moments like this...

This is during the launch of Epilogue. My dad had bet me $20 that she would clear the power lines by 5 feet. My guess was she would squeak under by a foot. He won the bet, gladly, and I repaid him this Christmas with a bottle of Jamison 12yr. Irish Whiskey. My parents have been a part of this process since the dramatic and nearly tragic begining and to have them here for this moment only added to the taste victory when she touched the water. Moments like this keep the dream alive and propel me towards the goal of sailing her one day.

long winter's nap...

Have been absent lately from postings. For several reasons really, but mostly because I've been taking a break from the all-consuming work of getting Epi in the water. She is now in Ballard, safe and sound, where I check on her most days to make sure she's dry and happy. I do hope to resume work fully in the New Year. My focus is the interior and systems. Getting the galley and heads plumbed, the engine up and running and the electrical systems replaced. It seems like one daunting task after another, but simply having her less than a mile from my house makes all the difference. I'm hoping she is ready to live aboard by summer '07!

She Will Sail Again One Day...

A long drought...

The paint job is final, the prop and shaft are in, thru hulls have been checked and we now have steering. We're definitely down to the short list of things that need to be accomplished before we launch her in two weeks.

To sit at the wheel and imagine her under sail, on a port tack, was almost as exhilerating as it will be when we actually get to sail her one day.

Plans are being made for the day when Epilogue will touch water for the first time in over 5 years. Even though she will be without a mast, without sails, without an engine and without rigging, she'll get to feel the water again and dream of quitting the shore for distant waters.

I have not allowed myself time to sit much lately. I guess if I keep moving at least I feel like I'm making a dent in the mountain of things that have to happen. It's like when I'm working on the boat. Sometimes I can't figure out what to do next so I just clean up and vacuum like a madman. At least I feel like I'm doing something worthwhile.

Today I installed the thru-hull fitting for the galley, bedded in a new window, installed the center cockpit drains and prepped the transom for its 4th and hopefully final coat of paint. All in all, a very good day's work.

So the sun is setting and I'm sitting in my big leather chair feeling more at peace than I have in a while. I'm a little ashamed really. I knew long ago that taking time to sit and "mine" ore of the thoughts in my head and the events of the day was vital to my life. I have no idea why I haven't done this lately.

If this boat project is going to continue, I must find a way to stay alive and present to my life and taking time to sit in this chair is perhaps the most generous thing I can do for myelf.

November 4th is launch day. We will then tow Epilogue down to Seattle where she will stay at Fisherman's Terminal - less than two miles from my house. It'll be nice to have her buttoned up for the winter, take some time off and start chipping away at the interior. Plumbing, electrical, mechanical and finish.

for now at least...

Once again, this boat that breaks my heart every day, just keeps getting more beautiful. It's slow and painstaking but the blood sweat and tears somehow turn into something rather unexpected.

So I continue. Very much aware of all the other areas of my life that suffer and wait, neglected in the cold. Most of these areas can wait another year, I think. Some of them, however, can't and I am saddened. I suppose one area is my love of the time to sit in my leather chair and read until I fall asleep or become inspired to get up and coax some words out of my head. Those times are quite rare indeed. My chair and my books look at me with a mix of longing and disdain, knowing they will again be left without so much as a glance their way.

I will continue...for now at least.

...help my unbelief

There is no other way to describe where I am in this process except rife with anxiety. The unfortunate coalescence of the chage of seasons and my penchant for broodery and rumination has manifested an upheaval of anxiety and depression that visit like the uninvited guests they always are. It's when every possible worst case scenario is gospel truth, hope fades and dreams become foolish pipe-dreams. In the past, these guest's visits would last only a few hours or days. However, the older I get, the more they take liberties.

Getting Epilogue painted has been the time/weather sensitive goal for weeks and we finally set up to spray the paint this weekend. I got up at 4:00am (my alarm was set for 4:40)and made my way up to the boat. From the begining, the stars were aligned (or God smiled, whichever you believe), the day held no pesky dew, no wind, and no unwelcomed visits from the Department of Enviornmental Quality to critique our methods. All of my assumptions about how that day would go were dashed and things went, for the most part, without a hitch.

There are flaws, there are bugs stuck in polyurethane for good, there are areas that will need touch up, there are spots I messed up and there are places only I will see and keep to myself as much as I can.

