There's insects all over, and some geckos too, the ocean heaves angrily, whitewashed and blue. We leave in a convoy, with me at the rear, we're loaded with surfboards and all of our gear. My moped it struggles, through dale and uphill, I ride like a madman, trying not to spill. My skin is a patchwork, of different hues, I search it for patterns and comb it for clues, abused by the sunshine and some parasite, it stings in the daytime and wakes me at night. Yegangga is pretty, but covered in trash, discarded by humans who hurry and dash, and litter their plastic goods everywhere, or burn it without so much as a single care. We paddle out swiftly, we catch a few waves, then later we'll explore some dark, sea-side caves, where mystery, magic, and old women sit, just waiting to sell us their trinkets and shit. Fair Bali is beautiful, cunning, and warm, we love her for sunshine and darkness and storm, for eddies and currents, for paddies and wood, her kisses are brutal but still we feel good.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
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