Zombie-like scenes on Australian beach
blamed on surfing-adjacent faith healer Joe Dispenza
By Derek Rielly
“They’re waiting for the mothership. I’m just
waiting for Jesus to walk out of the water now.”
Over the past two weeks the surfing world has been held
spellbound by the miracles of best-selling author Joe
Dispenza, often incorrectly written as Joe Spinoza at
BeachGrit, healing the lame, putting the wheelchair industry out of
biz etc.
“All I’ll say is if I had an illness, the first thing I would do
is go for a coherence healing,” wrote Colapinto adding he was
“leaving this (Joe Dispenza) retreat with so much love in my heart
and an understanding of how POWERFUL us humans Beings actually are.
This Practice is changing the world for the better.”
At the same Joe Dispenza retreat Koa Smith, the almost Ultimate
Surfer from Kauai, says he witnessed, first hand, own eyes etc, the
miracle of the lame and crippled being gifted back the use of their
legs.
“I saw people getting up out of wheel chairs. I saw canes in the
trash and people cracking their hearts wide open and feeling true
love for themselves!” wrote Smith.
“Dr. Joe Dispenza is helping us understand how to tap back into
Human potential. Taking complex techniques and science and making
it digestible for anyone. He’s reminding us that we have the power
to create the life we desire. We have the power to tap in and heal
our selves from anything and ultimately how to heal other
people.”
All very good stuff and very important for crippled people to
realise that it’s all in their heads etc.
Now, after a photo of sinister zombie-like scenes at an
Australian beach was posted on a community Facebook page in Sydney,
locals poured onto Facebook to voice their concern.
“Does anyone know why people stand individually on Balmoral
Beach on Sunday mornings? I would love to know,” one user wrote on
the Mosman Living group.
“Could it be a cult?”
“They’re waiting for the mothership. I’m just waiting for Jesus
to walk out of the water now.”
“Why do I hear a choir of angels singing? So many
questions…”
“Looks like a zombie movie.”
“Weird.”
“Never seen this.”
Turns out the weekly event uses the magic of Joe Dispenza where followers
utilise his patented Walking Meditation techniques.
Writes Joe Dispenza,
“The Walking Meditation is a great way to practice transitioning
from a seated meditation, where we change our energy with our eyes
closed, to an active meditation – where we change our energy while
standing, followed by walking in that energy with our eyes open. In
these meditations, we walk as it. We demonstrate who we want to be
in our future, and we become it.”
King of Pipeline Jamie O’Brien releases
wildly controversial full-length surf film masterpiece!
By Chas Smith
Just in time for North Shore season.
Pipeline, there on Oahu’s fabled North Shore,
has roared back to life and wow and whoosh and whoa. Nothing
thrills quite like the Banzai and its wintery return is welcomed in
all corners. The bravest men and women accepting her challenge and
padding into the mob. King amongst them is, still, one James Duncan
O’Brien. The now 40-year-old has the most special relationship with
Pipeline, one I was particularly honored to observe whilst
directing the film Who is J.O.B. just over thirteen years ago.
I was Charlie Smith back then, having yet to transition to the
hyper-ironic “Chas,”
and living in Australia when I received the call from Jamie, asking
for me to come and direct. I had worked on the project a year, or
such, earlier but parted ways over a disagreement with O’Brien’s
wild manager, a story in and of himself.
After hemming and hawing, I agreed, flew to Los Angeles and met
the film’s editor, a crazy Canadian named Dayten Likeness. I knew,
instantly, that we were going to make magic. We quickly formed up
Haole Pounder Productions and Red Bull put us up in a Venice Beach
apartment.
Dayten and I stayed up all night drinking White Russians,
throwing knives into the ceiling, playing Slayer at full volume and
cutting the movie’s sections together.
People who dared visit the lair became instantly terrified.
I did not let Jamie see any part of the movie, telling him he
must wait until opening night just like everybody else.
We traveled around California, getting interviews, spent a few
weeks on the North Shore getting more, then released it to the
public at a grand Newport Beach premier.
After an international tour, the film was shelved as Dayten and
I were naughty li’l punks, but it is back again and free.
Good appetite.
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Jeff Bezos captured awkwardly dipping
paddle in Miami waters whilst practicing surfing’s most hated
bastard
By Chas Smith
"Pervasive ugliness."
