We exist in a utopia. Sun soaked surf lizards. Baked into the sand, only being revived by the cool touch of the ocean. Salt bleached hair crowns our gang, a symbol of belonging to the beach. The offshore winds blow our music across the dunes from our home hidden amongst the new developments. People come and go, never staying too long. We stay. Sun decayed brains folded by the heavy shore break are our burden. Ideas of grandeur in our creative pursuit. Energy returns as the sun goes down. No light to host the waves, no heat to fry our cells.
At night the green lights come on, scorpions crawl and lightning illuminates the black water. Kanye blears alongside a repetitive electronic noise. We mutate into creatures of visual genius and dream up imagery of chromed death and neon myths. Design and artistic renegades in this small town. Secret beasts of the world wide internet. Anonymous fame. Anonymous power. Surf bums progressing the world. Beach Brains unexpected rise. Come hang out. Be part of the family.