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!

All Trails Lead to Laramie **vlog**

It took me forever and I’m glad its over so I can get a million of my other things done.. like writing my books.
I hope you all enjoy the fruits of my efforts. Feel free to ask and comment below!
Tell me what would be on your bucket list and where you would go.

a little update

I realise its been a long time since i’ve posted, and i’m sure most of you have figured out why by now. Three days ago we arrived in Wyoming to start a new life in the west where we belong. And so i haven’t written or post much at all. We travelled across country from New England to the Mid West and onwards to the true West. When we go — we go big.
I have a couple of blog posts i’m currently working on and a youtube video of our trip.
Stay tuned for more updates!
Happy weekend!

born of stones

Born of stones, and by that I mean I’m a tough kid, tougher than most I’ll wager. The days are trailing on and the heart of the west is beating at a pace I can’t catch up with. Like a door that moves further away the harder you try to grasp it. The sweet west where the wind is bitter, the sun is a son of a bitch and every day is a gift. Today is the second of July. My birthday has gone and passed as it does every year and I’m another wrinkle richer; another year bolder. The sun has slept and the moon risen — as they do every day. The eaves weeping. I’m supposed to be working but instead I’m bleeding at my keyboard counting the hours till I can go home. Lately I’ve been entirely engrossed in my writing. When I’m not writing — I’m thinking about writing or dreaming up something macabre from a memory, lacing characters with a realistic mean streak and a fat lip. My mind is so full of ideas and dreams and an honest wonder at how to achieve them all when time runs so damn fast. But its running in the right direction. With me loping behind grabbing whatever the stagecoach of time leaves behind.

So far summer in the granite state has proven fruitful with warm afternoons and lapping lakes, bee’s bugging the shit out of everybody and groundhogs dead as dickens doornails by the side of the road. Instead of blogging and losing hours a day to Instagram – I’ve been meddling in photography, cinema trips and enjoying the last of what the northern states can offer us as we ready ourselves for new adventures and new horizons wherever they may lay. And as I said previously, writing and writing and writing. I’m becoming more aware of how ready I am to let me people read the work that I’ve kept so close to my chest all these long years. My secrets. The dark. And the characters peppered like stars cut out from an old curtain finally seeing the light of day.
And as my darling mother tells me; let them read it.
The day will come, to be sure, that I’ll let you read the chapters I’ve ached and wept over for the past few years, the many characters that came from the cruelty and the broken hearts born from death.
You’ll know them all when the time has come.

Soon there will be some changes to my blog, just like my Instagram of abandon and I can safely say that I appreciate those of you who are still reading and following; even after my constant disappearances and ramblings. But here’s to the future — to you, to me and to us who have struggled.