A friend once lamented my acquisition of this boat by saying, "she will be like a woman who leaves you over and over again and breaks your heart each time" While I scoffed initially, I'm begining to agree with him. Though each day I head up there, in pursuit of her wayward heart, she lures me in again with her wiles. This new paint job will (hopefully) lure me in like sailor to the sirens, unable to quit her despite the costs.

Endeavor Blue

While the weather has turned seemingly overnight, we're still going to push to get Epilogue painted before the end of October. These days, every deadline I set for this project seems laughable, a pipe dream. Now we must fight the coming rain like commandos, waiting for every break in the weather to jump to action and carry out our mission with lightning speed and precision. The ammount of detail and tedium involved in prepping 110' of painted fiberglass is staggering. At some point you have to call it good and move on, knowing that people probably wont be looking at the boat from 12 inches away like I have for the past two weeks. One thing is for sure, she will look 100 times better than she has for many years.

fall prey to desire

Now in the thirty-first year of my dark pilgrimage on this earth and knowing less than I ever knew before, having learned only to recognize merde when I see it, having inherited no more from my father than a good nose for merde, for every species of shit that flies-my only talent-smelling merde from every quarter, living in fact in the very century of merde, the great shithouse of scientific humanism where needs are satisfied, everyone becomes an annoyance, a warm and creative person, and prospers like a dung beetle, and one hundred percent of people are humanists and ninety-eight percent believe in God, and men are dead, dead, dead; and the malaise has settled like a fall-out and what people really fear is not that the bomb will fall but that the bomb will not fall-on this my thirtieth birthday, I know nothing and there is nothing to do but fall prey to desire.

--Walker Percy, The Moviegoer

Ironically, I read this book when I was 31 and in the middle of discovering, or more aptly, naming my own good nose for merde. With all that is happening (or not happening) in the world today I feel the malaise like fall-out. I will not be defeated by the everydayness.

Ultra-Tuff

I don't think I'll quit this boat. There are many days I think I may just because it is taking up nearly all the space in my life and it seems like it only gets bigger. But today, I think I'll keep it. We sprayed the final coat of non-skid material onto the decks of Epilogue. Over a year of work has gone into those decks: filling holes, fairing countless chips, gouges, waves and sanding through hundreds of disks. It is finally done. The application was a great success with only a little touch up to finish tomorrow. These decks are covered with an elastomeric water-based polyurethane that is supposed to be bomb-proof. There are small rubber particles in it that provide the traction. The surface is quite agressive and easy on bare feet. The next project on tap is getting the hull prepped for painting. This will take most of September.

Bob Bennett is getting closer to completing the galley re-build. All that's missing from this is a coffee maker.

Extremely High Gloss

That's what the paint can said on it. It's a two-part linear polyurethane or "LPU" as I learned from a dude in the yard today. Super bright, super glossy and super revealing of every flaw and blemish in my hard fought prep work. After spraying, Dan said, "well it's not perfect, but it saved us about 30 grand"

Cooperable is not a word...

Epilogue is primed. Next will be to light sand the job and apply the topcoat. Then reverse the entire masking job and apply the nonskid paint. I can't believe how long it all takes.

p.s. I'm changning my focus to fight for the word "cooperable" to be welcomed into the english language...it just makes good sense.

white man playing guitar...

B.B. King once said white men spend an hour tuning for every minute playing. That's what it felt like today masking off the boat before our primer coat goes on tomorrow morning. It took three of us all day to mask just about every inch of space we don't want painted. We're going to use a high pressure sprayer so you have to make sure everything is buttoned down tight. Hopefully the weather will be cooperable for us tomorrow - hoping for no wind.

Old Country Buffet...

After watching Italy defeat Germany in yesterday's World Cup semifinals, an ironically un-American passtime for the 4th of July, we decided to step it up a notch and hit the grocery store for some creamcicles and Fresca. Feeling guilty and sluggish from chips, dip, salsa and devouring the box of creamcicles, three of us went to play frisbee in the beautiful afternoon sun. During our little catch on a local baseball field we talked about how we could best celebrate this most uniquely American holiday. Of course we thought about seeing fireworks later but dinner was on our minds. My friend Aaron wondered, "what could be more American than the Old Country Buffet on the day of our nation's birth?" Where else can you join crowds of fellow Americans for a feast of unlimited proportions and substandard quality? What is more American than stuffing your face in an attempt to numb the desire that food could never satisfy? All the while sticking to the classic American buffet philosophy of making sure they're not making any money off of you as you do your best to saunter up to the bar a third time for one more meatball or cinnamon roll.

