An ode to the grand and peculiar magic that awaits us all in the hard corners of our very darkest places. Poverty. My friend, Made,* has it. Made’s world is collapsing. We have been watching it, visibly, sinking into the sand, succumbing to wind and rain before our very eyes these last few days in … More Angels on a Knife-Edge ~ the island of the Gods loses the last of its Good Men
The Earth, she has her own rites for the making of Earthlings, for the making of Good Women. In an Age where the precious cargo of our inheritance of story is confused, is under assault from the pornography of the market, the rage of the war machine and the dry tongues of our own despair, … More Beautifully, broken – the special damage of a Good Woman.
‘I’ve got work to do,’ he says. ‘Me and the other writers and song makers. We’ve got to clean up the story, get back to the land, let the dark stories in so we can pass on a better future to our grandchildren. If you want to say it’s too late, that the whole place is going to hell, well, tell that to your kids and see how it feels.’ … More An Absence of Stars – the Dark Art of true story.
For a week now I’ve been in conversations with a bird. She is a small thing. A perky little honeybird who steals from Leonard Cohen … Oh darling, little, sleeping one, what if the wound is really the crack that lets the light come flooding in? I want to write the story of the soulbird and her magic. It may … More The Way the Light Gets in ~ song of the soulbird.
Huge surf, shark-free, with lashing of scones and piping hot tea – the Poms wax lyrical about Cornwall’s surf scene, but Jade Richardson smells a crusty wetsuit somewhere in the story. When lying back and thinking of England it is perfectly normal to edit out things like sun – let alone surf, ripped Adonis-like figures silhouetted … More Better than Bondi ~ surfing the Mother Swell
Drugs, guns, cheap booze, cheap land and a lawless expatriate community hell-bent on making it big on this little hamlet… there was always going to be trouble in the Andean paradise of Vilcabamba, Ecuador. But will the right people pay? Kapow! .. pow! … pow! A single gunshot ricocheted, ricocheted, ricocheted… along one after the other of the … More Wild Justice – who shot the fat guy?
Today I met a rich man. He was packing up his 4WD after a long weekend at the country house, over-looking the ocean, nextdoor. His face was heavy with several decades of Camembert and expensive Shiraz. He seemed embarrassed about his dog. He shook my hand as if he were going for a home run, … More Letter to a rich man at dusk.
Bob came to mow the lawn yesterday. I saw him creep through the side gate while I was sorting out my shell collection. He slunk in hunched and filthy. His sticky white legs poking out of saggy King Gees. Bandy ankles thrust into ratty Blunstones, raw with mud and ash and spit from years of grubby labour. … More Good Men, Hurting… a message from the Jasmine King
Come with me for a moment, away from the roar of mad thinking and the crush of despair – there is a voice in the garden, a song in the rice field… I fled back to Bali with a face sucked dry by the Antarctic winds that gnaw on the bones of remote southwest … More Voices from the rice field… how Bali lost it all
When the fine art of conjuring the mighty cosmic serpent goes wrong, it takes a Colombian juggler, a bottle of snake juice and a steady needle to sharpen the carnal fang. Vilcabamba Valley, deepest Ecuador, 2pm under a fierce Andean sun: here we are in the garden. Humming birds whiz about like dabs of oil … More The boy with the really bad tattoo