Sacred Ungu

“I’m like some king in whose corrupted veins Flows aged blood; who rules a land of rains; Who, young in years, is old in all distress; Who flees good council to find  weirdness .” -Charles Baudelaire ( bastardized in italics ) The Balinese sun has slipped from its noontime height.  It has become redder and hotter. Humidity is to blame for the hotter. And this deserted beach, this deserted Balinese beach is an undulating, ululating, writhing mass of pink. Magenta. Ungu. The Balinese word for magenta. It is a sacred color here. And the undulating, ululating, writhing mass of magenta is female. Model female. Painted in worshipful repose. Taj throws his fins over the lip. Nate Tyler lien grabs. CJ Hobgood flies into the sky, seemingly touching the heavens. The pink models rub gorgeous hands across their glowingly nude bodies. The ceremony was destined to happen. The gods willed it while Dion flew from Sydney to Bali next to filmmaker Joe G. His eardrum ruptured, causing severe pain. Head slamming pain. And when his flight landed he was rushed to the emergency room where he sat, waited, and finally received confirmation. A ruptured eardrum. The rest of the Globe crew were already heading to Sumbawa to continue work on  0000 . Sumbawa is barren, uncomfortable, but perfect surf. But no good living. Hard. Dion and Joe G stayed behind, in Bali. Unable to surf for days, unable to fly without risk of deafness. Something had to be done. A villa was promptly rented. The finest on the island. The Ipanema Resort featured infinity pools, in-room spas, private butler service, and perfect bedding. A sense of decadent empowerment developed. Something more had to be done. Dion and Joe went to a bar to sort options. Strong drink seemed the way to ensure complete success. There she was, the finest woman either had ever seen. A gift. Joe approached, drawn into the web. The gods continued to spin.