Norman Rockwell prints adorned the walls as a reminder that we were in fact living the good life. Taking us back to the good old days of innocence. As we ate our soft serve vanilla ice cream with sprinkles and drank really bad coffee we tried to estimate how many calories we'd just consumed and wondered how long it would take to "walk it off" - another classic American ritual after gluttonous indulgence.

During our meal we remembered old family 4th of July traditions. Parades, home fireworks, apple pie and watermelon. Our hands down favorite was the egg toss at the neighborhood fair. I remembered how some of the older kids would play with a hardboiled egg defying competitors with their distace and flat out overhand baseball throws of a seemingly fragile egg.

Our evening culminated with a fabulous fireworkds show from a barge in Lake Union and by Ryan's insistence on a pitcher of Pabst Blue Ribbon (introduced at the Chicago Worlds Fair in 1893)to cap off our all American 4th of July.

Dudley E. Commander...

This could possibly be the most hilarious name I've ever seen. No joke, it's real. I'll leave it up to you to decide if it's for a man or woman. Feel free to guess. I'll admit, I was wrong on first impressions, but I didn't actually see Dudley.

This means nothing, has no importance and does very little to further the human race. Please forgive me, I may have just set us all back a few steps. But seriously, have you ever heard of somebody with the last name Commander?

People are working on the boat. People besides me. It feels good to know that something is happening when I'm not up there. It's worth whatever it costs me...it helps me sleep at night. I'd rather pay somebody to run a sander than take Tylenol PM or drink a bunch of wine to go to sleep. Or, my latest trick is to read. I think I'm down to about one page of sentient comprehension before I'm gone.

More pictures coming soon.

This weekend we cut four new portlight holes. While it seems rather mundane, it was quite significant. To expand the size of the hole cut into the "house" of the boat is quite risky business. If you cut it too large for the new portlight, it's pretty hard to put it back. So, we measured carefully and let 'er rip. They came out pretty well. Two more just like it to go.

Bob should be finished with the galley by the end of this week. I'll probably have him do a couple more things for me while he's down there.

It is June 13th. We are nearing the Summer Solstice and one of the most wild parades I've ever seen. The Freemont Summer Solstice Parade. Every year I comtemplate the possibility of joining the brigade of naked bikers in full body paint. Every year I chicken out - or allow wisdom to prevail - or both.

Anyway, we've now got Bob Bennet started re-building Epilogue's galley. He's using a combination of existing features and building some new ones into the design. He's an exceptionally talented man. He did most of the wood work on the Safari Spirit but hangs his hat on his passion, which is making custom furniture. www.rhbfurnituremaker.com Needless to say, we're lucky to have him doing this little project for us...and he's giving us a great deal at that, as long as I clean up after him each day.

Every boat needs a Captain...

We have been remiss to stock the boat with a proper spirit. We decided after over a year of sitting alone out of her natural habitat, Epilogue deserves a full time Captain. Both to protect her when we're gone and welcome us when we return. Alas, we now have the good Captain Morgan on board for those cold, lonley and sometimes stormy nights.

This was Memorial Day Weekend and I had big plans for Epilogue. It rained almost the whole three days we worked. BUT, we did get a ton accomplished and made some key decisions on how we'll finish the decks and house off.

All in a day's work...

Today Dan and I removed and dismantled one of the 8 small deck hatches aboard Epilogue. I decided we should find out how much time it took to remove, dismantle, clean and re-install one. If it took too long, it'd be cheaper to just buy 8 new ones. Well, after 5 minutes and 27 seconds we had it removed and dismantled. So, it's clear it will be much, much cheaper for us to rebuild/refurbish these on our own. In fact, we may go for the giant foredeck hatch which is probably 30"x30" and would cost a fortune to replace.

We'll get Goldfinch Bros. to cut us brand new plexiglass for the 8 small hatches for maybe $20 each and they'll look brand new when we get done cleaning them up.

There is probably 15-20 hours of sanding needed on the decks to take down the high-build epoxy sealer we put down in the fall. Once that's done they'll be just about ready to apply the non-skid paint.

Things are starting to roll, but the more we roll, the more little details we discover have to be taken care of. All in a day's work I guess.

don't swallow fiberglass...

