Aussie Tsunami surfer Ross Clarke Jones is a man who rides waves that eat surfers. He tells Jade Richardson why. It was standing on its haunches, biting at the sky. A swelling, growling wall of water; a snarling slice of sea. The biggest wave ever ridden; a freak wall of liquid thunder churned out by El Nino … More The Devil Inside
Blue Mountains, NSW, Australia: Something very odd is coming over Dwain Weston. Staring over an endless grey chasm at Bridle Veil Falls, he makes out scars where the earth has been eaten away by sky. Cliffs, valleys and waterfalls. Drops of water scream into the abyss and slow-motion cloud spins through the valley. Weston’s perceptions are … More Totally Addicted to BASE
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.
Stories have a living spirit which the writer must discover. It is this energy made conscious that is the true power behind beautiful writing, and the inspiration that turns a simple idea into gold. Ubud, Bali January 21, 22 & 24 US$250 Includes lunch & refreshments Earlybird Jan 15 US … More Write of Passage – a transfomational journey for writers, in Bali
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
I hit the boy in a daydream. He strolled his motorbike straight out onto the highway where my 50km an hour cruise in flipflops and sun dress was abruptly confused into a squall of bent metal, shredded petals and grating skin. It was a bright morning, the scent of papaya and grass smoke on the … More Through the window
Gondwana’s prim bouquet of
lemon and honey, red earth and gum
is utterly disheveled
by this exotica
of hot pine, leather,
and sweat. … More my America
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