Deadwood Gulch, Dakota Territory


Well, my time came, there in the gulch of rotting gold mines, smoke and dead wood i turned the ripened age of twenty eight. I don’t feel any older. I dont’ feel aged at all. I reckon  i’ll stop recognising my birthday as time goes on, feels a little like i’m living on a timer. It’s not an attempt to escape the daunting journey of old age and perspiring into the casket — more a case of saving my brain from feeling like its got so much to accomplish and far too little time to do it in. I don’t expect to grow old much anyhow.

This year my birthday was something out of this world, something more fitting of the old world we all left behind — a world most of us choose to forget because we’re too scared to face how cruel we could be. Jack surprised me with a trip to Deadwood, South Dakota, a place i’d always wanted to see. I wanted to walk to the badlands, sculk around Chinatown and stay at the Bullock Hotel on Mainstreet with its ghosts and windows looking into the old thoroughfare. All of which we did. Together the best way i know how to be.


We rode the Cheyenne to Deadwood Stagecoach around town and made fast friends with the drivers. They asked us to move into the house down the street and start working the town with them. And that was only the first hours of our first full day, my birthday.  We found a new favourite haunt in the Wild Bill Bar, the original number 10 lot on discovery where Wild Bill Hickok was shot by Jack McCall, with a buckboard full of dead animals nailed to the wall and red lantern lights hanging from the embellished bar frame; we couldn’t resist the place. I hope to make it there often even though it’ll soon be nine to twelve hours away. I shall never forget my life, though brief, when it was in South Dakota.

We visited Mount Moriah where Hickok, Calamity Jane and many other familiar names rest in peace, at least for the most part. Seth Bullock and his wife rest on top of the hill (its actually a god damn mini mountain haha), forever looking over Teddy’s tower somewhere beneath trees on the other side of the gulch. It was murder for me getting up that damn hill but it was worth it, i of course insisted on wearing my finery, to see my sweet Calamity and pay my respects to her and her supposed lover of time gone by, all of which consisted of boots, linen shirt with long sleeves, my good felt hat and my best jeans.

I see a lot of myself in Martha Canary. I suppose all my years i always had been a little different. I cut off my hair and i dressed as boy for most of my youth, and even once my hair grew back, and to this day, im still largely mistaken for a man. The cussing and such dont much help on that account. All this while i was dreaming of living in a place where it always felt free and everything else was unnecessary. It was a dream i didn’t believe would come true. The difference between her and i, is that my choice of self neglect is not juicing the corn, i have long since made the decision not to drink but that didn’t hold up all that long in Deadwood. No. Its a place where the folks are good, the nights are something to aware of but the Black Hills are scared land and i have never in my life seen anything as beautiful. There were fresh water creeks laced with wild bank flowers of all colours. Red deer danced and pranced through life all safe and fine. A little ways away you’ll even see mountains and hills full of buffalo. Right now their babies are all red, small and unsteady but perfect. Anyway, Calamity to me is who i am by day, all cussing and unladylike.  However when my depressive state  and sad sad suicidal ideations take over i believe i become more like Joanie Stubbs. Thats what i’ve named the dark side of my life. Joanie and Jane. I don’t mean that in some weird fan obsession in regards to the show or movie, i mean that as a survivor and that is something that helps me keep on.


Deadwood for me was always going to be a game changer, i just had that feeling you know? And in my previous blogpost where i mention coming to the end of our travelling days, the end of finding some foreign state to live in being done. Well i don’t know.  I could move yesterday to be amongst the Black Hills. Its holy ground to the Indians, the red nation, whatever they prefer. We’ve caused a lot of harm on that land, any land, but to me that land is a powerful, a spiritual place and something i can never un-feel. It all lives there on those hills. Though we may never move there, its a place to come as often as a wage allows.


Theres something wild and strange about meeting real like minded people who just fit into your life like puzzle pieces created millions of miles apart. The folks doing the street and bar shows took to us quick and fast. They were all like us and they impressed us as i believe we impressed them. I never have had the feeling that i wanted to interact with people, because i always felt that my head and my heart were some place else. Somewhere i’d never find anyone worth talking to who was the same. But i found  folks in Texas, and i sure as shit found some in Deadwood to boot.

For now i believe thats all i have. Im trying to juggle a lot lately. Training LeDoux, working full time, packing house, keeping appointments and writing and reading. Sadly i dont believe i’ll have my photo editing time till im in my new place in Texas. We’ll see.