We are in the process of fine tuning the prep work for the final treatment of the house and non-skid deck. This means working out every blemish, gouge, crack and bubble or her decks, hatches and house. While it may look like an enourmous undertaking, it's really just down to the nitty-gritty right now. We've all but selected a non-skid product that will be a very durable, effective, and hopefully attractive alternative to the outrageously expensive cost of laying teak decks down. Not to mention the maintenance, and discomfort of walking on teak decks on a hot day in the Tropics.

This is the part of the process where it pays to leave no stone unturned. As my old painting boss used to say, "A paint job is only as good as the prep work". So here we go. I'll probably hire some folks to help with the sanding down of the epoxy primer coat we have down. That stuff will eat a piece of sandpaper in about 5 seconds. We are also debating using a synthetic teak material to cover the cockpits and foredeck. This stuff, called FlexiTeak, is quite attractive and far less expensive than real teak.

Los versos del Capitan

Laugh at the night, at the day, at the moon, laugh at the twisted streets of the island, laugh at this clumsy boy who loves you, but when I open my eyes and close them, when my steps go, when my steps return, deny me bread, air, light, spring, but never your laughter for I would die

The Barista at my little haunt of a coffee shop said to me one day that he had just picked up a copy of "The Captian's Verses" by Pablo Neruda. It's been months but that title has been hanging around in my head so I went to Powells.com to order me a copy. I've been intrigued with the title for what it may contain about boats, the sea, a life at sea, the beauty and often raw ugliness of life at sea - but certainly not about love, which is really what the book is about.

It even has a hauntingly beautiful picture of a dark and stormy seascape on the cover. Pablo Neruda is widely known for his poems about love, beauty, deisre and suffering. But I really don't know his work at all.

This work, while not at all what I had expected, is beautiful and bittersweet. There are moments when I simply just can't continue to read it because it only expands an already gaping hole(largely of my own making) and causes me to wonder at his subject - which was actually his wife Matilde Urrutia, whom he married in 1955.

Forgive. This has nothing really at all to do with Epilogue, but very much, I suppose, to do with Mercurial Dreams.

Out of Hibernation...

As winter slowly loosens its grip on the Northwest, I find myself with a shocking degree of ambivalence. Something about winter here, with its cold and grey days and soggy bone-chilling nights, leaves me content to stay inside a little more, stay in bed a little longer, and drink too much...coffee of course. All that to say, there's somehting alluring about an excuse to be cozy, to be lazy, to rest more. Change of season around here is always like bears coming out of hibernation, we aren't quite sure what to do with ourselves. The ambivalence for me comes from the boat project. Because now I actually have no excuse to not go and be overwhelemed by how far over my head this whole thing is. This week, however, did wonders to inspire me beyond my self-justified lethargic slumber.

My cousin David, his two boys Corbin (13)and Justin(15), and David's Dad (my uncle) came out to help me work on the boat. Why they chose this as their vacation, I'm still not sure, but we all had such a great time together. The boys were superstars and David and Uncle Ray spent the better part of two full days helping me build a flight of stairs up to the boat. I think they cost me a total of about $50. We cannabalized scrap lumber from around the yard for most of it. Every time I go up and down them I have a smile on my face. This will make the work this summer so much safer and efficient.

We also fixed up the interior so we could camp on the boat. They all spent three nights aboard Epilogue and had a grand time. Again, I'm still amazed that they would spend their vacation like this. Gratitude.

March/April Madness

Well, I'm missing the NCAA Finals right now. Maybe if the greatest cinderella story in college basketball history (George Mason University) beat Florida to make the Championship Game I'd care. But as it is, they didn't and I don't. I'm sure Bill Walton is out there somewhere talking about his glory days as a pot-smoking hippie at UCLA. Come to think of it, I'm sure he still smokes up from time to time. I'm pretty sure his only basketball vocabulary includes hyperbolic superlatives. "that's the worst defense I've ever seen" "that's the most incredible crossover this world has ever witnessed" "He just walked a country mile through the lane" He's an idiot.

The weather's changing around here. Buds are blossoming, the air smells of fecundity, people are showing some skin. And in Seattle, it's usually quite white from a winter of long pants and fleece. I've been up to the boat recently to start getting ready for the spring push. Decks to finish, portlights to install, hatches to be re-built, and money - lots of money - to be spent. More pictures to follow as the weather improves.

the Percolator...