Of all surfing’s many bastards, including foil,
boogie, wake and knee, standup paddleboarding is, by far and away,
the most hated. Any time a man, or woman, strokes into the lineup,
standing up, paddling, the mood instantly darkens. Surfers scowl.
Prepare to snap. Ugliness spreads and happiness only returns
if/when the plague is removed via unexpectedly large closeout.
The SUPer is, almost always, completely unaware, which is why he
or she chose the abomination to begin with. Some famous
participants are disgraced former World Surf League CEO
Erik Logan, probably ex-congressman George Santos and
now richest man on earth Jeff Bezos.
As you are certainly aware, the Amazon chief recently moved from
Seattle to Miami. He docked his largest yacht on earth there and
has been practicing the Fetish of Fools whilst out on the
waters.
But if Jeff Bezos decided to leave the safety of intercostal
waterways and make his way to your lineup, how would you greet
him?
What if his fiancé Lauren Sanchez and SUPing security detail
were with him?
Thought so.
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Audience members recoil with disgust after
watching Harry Bryant's Motel Hell. NYTimes
Audience members faint and lose their lunch
at premiere of “disgusting” surf-horror film Motel Hell
By Jen See
“I spent an evening in the lobby just to see if
people really do come stumbling out in the middle of the picture as
reported — they did.”
It’s Saturday night in Ventura, California, and cars
stream down East Santa Clara Street, their red taillights glowing
in the dusk’s fading light. Outside the Smoke Stop, music
bumps and a pair of girls dance in the flicker of its neon sign. A
man in an ugly Christmas sweater hurries down the sidewalk. He’s
late. I hope he doesn’t miss dinner.
Still, the space retains the chaotic creativity that
characterizes Reynolds and his projects.
When I first catch sight of him, Reynolds has a spider in his
hand. It dangles from a square of paper, as he darts through the
doorway from the back of the shop. The plan is to put the spider
outside, but people flood through the front door at exactly the
wrong moment.
Reynolds dashes back the other way. The spider escapes into the
dark behind a pile of boxes.
In the parking lot out back, a pizza truck and a band set up
shop. A few streets over, there’s a Christmas-themed event on Main
Street, the pedestrian-only shopping area. The thumping music
sounds like a rave, and pink lights flash in the trees. I lean
against the chainlink fence. It’s topped with barbed wire, which
together with the glint of broken glass on the pavement gives the
scene a gritty patina.
The night’s film is Motel Hell from Harry Bryant and filmer Dave
Fox. They spent three years collecting footage for the project in
Australia and around the world. The title comes from a 1970s cult
horror film, which is an unexpected choice. There’s a crew of
talent in Motel Hell including Shaun Manners, Craig Anderson,
Eithan Osbourne, and Holly Wawn among others. I’m intrigued by the
theme and the promise of barrels. I like barrels.
The parking lot fills with hoodies, and Vans. In the dim light of
the street lights and shop’s windows, everyone looks the same.
(Sorry, dudes) Dressed in a bright, patterned shirt, Reynolds darts
through the crowd, arranging the projector, restarting the
playlist, and messing with a set of lights. He’s everywhere,
perpetually in motion, and Reynolds looks happiest when he has
something to do.
A couple comes up to ask what we’re doing over here in the
parking lot. Watching Motel Hell, a surf film, I tell them through
the fence. They seem baffled by this choice. Come to the Wine Walk!
They glow with wine and happiness. The ugly Christmas sweater party
is a rave is a wine walk. It sounds deranged. I’m not at all
convinced all these ingredients belong together, but this is not my
problem. I’m just here to watch surfing.
Hoodies swarm the food and beer. The crowd buzzes with chatter.
The surf has not been anything special lately. Nearby a dude tells
a long story, while his friends pretend to listen. Groms run
through the crowd’s gaps. Bryant’s blonde hair floats through the
crowd, always at the center of a tight knot of people. It feels
like waiting for the show at a hole-in-the-wall club, but the
bathrooms are nicer.
There’s a drawing, and then it’s time. We watch Motel Hell
projected on the side of a neighboring building, conveniently built
with white walls. I slide through the crowd to get a sight-line
through the heads. The film’s guitar-driven soundtrack drowns out
the thump of the Christmas wine walk rave.
