My life isn’t a slow motion trailer for the Banff film festival. Nobody knows my name. My superpower is in my anonymity. My struggle has never earned me sponsors, royalties or endorsements. My autograph is something that will never be asked for. My greatest achievements are the reward of surviving hypothermia, storms both on and off the sea, and the rigors of the life nomadic; a new scar with its own story to tell and fllthy grimy finger nails, salt, sweaty matted everything, Pain… My story cant be bought or sold it has to be earned and it’s a hard way to make a living.
I am stormy and my life and the torture I put myself through doesn’t matter to anyone other other than me. My sore muscles, road beaten body or the few data bites my tired fingers peck out on my I pad are all I possess. My studio is in my brain and my canvas is my bleach blond brow, my tanned smile and the crows feet trailing my pale blue eyes that tell the story of a man who wondered what if I just say fuck it, give my shit to the needy and walk away. You will never understand why I do what i do and it’s not your place to understand. You are one of the lucky few on a planet of billions who has the fortune, or misfortune to witness to my shinanagans.
This is about the time I start to freak out. I always say the first three days are the hardest, if you can survive those you can survive anything but what about the last three days. I haven’t even looked into gearing up, I need to move the boat and wrap it up and still have work and one last top secret project before I leave. The clock is not my friend, but soon enough I will take off the watch that rules over each day and the sun will take its place. My days will be ruled by feeding time, sleeping time and all of the time of day between sunrise and sunset.
Not unlike many years ago when I turned my back on everything safe that I knew in the world I’m doing it again. Much like the gypsies who stole me and gave me my name I am a roamer and that’s what I will continue to do until I am captured.
I know all to well of the cold and wet and headwinds and all of the things that go bump in the night. These same things that I fear as much as the long dark and lonely nights are what draw me out into the world most only read about. In three short days I will be given parole from the prison I have willingly entered and again I will be a free man and this earth I will roam with no destination other than the present. Run Run as fast as you can, you can’t catch me I’m the gingerbread man
“The securest place is a prison cell, but there is no liberty”
― Benjamin Franklin