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Jorge Abian surfing in Bali

‘If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings – nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!’

Rudyard Kipling

This video touched me.

Hosted by a woman and a daughter.

Received at night with a full just roasted chicken and some booze.

A vintage grunge look. Cigarettes, candles and smoke.

Burning woods warming up the house. Feeling wildness and coziness far out from home.

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So you want to be a writer?

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.

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Freedom. A riot in me.

How to live with no fire. Lost in Vall d’Aran. A treasure. A town guarded by mountains where all its restaurants are gold, its people gems and the slopes eternal. I feel it.

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6 Beautiful men in a club in madrid

I land on a plane. I get on my legs. I call my friends. Straight up from there I’m against the fence. Tapas. Jamon. A beer why not and a red pack of cigarettes. Dinners. Reunions. Tertulias. A year of dreamt well served drinks. Spanish chicks. Old posh dress code politesse. Fallen leafs. Sober cold. Saturdayz pacharanes at Malasaña. Coconut Bar arvo. Shopping round around Chueca & Barrio Salamanca. Nights out. Hugs. Big smiles. Old Spain.

Photograph of Bondi Beach at Sunrise from a natural pool at the Icebergs Bar

Fitness freaks. Tons of surfers you will like. Broken waves. Hollow waves. Not locals only. Bodies from all over. A colorful collage.

Cold beers. Mates. Chicken paté and halloumi cheese for dinner at The Hill. A young blonde french girl working at Surfection. A dark skin skinny french girl serving beer at the Bucket List. A french girl sleeping in my bed. Gourmet backpackers. Small chai tea lattes. Natural sea salt swimming pools. Rock ocean ramps and paddle boats at North Bondi. Wednesdays at the Beach Road Hotel: a hot blood human pool with a million different accents. Girls and boys. Pretty girls. Pretty boys as well. A sexual young adults dance. Surfing hangover cures. Fast weather changes. Pouring rain. Sunburns.

Paradise.

Long desert beaches. Teepees. Wilderness junkies. A meeting point for travelers with no return tickets. High prices, kangaroos, hippie vans and unbeatable surf waters. Welcome to the East Coast of Australia.

In love with Bondi Beach. We hit the road to Palm Beach. I fall in love in Avalon. These beautiful people. Late waves at Newcastle. Koalas hospital in Port Mcquiarie. Camels exist at Nambucca Heads. A clear morning keeps Woolgoolga’s dream alive. The scenic Yamba. And then love again. Byron Bay. A trip with mates. No beds. Long hairs. Salt tattoos. No rush or destination. Nowadays pirates. Rum. Beer. And surf. Tons of good surf.

Beauty is to know that if you could, you would stay here.

 

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