the universe is permeated with the odour of paisley

tim crabtree - a mad mod exradited after stowing away to the colonies, living under a mushroom for too many hazy years to recall - found this gleeful stubby in a psychedelic picnic in the homeland, in a dream

a far out trip into the paisley underground

Wolf girl took me down a port city street on a foggy knight – black rain – floods - something strange in a deep sea cave beneath – breathing heavy like a giant sleeping moon-monster – cracking the port city buildings, the gaol, the haunted lunatic asylum - it appeared in night-terrors – an angel of death. Wolf girl steps aside into a shadow. She picks up a jar of eternity laying in this sidesteet since 1966, which had been reopened once or twice since then, and subsequently abandoned until now. The vessel contains the secrets of the paisley undgerground. Wolf girls eye's are wild.

‘do you see my wild eyes?’

She twists the lid. Velvety clouds of joy explode from the jar, slaying the cave beast. The dark angel withers. Outcries of ecstacy! Amazing visions - salty merchants carrying new world treasures – ted spencer dripping with paisley sea tears extending through hollow sections of glee –the easybeats play wild vibrating beat in a cavern – up on a sun-soaked-hill-covered-in-dry-wild-hay-and-a-few-flowers jangly mystic guitars chime – September girls in paisley dresses trip through these fields – keven brennan surfing to love – orange skies - bobby brown raw and alive – magic 9th dimension surfing vessels – the count five – the electric prune spoon – Thomas Bexon sails by on a tiny yacht heading for the edge of the flat earth!

gentle-breeze-sunny-hillside

The paisley underground series by insect - eternal surfing boards from the summer of 66, decorated with incredibly scarce vintage paisley fabric inlays - contact insectsurf@bigpond.com

kent turkich meets the critical slide society

Kent Turkich is an aspergic hobo with a Keven Brennan fixation travelling somewhere between the edge cities of Western Australia, Noosa Heads, Queensland, and Armageddon. This head-cocking-former-professor has pursued a paradigm shift reported to him on the red telephone - a prophecy transmitted in 1966 to the present day - a disposition which anticipates and rejects! the mad insane complex which has confined the breadth of surfing into commerce and competition and alienated the individual. Despite the darkness that seeks to sell it in stylised quantities, this freek has steered usually rudderless toward timeless surfing – meddling in midlength vee bottoms, 1966 pigs and wooden bellyboards to a scratchy soundtrack of regional garage punk – shoeless tin spaghetti eating rambling in the desert – a resurrection of the self… timeless joy (click on pic for tcss link - creeps!)