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(Note: You can get The Horned Whale from numerous ebook selling sites - most of which you can simply visit and push the 'buy' button, without the inconvenience of being forced to create an account. I don't deal with Amazon 'cause I don't much like them.
Most of the other sites also offer a free sample of the first 100 pages or so, which gives you most of the first story, but not my novel, The Kramvil, which is the centre-piece of The Horned Whale or, to give it it's Cornish title: An Morvil Kornek.)
I was born from my mother's womb, just like everybody else. Soon I'll be dead, just like everybody else. Meantime I want to be happy, just like everybody else.
I quit school at 16 and spent the summer washing dishes in Taverna Lukas, Poros, Greece. When I returned to Cornwall I worked in a music shop briefly before going underground as a miner at 'Wheal Roots', an ancient tin mine in Wendron Parish. Saw the Sex Pistols on stage in Penzance in '77. A youthful study of magic mushrooms and other potions was part of my initiation into consciousness and the world.
Migration to London brought me into closer contact with the Punky/Reggae culture of the time, a culture that has never left me.
Menial labour, marriage, immigration to the U.S.A., divorce, London, office-work, monotony and then The Holy Dharma, or Buddhism, as most people call it. This took the Tibetan form, inherited from my Grandmother, who was born in a Tibetan monastery at the turn of the twentieth century. Initiation into the Dharma was followed by some oriental travels and meetings with Lamas, before drifting into New York. Quit alcohol.
Back in Britain I lived in a hut in the woods and had a son. Always played music: Guitar, Bass, Bouzouki, Baglamas, and singing. Got into 7/8, 9/8 and 22/8, playing around West Cornwall with Eastern Green, my Rebetiko trio. Veganism. Became politically active and started wising up to the world. Had a daughter.
Also: had a crow land on my head while cycling through Michigan. Nearly got knocked over by a badger near Mousehole. Had a barn-owl brush against me, cycling through dark Newmill. Started a correspondence with Harold Hempstead, the 'Caged Crusader' of Florida, a man I regard as inordinately noble, heroic and virtuous.
Kissed the Blarney and spent a night in Vikos Canyon, Pan's Garden. Saw Desmond Dekker and had a long chat with him after the show. Saw Toots and the Maytals, and most of the main British Punk and Ska bands and many Jamaican Reggae acts. Hitch-hiked, busked, squatted, marched, protested, fasted, got inspired, got depressed, lost my way, found it again, just like everybody else. Read a lot of Kerouac, Gogol, Dostoyevsky, Henry Miller, Chuang Tsu.....
Now I feel the mortal winds of old-age trying to attack my body. Still feel like a kid at 57, just kind of an old kid. I wish you all well and hope you find your way in life. We are all one anyway, so why not just tear down the walls.