book, part II

Feel­ing the first surge of ener­gy run through me after a meal, I sit down to write.  This is a gift not to be squan­dered, this deaf­en­ing smash­ing beat that flows through me, the writ­ing com­ing off my fin­gers, sparks in my mind, swing­ing on vines through lush forests, kick­ing over clang­ing trash cans, rolling […]

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some old writing

Just stum­bled on this, wish I’d kept writ­ing more.  Some fun­ny stuff, all of it still pret­ty much true.  Like you guys, I’m a lit­tle old­er and wis­er now. Enjoy. NFH There are three things that let you know you are tru­ly alive.  The open­ing shock of a para­chute, the sound of a six­ty fir­ing, and

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Seven Days to Freedom

On a warm May morn­ing last spring I walked out of my house in San Clemente and down the over­grown trail to Trestles’s for an ear­ly surf.  I pad­dled out to glass and the peace that comes with a morn­ing ses­sion.  Tues­day morn­ing, twen­ty surfers.  A four foot swell com­ing in from the south, just above

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Ten Days

13 Feb­ru­ary 2001.   Jour­nal entry: “Tomor­row we will attempt to make San Juan del Sur.  We have spent the evening talk­ing with ‘Har­mo­ny’ and ’ Sli­p­away’.  The weath­er reports they have giv­en us are not good.  We are run­ning low on food, and the wind is still high.  This moment seems very seri­ous now, with

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