where a cowboy is king

Texas.
Where a cowboy is king and its kinda ok to be stubborn as a mule.
I fit in alright.
Never was i the kind of girl who thought Texans rode to school on the back of a mustang, but i’d be deceiving you if i said i hadn’t hoped that there would some swinging saloon doors in my life.
I’m yet to find those doors swinging, but i found something else.
A place that is better than it ever could be in a book or on the tongue of a storyteller.
There are a lot of misconceptions about the South these days, but i find that you haven’t lived till you’ve made like Davy Crockett and gone to Texas.


Theres never been a home for me that made me realise “this is it. This is where i will die one day.”
When the sun peeks from behind the desert and winks at the piney woods in South East Texas, why theres nothing quite like it. Its burns like hell but you’ll never feel the sun on your face the you feel it there.


When i was younger a lot of the people around me were desperate to run off to America to be the next big film star, or some kind of uppity up in New York. I’d never heard anything so dull. What a typical dream – its been dreamt for hundreds of years, where is their imagination? If you have the power to dream beyond your means why dream of something magic. Having said that a dream is a dream to he who bares it. Then again, if i had had a dream it would be for something far greater far more than monetary success. I’d dream of the land — so deep  the moon could swim in it and horses could run boundless for years. I’d dream of a place where the sunset was always singing through the window. There is so much more to life than what instagram or twitter, even facebook tells you.
You don’t need to lose those 10 pounds to be beautiful. If you aren’t beautiful now you wont be then. It isn’t the pound its the mind.
You don’t need those long shifts to get to where you’re going.
You don’t need to suffer to live.
You just need to live.
One deep breath at time.


So when i dreamed i dreamed beyond the stage of the weeping clown that i am.
I dreamed beyond that horizon that swung behind heavy waves as our sails flurried, where two pirates sat eating biscuits under the stars.
I dreamed i would never lose myself to society.
Something i do every day is remind myself what i am and who i feel i’m mean’t to be.
I will feel every footstep under me even when it sucks ass to be alive.


All this brings me to telling you — i never even wanted to visit America. It didn’t interest me whatsoever. I’d closed that off because it was something everyone wanted, and all i wanted was to be left to be exactly as i always had been.
Would that bring me money?
I’d find a way and strangely enough…
I did.
And it meant moving to the United States to become a shit kicker.
Something i’d been sure wasn’t for me (the usa … not the shit kicking, who doesn’t love kicking shit?) — was exactly where i was supposed to go.
To experience life on a scale that stretches from here to Uranus.
Be careful what doors you try to close.


We’ll be travelling back to some old haunts in Texas this week, and i can’t wait.
To look at it all again with a fresh mind and a new perspective. Have margaritas with friends, family days on crystal beach and so forth.Hopefully i’ll also get some kind of a kick in the ass to get inspired and work harder on my novels.
But who knows what the future will bring. As long as it eventually brings me back to a place that belongs in my heart — i wont ask for more than that.


I can’t wait to be around familiar places and people.
Call me crazy — but i can’t wait for the heat either.
Yes i will complain about it when i’m there but i love to complain.
Galveston is one of my favourite places in the world.


The colours of the sea side town we know and love.

Cowboy and a freckled hound
See you in Texas!

The cowboy

i’ve got a jar of lone star

Everyone has different ways of coping with homesickness. Some people write about it, others embrace it.. but me? I carry a jar of dirt with me, yup — thats right. Texas dirt. Texas is the first place away from Denmark that i’ve ever felt at home or like i could stay there for the rest of my life; as a drifter thats saying a whole lot. I haven’t opened the jar since we left almost three years ago, the ground inside is from our little piece of land on the outskirts of town, the leaf was the first that fell and the empty bullet well thats another story.  My little jar of Lone Star sits by my bedside and comforts me when the days get too long. I think back to that brick house where the coyotes used to gather like fruit flies, where i ended up showering with a lizard and an angry scorpion consistently hid in my boots.

When night fell over Gazebo street our backyard became a fair ground of playing stars dancing for the limelight. We’d stand and watch them roll, shoot and shine for hours whilst the mosquitoes bled us dry. It was worth every minute.
I remember one evening when summer was turning to autumn. We slept with the window open. Around 4.30am i heard a high pitched eerie howl as beautiful as ever it could be. Outside my window was a lone coyote, right outside. I didn’t dare look but i could smell her breathing and i sure as hell could hear her singing. The wind was almost cool and soothing — rare for South East Texas.  In the distance a whole band of coy dogs began to yip and yawh, so my friend of the night disappeared into the brush. I will never forget that early morning, and though i was too freaked out to look through the dark for her, it is one of my fondest memories. I have a soft spot for coyotes and wolves, for farmers and ranchers they’re little devils, but to me they’re like me. Drifting from place to place and part of the pack.
My pack amounts to three, and thats how it should be.
So there on my bedside table is my comforting jar of dirt that wakes a memory or two.