Devine Lu Ator on Nostr: Finish packing, we're going on an Adventure. Where to? north. North? But, north ...
Finish packing, we're going on an Adventure. Where to? north. North? But, north where? North! And with that in mind, we spent the better part of the spring loading Pino with enough food, supplies, warm clothes and spares to sail as far north as we physically could take it, through difficult waters, harsh weather, in a small vessel with an open cockpit.
A few improvements later, we slipped off the dock and started our climb up the coast, all the while attempting to work on whatever could be accomplished with one hand, while fending off the sideways sleet with the other. Somewhen during that time I found myself falling deep, way deep, into rewrite languages and implementing just about every rewrite system I could sink my teeth into while summer was gradually catching up with us.
We didn't found much up there except for moss-blanketed trees, talkative peanut stealing ravens, erupting whale spray and time, so much time. Time to read, feed the woodstove, write, doodle, mend clothes, swear at algae clogging up the water intake, think, look outside even if there's little else than what I just enumerated other the occasional bear swimming, loose you mind, right, at seeing a bear for the first time. But in all, only ever seldomly an other boat, almost never a sailboat.
Eventually we got fed up with all this debilitating beauty, its black flies, and started our way back down, all the while writing a lot of fractions, drawing lots of characters hanging from the edge of cliffs, scribbling lots of undecipherable slides and reading the occasional unforgettable novel.
This exhilarating year ended with a visit to see our families and friends, and vaguely gesticulating away questions regarding what comes next.
For the year of 2024, Beryl Markham's West With The Night, was my favourite book. J. Wickham's Yintah was my favourite documentary. Alcest's Les Chants de l'Aurore was my favourite album.
A few improvements later, we slipped off the dock and started our climb up the coast, all the while attempting to work on whatever could be accomplished with one hand, while fending off the sideways sleet with the other. Somewhen during that time I found myself falling deep, way deep, into rewrite languages and implementing just about every rewrite system I could sink my teeth into while summer was gradually catching up with us.
We didn't found much up there except for moss-blanketed trees, talkative peanut stealing ravens, erupting whale spray and time, so much time. Time to read, feed the woodstove, write, doodle, mend clothes, swear at algae clogging up the water intake, think, look outside even if there's little else than what I just enumerated other the occasional bear swimming, loose you mind, right, at seeing a bear for the first time. But in all, only ever seldomly an other boat, almost never a sailboat.
Eventually we got fed up with all this debilitating beauty, its black flies, and started our way back down, all the while writing a lot of fractions, drawing lots of characters hanging from the edge of cliffs, scribbling lots of undecipherable slides and reading the occasional unforgettable novel.
This exhilarating year ended with a visit to see our families and friends, and vaguely gesticulating away questions regarding what comes next.
For the year of 2024, Beryl Markham's West With The Night, was my favourite book. J. Wickham's Yintah was my favourite documentary. Alcest's Les Chants de l'Aurore was my favourite album.