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The Island

A sloop rode astride disparate shades of blue, the ocean looking as if Gauguin had paletted every tone of that color available in the universe. The lone boat sheered through, cutting the briefest of white swaths, which were deftly consumed by azure strokes of the artist’s brush. Wind sung in the lines, with slap of bow and gurgle of wake, a pleasant serenade. There is a vitality that seems to exist at the Equator. Astride the foredeck, with one hand grasping a stainless steel stay, it’s smooth gnurling carried the feel of the wind’s energy, that traveled as a throbbing

World Oceans Day

I awoke late this Sunny Sunday, having spent the night wrapping a job on the computer and getting to sleep at 6:30 AM. I pulled myself away from my girlfriend Donna who was doing her best imitation of a dead woman at 9:15 am. I had some coffee and rolled down the valley into downtown Ventura for a haircut appointment at 10:00 am with my Samoan pal Danny Moa. By twelve, after we had rapped out and talked  a lot of story and I stood squinting in the broad light of high noon, I felt different. It wasn’t the haircut.

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The Island

A sloop rode astride disparate shades of blue, the ocean looking as if Gauguin had paletted every tone of that color available in the universe. The lone boat sheered through, cutting the briefest of white swaths, which were deftly consumed

World Oceans Day

I awoke late this Sunny Sunday, having spent the night wrapping a job on the computer and getting to sleep at 6:30 AM. I pulled myself away from my girlfriend Donna who was doing her best imitation of a dead