how to be a prince of men amongst a kingdom of kooks
There are nuances of behaviour. Almost imperceptible reflexes. Hidden things that are secretly kept, by the Princes, lest the kook learn of them and indulge in their practice. Because only then will he be able to establish his perogative, and join the Princes.
Recently, somebody completed a time study of the surfer amidst his pursuit. Time spent paddling, time surfing and time waiting. 25:10:65. He was probably that peculiar little bodysurfer out there last Sunday, the one with a stopwatch and thick goggles. Nevertheless we thank him for his researched 65, we however calculate it at 75.5.
And Princes don’t waste all that time. They roam the domain; they ease their way from the inside to the wide, then back out to the spot. Stopping here and there to drop a word or two, and all the while this glance to sea.
How quick can an eye range over an eighty-five degree radius of the horizon, to a distance of between 15 to 20 miles – looking for indicative nuances of blue, or grey. Looking for the lines. Watching them come.
The Prince is tossing off these radar sweeps every eleven seconds, look away from him and you miss it.
And the Prince is always the first to see it. And he knows how the lines number up. Which one will be his. So he roams through everyone again, howdoyedo he smiles. Most don’t even notice him glide past, heading out. Fully co-ordinated. Locked on.
Everyone is anyone who is not as able as the Prince; everyone is the Kingdom of Kooks.