.   A diet that includes vegetables provides enough selenium a body needs. 

Last and not least are the trans-uranic elements.   Provided a geography all their own on the periodic table and called the lanthanide series; Uranium and its sisters are extremely heavy and accumulate everywhere including bone.  Uranium daughters or half life products like radon cause lung cancer due to absorption of gamma emission and free radical formation.  The trans-uranic sister elements fission spontaneously generating extreme amounts of energy literally cooking the DNA is cells resulting in cancer.  Thorium is indicated in producing chronic endogenous depression relegating the afflicted to lifelong psychiatric care.  Plutonium fissions spontaneously or disintegrates into lead.   With the military making armor plating and shell casings out of depleted uranium, the case load of bone cancer, renal failure and post- traumatic stress disorder will maximize and the Veterans facilities will reach maximum capacity. 

What is the cure asks the gentleman in the boobie hatch?     The cure is chelation.   Chelation therapy with BAL, EDTA, and other agents can rid the body of metal.   The drawback is, is that this cure is expensive and lengthy.    Chelation courses lasting ten years or more are necessary for a lifetime of ingesting metal.   Is the government going to pay for this?    The affluent millionaire doctors will benefit from a plethora of chronic patients that need lifelong therapy.   The money-grubbing professionals will go to the bank and cash their paychecks that the administration creates from the policy of preserving food with metal and creating a workplace filled with metal fumes and dust.  May God deliver us from evil and let the people in a position of power and in the know create a society of long-lived patriots.

Mom and Dad, I hear someone in the house says Wracks

It is your Godfather says mom, ask him what he wants.

It is late at night, probably after 12 and the moon is gone for another month Wracks exits the hall, enters the family room, and turns on the light. 

Hello Wracks says the Godfather, how are you tonight

I am fine says the Godfather who dresses in dark clothes and black shined loafers.

I have some business on this side of town says the Godfather.

What kind of business is in the dark after 12 AM says the Wracks?

I have to meet someone says the Godfather.  Just business.  Your grandmother gave me a key to your front door.   She bought your parents this house.   Anything good in the refrigerator so I can make myself a meal.

Yes, says Wracks.   There is some chicken and a baked potato you can have.

Thanks, says the Godfather.   There is something I want you to do.

What is that asks Wracks?

I want you to get married have a career and start a family.  There is no such thing as easy money.   Easy money has strings attached.   Do you understand?

Kapiche says the Wracks

The Godfather smiles sits down and begin to enjoy his meal. 

Don’t do anything your heart tells you is wrong.   Don’t get eyes bigger than your stomach

I won’t says Wracks

You go back to bed.   I have to leave soon and will close up the house.  I hope to see you again.

The Wracks can’t remember if the Godfather came back at night and if he did, he didn’t wake up the house.   His father would get home at 11 PM at night from his second job, smoke a cigarette, and then go to sleep.  Time moves on and Wracks grows up Grandmother moves in and takes his room and he moves in with his brother and gets into fights. 

At his confirmation at the Catholic church where Wracks becomes a soldier of Christ and takes an affirmation of solidarity until death, he saw the Godfather again.   He was sitting in the back of the church with his wife.  He wore a dark worsted suit with a white carnation in the left lapel.  After kneeling in front of the bishop at the altar and kissing his ring, Wracks saw him and he smiled and waved at the Wracks.   His mission was completed; he saw Wracks safely into adulthood.   Soon he would die of a heart attack with his friend in an orchard. A glass of wine, Wracks thought, a glass of wine.

Remember, keep your enemies far away and hold your friends close says the Godfather.

Later on in life, Wracks saw funny movies that got academy awards for best picture and best actor based on his Godfather. They depict him as a violent man cast into a corrupt world, but he has a religious background.  The Godfather was not a big, dark-haired, swarthy gangster with dark skin, rather he is medium height, built like a European with brown hair and freckles. 

The Godfather the Wracks knew was a decent man and a man that taught him the facts of life and the difference between right and wrong.   He was a man who would employ people, convicts, and others that society relegates to the trash can.   He was a man who built an empire and united the families as one.  To all the sacrosanct, holier-than-thou hypocrites and haters that decry anyone who will not make them money, let this serve as an example.   Life is not black or white, it comes in shades of grey.  As lady justice says to Wracks, the balance favors the side of the righteous. 

Wracks is older now and looks back.    The stars are the same but change position in the sky.   Orion the hunter presides over the winter schema in the heavens and gives the Wracks something to look forward to every starry night.  In the central valley in Northern California the nights are cold in the winter but most of the time the atmosphere is clear.   He did not get a chance to teach his children what the Godfather taught him because his wife wouldn’t let him.  Let it be written that the only one in the world who would teach Wracks religion and belief in God was the prince of thieves.  

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