The film opens with Bryant lost in the desert. He finds a
dilapidated bar set alone on a sand dune. It’s appropriately creepy
and peopled with weirdos. The scene sets up the film’s recurring
gag, where a glass of milk sends Bryant spiraling from one
adventure to the next. In an interview with Reynolds before the
film, Bryant explained that he’s lactose intolerant.
The obvious challenge of making a surf film is that each wave
doesn’t last long at all. Film makers have to rely on some sort of
device to glue the thing together, whether it’s interviews, skits,
or nature channel B-roll. Motel Hell is weird and creative and the
joke at the center of it mostly works. Somehow, Fox and Bryant also
managed to make a film in Australia without a single kangaroo. I
did not think this was actually possible.
The surfing. You want to know about the surfing. Certainly, the
waves fit the horror theme. This is not a surf film filled with
cute turns and twirly things. Playful, fun-sized waves are also in
short supply in Motel Hell. I was not sad about this at all.
Instead, Bryant packs some monster barrels and mutant-freak
peaks.
There’s some dreamy Moroccan right point break magic at the
outset. And also, a camel. But the majority of the footage comes
from places like unruly Ireland and remote Australia. There are a
lot of waves with evil intentions. The sequence of non-makes gives
a hint of the payment they’re out to extract from Bryant and his
friends. I’m sure you’ll recognize some of these waves, but to his
credit Bryant wanders beyond the usual destinations.
I am a simple kid who likes to watch surf films. Based on the
crowd in the parking lot on Saturday, I’m not alone in this strange
affinity. A friend asked me recently if there’s anything left of
surf culture. I didn’t quite know what to say and still don’t. But
I do feel like as long as people are willing to stand around in a
parking lot to watch a surf film projected on the side of a
building, there’s still some life left in this thing.
Then it’s over. The credits roll and a cold wind blows down the
canyon. The wine walk rave has gone quiet and a band called Kan Kan from San Diego plays a set.
There’s still a few beers left in the cooler. Cars straggle along
the road out front. I pull up my hood and walk out into the
night.
If you’re in Hawai’i, you can catch Motel Hell on December 9 at
Farm to Barn in Hale’iwa.
I’m told it’ll be online a few weeks after that showing.
Essential, as we like to say around here.
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Florida surf fans riot as beloved state
university left out of college football playoffs
By Chas Smith
"Lets blame DeSantimonious!!!"
Florida’s panhandled surfers love, in order:
Hooters, baby shark bites and Florida State football. The last a
passion from Pensacola all the way east to Jacksonville, the only
part that matters according to august surf photographer Jimmy
“Cane” Wilson. Tomahawk chops all day long. And it was with much
excitement that this gaggle came into the weekend. Much like
professional surfing, at its highest level, college football is an
absurdity with a group of elderly men meeting in Gaylord, Texas to
decide which four teams will be included in the playoffs.
This year, the Seminoles were an unblemished 13 – 0 for the
season. A perfect record and in a Power Five conference to boot
with the ACC. Never in the history of the college football playoffs
had an undefeated Power Five team been left out.
Until this year.
For this year, University of Texas, part of the Big 12, and
Alabama, part of the SEC, each 12-1 leapfrogged Florida State
leaving panhandled surfers, first, utterly depressed and, next,
absolutely rage filled.
Florida’s Governor Tim Scott, who finds his office in
Tallahassee where the Seminoles play, lashed out declaring, “While
I doubt the committee’s decision will be reversed to rightly reward
FSU for its hard-fought, undefeated season as the committee has
done for other undefeated Power Five conference champions in recent
years, I do believe that total transparency regarding how this
decision was reached would do tremendous good for the committee,
the CFP as a whole, and the college football community.”
Former United States President Donald Trump, now a Florida
resident, added, “Florida State was treated very badly by the
‘committee.’ They became the first Power Five team to be left out
of the College Football Playoffs. Really bad lobbying effort…Lets
blame DeSantimonious!!!”
Surfers, energized, pulling pitchforks out of board racks and
ready to march on Gaylord.
Will you join them?
Do you care about the World Surf League-ification of collegiate
ball?
Should you?
More as the story develops.
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Jon Pyzel and Matt Biolos by
@theneedforshutterspeed/Step Bros