novel idea

I was going to start by saying that winter is almost upon us in Wyoming, but it’d be a bald faced lie.
The snow has been yo-yoing worse than a cheap whore lately and it’s hard to plan for weather that can’t decide what the fuck it’s doing, but welcome to the West. It feels strange that we’ve already been living here for nearly three months.


I’ve applied for some hours at an equestrian centre that I’m hoping to hear from this week, and I really hope I can get some barn chore hours during the weekend. I’m made for tough graft not so much office lazing, I detest being kept inside and staring a screen for 80% of my week. Unfortunately I had to give up my little job at the antique place because I won’t be around in the holiday season and I can’t really be depended to work every weekend where I have to interact with people professionally.  A horse place I can handle, because I figure they’ll be more like me here… with any luck.  Its not a huge loss because it wasn’t supposed to be a long term thing, i only wanted a bit of income until i found something full time.


I’ve also been spending a lot of time working on my novel that I was supposed to try and finish this year, but I ended up falling a little behind. Right now I’m scouting around for possible literary agents that might enjoy my work but that’s slightly tedious as I know what I write is very good, but I don’t know that an agent will but I suppose we’ll see what it brings. I realize I’ll be facing a shite tone of rejections and it can take years before books get published, but all the more time to improve I suppose. Lately I’ve just been feeling the inspiration I was been lacking in New England so my fingers are truly growing numb with considering how much write  (hand write + type) when I should be working. I do my job but when there’s nothing else on my agenda I will write. Some days, much like today, I had nothing to do and wrote from 8am till around 4.30pm or whenever I’ll finish revising this blog draft. And realized something, something it’s taken years for me to realize. I am born to tell stories; whether it is on stage with an audience or whether it is through poetry and prose. It doesn’t matter. I have often imagined the life of a writer and what it’s like. The more I write and force myself to make time for it the more I realize that that’s for the life of me. I can be anywhere in the world and I can tell a story. Every day around 8:30am I do my writing exercise and each becomes a beautiful little prose of unimpeded emotion that needed to be filtered from my heart in order to make more progress with the main works. I’ve actually been toying with the idea of creating a little book of all my small exercise pieces, however as you can imagine I have many ideas in the works as I always am apt and so nothing will probably become of any. That’s fine, at least I bled to try.

I don’t know what the future will bring, and I don’t know that right now that’s so very important to me – what’s important is what we’re doing now. Planning trips to deadwood, guest ranches, Denmark and planning weekends at home with pizza, historical documentaries and picture editing. Don’t get me wrong I have an outline of things I’d like to do. Hopefully I’ll be taking a class at the University and in the spring I’ll be applying to attend the school of horseshoeing in Cheyenne. I genuinely hope this can come to fruition but it depends a lot on saving up the funds in time. I don’t even know that I’ll be good at it, but I want to give it a try as I’ve done everything else that interested me up till now. So I’m not about to stop learning and doing new things.  Besides I’m still holding on to that dream of my own farm with a horse shoeing station in the barn and a view of Nevada or Texas or even Wyoming outside the rolling door. Its right there next to the tall ship dream but whichever one comes is more than welcome, but for right now I’m living the cowboy life and it mostly feels like a dream.

I think for now that’s enough from me.

our first month

We’ve officially been here a month as of last week, and it’s already been one hell of a ride.
It’s been wonderful. Scary. Stressful x 10. Hard. Exhausting. But we’re here and we’re making it work. Many things have  happened already.
So in it’s honour — the anniversary of yet another big adventure —  here is a minefield of pictures from our first month back in the West.















old bow leg

Well, as you can see I found a home in Wyoming. A place that is enough to possibly persuade me to stop running one day. If Wyoming were an ocean I would spend my life trying to drink it, whether the salt would burn and poison me would be trivial. Though even New England where the sea was close — I found myself missing the sea because it was so cramp and full of tourists. It was never like those cold nights alone on Sand Bay beach. Thousands of miles from me now and years of memories past.
Here there is no ocean or tall ships, there is only waves and waves of empty prairie. And for now I shall have to get my oceanic fix when I fly home to Denmark or you know.. if I ever get lucky enough to take a holiday to Saint Vincent where the sea is blue and the sand is whiter than I am.

I could never choose what I loved most or what I wanted to do. And so I told the world to go fuck itself.
I’ll do it all.
And I have.

