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Love of mine, someday you will die, but I’ll be close behind; I’ll follow you into the dark. My fingers pluck at my little uke finding my voice. I’ve been working on sound tracks to play the rainy day away. It’s been an amazing week of television producers, interviews and finally bringing my little dink home. I have hundreds of sheets of music spread all over the boathouse trying to find the sounds of my story. I don’t care if it’s right or wrong, don’t try to understand. Let the devil take tomorrow, lord tonight I need a friend. Words are powerful but when you put them to song they can change the world. Way back when I was working with Quentin Tarantino he would always make his soundtrack before he started filming. I loved his enthusiasm, he was explosive, he was always like ” This is going to be huge!”. All these sounds, the pieces of the puzzle to the human heart. If you were a castle I’d be your moat, and if you were the ocean I’d learn to float.

My writing and photography has always come from the voices in my head. I just wanna stay in the sun where I find I know it’s hard sometimes. Pieces of piece in the suns piece of mind I know it’s hard sometimes. Yeah I think about the end just way too much but it’s fun to fantasize. On my enemies I wouldn’t wish who I was but it’s fun to fantasize. I drop a quick blurb in the electronic mail for a feature on a fellow tribe members blog… I’ve always preferred to sail small sailboats, close to the water with cozy interiors, smart rigs and simple layouts. Having spent the last 6 years exploring the Salish I’ve found my little 22′ Cutter to be the perfect gunkholer. Like most sailors my eyes are always on a bigger pond. I don’t want to sail around the world, I prefer to sail small regions and get to know them intimately over long periods of time. The Caribbean has always called to me with its history of pirates and buried treasure. The Bermuda Triangle both intrigues and frightens me at the same time. I still have much exploring here in the inside passage but I’m also exploring for a very slightly larger boat for my next journey which I hope to start in November.

I’ve pinned dozens of blue prints on the wall, Sookie, dissected from every angle, this little boat House. is full to the brim and it’s all good. I carefully tiptoe around the music searching, always searching. I’m the kind to sit up in his room, heart sick an’ eyes filled up with blue . I don’t know what you’ve done to me but I know this much is true. I wanna do bad things with you… not today, I don’t feel like working on the boat or riding my bike. I clean my mess, straighten my space and do yoga to the sounds of Ellie King and Gomez. I hear the crackling of tires coming towards me, the drive was asphalt at some point but now like all the lonely and forlorn boats it comes and goes to, it’s only a shadow of what it once was and could be. Mother Nature is crying in the yard of broken dreams.

I flip though Instagram, I have a super digital crush on an island girl, she doesn’t know I exist and it’s probably better that way, Ill silently let her fly away.. I want you we can bring it in the floor you’ve never danced like this before, we don’t talk about it. I look at my watch and it makes me smile, it’s shiny, sailors are like magpies, we’re all easily distracted by shiny shit. I try and remind myself to eat, I have a big party I have to go to tonight although I’m sure I’ll walk in the front and slip out the back, it’s my M/O. I don’t like crowds. Hello darkness my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again. I just don’t understand the point in being with a 100 people were it’s all so busy you can’t take or make the time for a one on one connection. I much prefer a dark corner, the flicker of a single candle and music that touches my soul. My fingers pluck at my strings, my voice whispers along. All around me are familiar faces, worn out places, worn out faces. Bright and early for their daily races, going nowhere, going nowhere. Their tears are filling up their glasses. No expression, no expression.

And just like that I’ve chosen my dirty dozen, I’ll play them all till my fingers bleed. I’ll know them all intimately, I’ll crawl inside them and curl up till the smallness envelops me. This is where and when I will start filming. I put in my ear buds to silence the world and let my ears guide my eyes though my soul. Holy water, wash me till there’s mud on my skin. Now I speak soft, to my demons. Cause sometimes I know there the only ones listen in. And in 40 days I’ll still be who I am. Cause the gristmill in my mind is just the tides rolling in and my playful imagination paints pictures in your head. But still I don’t know how to lie there naked in your bed.

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