This is Epilogue's main engine. It's a 1980 Perkins Diesel that is supposedly in excellent shape. We're prepping it for a new paint job and rebuilding the water pump and giving it a minor tune-up before giving it a test run in the garage. Lucky for me, Dan has extensive knowledge of diesel engines and is giving me a lesson as we go. It's not so intimidating when you know what is what. Marine diesel engines are really quite simple - and so ingenious.

Next week we're taking a bunch of old equipment from Dan's boat Augusta and Epilogue to the annual boater's swap meet at Fisheries Supply to see if we can sell off any old stuff that's not necessary.

We're also in the process of buying new portlights to install this summer. It's now time to start spending some real money.

The Divine Archetype...

Lest people mistake my reticence to post recently to a dark fascination with leaving the rag-and-bone photos of those first days in the ICU front and center for all to see, I give you a thought, however underdeveloped and uneducated, on Archetypes. Not sure why, besides being struck by something I read recently on that word.

Philosopher, psychoanalyst, "disciple" of Freud, and prolific writer, Carl Jung took Freud's theory of the unconscious a step (albeit a rather large step) further, defining the confluence of all human experience as the "collective unconscious". It was his term for the vast, almost infinite psychic experience shared by all humans. This experience, according to Jung, could be distilled into universal images, symbols, or myths - shared and present in all of us. He called these images "Archetypes". We know some of them...love, lust, desire, hate, dreams, visions, our true and unadulterated selves, the wild man, etc...

I am profoundly struck by questions. Where did these Archetypes come from? Why are they common to the human experience? Don't our unique experiences shape our "seeing" of the world? Is my experience of the world really so collective? So universal? Well, I think yes.

Why does it seem universal that what we all long for and fear the most is to be truly known? Why do we all have dreams, the capacity to love, the capacity to hope? What seems collective is that living in this world threatens to beat the collective unconscious into despair, hopelessness, hatred and fear. I don't think the Archetypes came from nowhere, from our primate ancestors, from our highly evolved brains. No, I think they come from God. It seems like a simple way out of the questions at first glance. I almost hesitate to claim something so simplistic, so overused by a culture that is desperate for easy answers to our deepest questions. But alas, I must say those answers have never cut it for me. If anything, they've only opened the mystery even more for me. I used to rail against mystery, working hard to destroy it - beating myself up for not being satisfied with the answers I was given, or rather force-fed.

The Archetype that seems universal to me, and profoundly beautiful to me, is mystery. The questions. The God who is hidden only inspires a search and the search is the life of faith, hope and love. Sure, sometimes the God who is hidden elicits rage - and I no longer feel ashamed of that either. How do you not rage against the horror and tragedy in this world? How do you not rage against the darkness? I hope we all rage against darkness. I hope we all rage against darkness with love.

Bruce Cockburn sings:
When you're lovers in a dangerous time
Sometimes you're made to feel as if your love's a crime --
But nothing worth having comes without some kind of fight --
Got to kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight

NO BONE FLAP...

Someday, I will have this accident to thank for my life. For how my life is different, for the jorney I have been on. It's a rather disturbing image to see, but given I have no conscious memory of that day, it's not traumatic. I think the first week in ICU was more traumatic for everybody else than it was for me. The tape on my head says, "NO BONE FLAP" - a warning to anybody who may want to come knock on my head to see if I'm in there. Just brains below that skin.

One year later, I'm looking at these photos for the first time and connecting them with all the stories I've heard.



My sister Jamie and nephew Everett came to see me from Florida and he was the first person I recognized. I think he was a little freaked out to see me like that.

My Life Has Been Saved by Love...

I fell into the hands of people who love me and that is why I'm here today - February 19th - it has been one year. Sometimes the weight of gratitude is more than I can bear. I don't feel beholden as much as undeserving of such beauty. And not because I feel like a jerk, but because I don't know how to say "thank you". I don't know how those two words, or any words can express my gratitude. Yes, my journey through this has been truly miraculous - a divine gift. So much of that miracle though happened before my eyes, through my eyes as I encountered the people whose hands were there to catch me. How do you thank people, so many people, for the gift of love? I suppose love doesn't require a return but to experience love moves the heart towards a gratitude that seeks expression. And that's where I get stuck because expressions of gratitude, no matter how extravagant, just can't measure up to what has been received. And they shouldn't. What it comes down to is love begets love and that, ladies and gentlemen, is worth the price of admission.

This picture was drawn three days after the fall by a woman in a counseling group I co-led with a friend for a year. I recently had the privilege of visiting the group and was presented with this drawing. They had been waiting nearly a year to give it to me. I don't think there is a better picture of what the last year has been like for me...love begets love

OVERSIZED LOAD...