6 years

Today it’s been six years since i left my English shores for the ride of my life. Those of you who know me, know that looking back for me is a painful thing.. not because of regret but because of nostalgia. Looking back i struggle to let go of the past —  with her claws in my back like some wounded banshee.
I miss the beaches, i miss Bristol harbour side and i miss sailing every week with my good friend. I lament the loss of those few good times i had.
My fondest memories from Britain was sitting in an old wooden ship pub with Pat — talking about sailors of old, ghost stories about pussy penny pickers and discuss all the books i’d write, all that after a good sail and a couple of biscuits between sea shanties. The joy i felt those days and nights — i knew they would not last forever. I suppose a part of me knew that i would supposed to leave England eventually. But i of course though i’d be going the other way. Back to Denmark.
I truly lived the life of Treasure Island for a while back there. I visited all the places and saw the world differently, i sexed with history and bleed for her to boot.
And as soon as that happened — i fell in love. A love that existed and stretched so far past the horizon that i had no choice but to follow as my heart ran away with me.
I don’t regret a day,  perhaps i wish every world i’ve lived in and nurtured didn’t have to be so far apart. So separated and recoiled by one another.

pondering by the window, counting my blessings and thinking about writing my next adventure.

I still find it hard to fathom where i am now. Living in Wyoming where the wind is rough and its cold as a buffalo carcass in the ice. Moving to Wyoming plays a big part in me finally managing and feeling inspired to finish that western novel. And now that i achieved that wonderful feat — we’re ready go move back to Texas, preferably by the coast so i can sit by the water and writer my nautical novel. Novel number 2.
We won’t be moving every time i write a particular kind of novel, it just played out that way this time. In New England i felt so drained, i didn’t belong there and it was tough and tiresome. Our road trip west really brought the love back for the West that i’d been missing.

With Texas being back on the cards, and moving there again — its a strange feeling. A home coming but with the two of us… it wounds my heart that Basil wont be returning with us in the flesh, but life is full of its hardships. I hope it happens as soon as possible. I’d personally also love to try to live in Denmark in the forest, near a sea, with Jack for a while but i don’t know how well that would go. I think we’d live happily and well but we’d grow bored of the quiet still living where nothing really happens. But you never know. We could end up living on a boat out in the Gulf of Mexico and sailing to wherever we wanted. Who knows. The world is our clam and its all dumb uncertain. All i know right now, in this moment, is that i’m so glad i dared to love blindly, move freely and let a Texas fella tell me a secret.

I count my stars and lifelines every day. What do you count your stars for? What mad crazy thing did you do?

could you close your flap so i don’t fore go my boiled eggs?

It was a quiet weekend here with us. We’ve taken walks away from everyone, and right now Jack is taking care of the shopping whilst i sit in the car to limit the chances of covid exposure. I don’t mind all that much because i dislike shopping — Walmart being mostly the only option. Since we’ve been staying at home most of the time i’ve been finishing projects and starting new ones. Lately i’ve started playing a new instrument, i’ve been finishing knitting projects for etsy and have the mind to work some on my novel writing and dreading the search for rejecting literary agents. I’ve also started working on digital drawing using photoshop (which is a lot harder than it sounds). I’ve already worked on a few logos and tshirt designs for the horse revival i volunteer with. Next week we’re going out to pick up a new mustang from northern Wyoming. I’m pretty excited and pleased, because we tried to go get the poor thing last week and were sure it was going to get shot in the field due to ridiculous issues. However, it seems we’ll get another chance to go and get him next week. Fingers crossed.


As for staying home and the social distancing, i like it. I’ve always crossed the road when someone can my direction on a walk – so thats not new. I actually think i get a lot more done at home, i’m more productive even since my job has become crazy during this entire pandemic started and again, fitting in the writing is the tough part.
I also called Pat today, my good old sailing friend, i’ve been meaning to call him for weeks now but i hadn’t got around to it. How we talked and laughed like old times, it was so good for my bones. I can continue a little longer. We talked about boats Jack and i might buy to live on one day when we return to Texas. We laughed about forepeaks and i was honoured when i found that one of the lines i’d made for his sails was still holding strong — one of his prized possessions he said. That is a great compliment from a galant man of the sea. I don’t have friends as such, i’m a very internal person. I’ll perform for an audience but i wont talk to them after. So you can imagine how important he is to me.

I think thats about all from me, i’ve been suffering from a ghastly headache all day and night, so i think i’ll see goodbye and hope you write more when i feel better.

Stay safe and stay home..