I’ve sailed with pirates and commodores. Ive ridden horses on the Texas front and I’ve been the clown I was born to be. These days I find myself in a strange state of mind. A happiness wrapped in dark melancholy that is oddly comforting.
I have a job that pays me and will fund every dream from now. I have the west and I find my dreams coming true even weekly. But when you are a part of so many things that make your heart pump a million, there is always something missing.
Today is not a day that I will sail. Nor is tomorrow. But there will be a day when I see the sea and we’ll kiss like we always do.

I don’t know what kind of believer I am, but I know things do happen. And one thing that happened most recently, something that shook me to my core, was that I met a horse.. a horse that captured me like a sail from a mast holding the wind. An old man whom I call Old Bowleg. Im sure local photographers have an actual name for him, but I gave him this one.
A majestic horse that has seen war with half his ear chewed from its cartilage and a leg bent all out of shape. Yet still he stands as tall as the trees at the bottom of a valley. Still he knows the favorable wind and it flows through his mane. If there was a god — he walks this earth with a bowleg. Now that is something I can believe in.
He was a painting. He was an old chieftain without his tribe. I believe that he had been run off from his mares by a younger suitor. So out there on top of the mountain I found him. Between the reeds and the straw. This beautiful animal, stronger than any man I’ve ever seen, and his faith never wavered in all his years regardless of the fact that his leg struggled beneath him. It didn’t matter because he could fly.


If I had had the time to sit and talk with him a while I would have, but alas it was not be this time. If he Is still alive when the summer comes I shall look for him and maybe I am destined to look for him for an eternity. If that is the way, so be it. But how grateful I am to have seen him even for a moment, it seemed but a second. He was what I always dreamed a true American mustang must be. What America was and can be again. Thats unfair. America is a wonderful place, but the politics — the never fucking ending political bullshit is nonsense. And so I don’t think about it. I think about what I see and what I feel.

And that horse, that day — he took something from me and since I saw him I haven’t been able to stop feeling like I wanted to run back. I don’t relate to people. Thats not my business. Animals, its always the animals. They have me in a vice. Bowleg gave me something… a vision. I will remember him as my spirit horse — the one who taught me that though I have been pained and wounded it doesn’t have to stop me. It doesn’t have to define me. As long as I remember.
Remember. Remember. Remember.
To as true to you as you can be.
It doesn’t matter what Agatha did or what Johnson said. Riley can go fuck himself. What matters today and tomorrow is what you are.

No one can take that from me. And no one can take it from you.
Wopila!

chasing the american mustang *take one*

As i said before, i’ve always wanted to photograph the american wild horses whether it was in Nevada or Wyoming, wherever.
I never thought in a million years i would live either place. I feel pretty lucky and i feel incredibly far away from home at the same time. For thats a very rare feeling, usually I don’t think much about how far from Denmark or England I am, but this time I really knocked distance out of the park.

This weekend we took a drive around to see if we could catch some glimpses of wild horses near us here in Laramie, and there are quite a few. I’ve been looking for them since we got here and finally I’ve started being able to piece some kind of pattern together. If i felt like getting my ass shot and risk trespassing i would’ve gotten a lot closer to them than i did. But this is only the beginning of another old dream i thought would never happen and yet here we are. You and me — on my little blog.


Ironic really, i’m the type of person who doesn’t believe dreams come true but a lot, if not most, of mine have so far. When hell comes knocking for me, he’s got some real shit in store of me. I can count on it, but for now i’ll enjoy the fruits of my labor of this dreaming business. It feels like after all these years of moving, travelling, homesickness and struggle are starting to pay off. And it’s lovely to see Jack back in his natural habitat. The Plains.

Now that my full time job is starting tomorrow i’m pretty excited about looking into purchasing a new lens for wildlife photography because theres critters everywhere around here. Everywhere. And it also means i can finally start putting some money away to go to the school of horseshoeing in 2020. Lots of things are coming together.. I just have to get the first day over with which for me is the biggest hurdle because its scary and uncomfortable and daunting. Is it the weekend yet?

On this trip alone we came across prairie dogs, bald eagles, red hawks, resting pronghorns and three or four different herds of horses on the hillside a little too far away. Whereas in New Hampshire I felt lucky if I saw a plastic bag fluttering around in the wind like a ballerina — but not really because pollution sucks balls. New Hampshire was beautiful, but this is another world.

This is where we belong right now. On the plains with this beauty. Dappled in utter perfection somewhere on Sheep Mountain.


One day, on these lonesome prairies so high in the sky, i’d like have a homestead with my own herd of wild mustangs that just drift over hundreds of acres. And have a couple of retired draft horses too … because damn i love draft horses.

Thanks for reading. I hope for us all that the weekend comes quicker than a woman during foreplay, unless she’s got a headache — in which case. Good luck friend, I do not envy you.