before I unleash all the stern and infinite beauty of the northern pacific
and give this world an over-inflated sense of self worth,
I am pleased to announce that the saltpeter wars
are now here. http://peterjhochstedler.bandcamp.com/
and I recomend the thing completely, compitently, and contemplitively.
The past two weeks were spent in small fishing boat
coast-lining the shores of Washinton's Canada's and Alaska's innner passage,
crossing the gulf, and playing cards.
The weeks were spent drinking coffee out of campbells soup and atrichoke cans.
they were spent reading book on book,
eating cold canned corn, doing pushups,
staring at the other two souls
in the silence of the droning diesel engine
and, when moored in fishing villages,
writing letters, trying to eff the ineffable beauty.
And let me tell you,
If you have learned once to sleep on the ocean,
there is nothing related to cycling.
there is no such thing as learning to sleep on the ocean.
you simply don't sleep
until you are exausted enough that you do.
and then you sleep like flotsom
then you sleep like railroads
you sleep like Lot's wife
you sleep like as dumb a brick
as ever wore a wind-swept hair-do.