Exactly a year ago today I got a call at 11:00am saying, "Mr.Lewis, your boat has arrived." They had been held up at the Washington border the day before (this photo)and were waiting for clearance from the Washinton State Police to travel through the state. There were three pilot cars that had to travel with the "Super-OVERSIZED LOAD", one in front, one behind and one many miles ahead to scout the route. Well, somehow they were able to sneak over the border under the cloak of darkness and arrive in Everett a couple days ahead of schedule. I didn't ask any questions about how they managed to get there without clearance ahead.

I was finishing up a varnish job on the Safari Spirit when I got the call and just left everything to go see the boat arrive. My tools, jacket and such remained untouched in the forward crew quarters for days in rememberance of my presence on that project. It was months before I got my jacket back and it smelled like the boat thankfully.

It's almost like last year is staring all over again. I have this big daunting boat project ahead of me, it's winter time, it's beautifully and unseasonably sunny, this time though, I'm not planning to taking a dive off the mother. I'll be wearing my helmet tomorrow.

Portlock...

She sits forlorn, at a finger of floating pier at Fisherman’s Terminal. The years have not been kind to her and she looks now more a victim of neglect than faithful service at sea. The For Sale signs, coupled with No Trespassing warnings, look as old as she does. As I look at her, I imagine a fresh coat of paint where now there are streaks of rust below the scuppers, chips, scrapes, and visible dry-rot just above the waterline. By her lines I can tell she’s an old converted Halibut Schooner, from a time before sail gave way to steam. Her prow, once strong and prominent is now weathered and battered by the countless weighing of anchor, which itself looks more like a permanent fixture I wouldn’t trust in the best of holding grounds. Her masts, now shorn, look to be little more than antenna and radar towers with some brackets to hold up the equipment they use to haul barn door sized Halibut up off the ocean floor before they put a gun to their heads to kill them quick before they maul the fisherman on board with their wild and legendary thrashings. Her stern, built to handle a following sea in a North Pacific gale, has a swale that at one time was alluring and sexy but now sits tired and low in the water under the weight of the makeshift house that was added on probably years ago. I wonder what stories she carries. I wonder how many men have boarded her with dreams of adventure, expanse and the thrill of the catch. Dreams of the wealth they will fetch from their perilous labor. I can’t help also thinking of the broken dreams that live aboard this boat, each one leaving its mark on her as they fight and scratch to pull fish from the ocean floor and return home empty handed. Or the broken dreams of those who never got to return home, but instead suffered the cruel indifference of the sea. In the hands of men at sea, she looks like she’s worked harder than any horse or beast I’ve seen in the service of men. To see her is to grieve the indifference she’s endured and long for a time she can be put to rest – no longer suffering the dreams of unforgiving men in the unforgiving sea.

Contingency...

I've been thinknig about this word recently. I just had breakfast with a good friend and we talked about it at length. I don't think I've ever been to the High Spot Cafe in Madrona and not had a rich relational time. It's the first breakfast spot I ever went to in Seattle way back in 1993.

There is something so utterly contingent about being a human being. So utterly unpredictable and fragile - those words sound trite and cliche compared to the weight of this contingency. Yet the staggering lengths we go to (especially here in our safe little American culture) in hopes of stemming the tide of contingency are equally weighty, if not downright tragically comical. To think that if we order our lives properly, carefully, and with "integrity", we can avoid suffering, catastrophe and heartache is folly. We may be able to head off the more obvious risks by living a life committed to safety, security and to never suffering, but the consequences of such a life far outweigh the risks of truly living. All that to say, there is an inherent, unavoidable risk to being alive on this earth. With years like last year, this truth threatens to become a maddeningly ironic and dirty trick. I take one of the biggest risks of my life and fall on my head, my friend Clinton has two open heart surgeries with a 99% success rate fail, another friend is diagnosed with Thyroid cancer, unfathomable relational failures, people die in their sleep. My friend Paul said, "this year has kicked my ass more than any in my entire life." I'll drink to that.

However, this is shaping up to be one of the best years of my entire life. I'm coming to grips with contingency. Being alive will kick you in the ass. Being alive will eventually kill you. It is no use to pretend this isn't true anymore. I do not wish to suffer the bliss of a long, slow, time-released death. I will not go down without a fight. I will "not go gentle into that good night". - Dylan Thomas