“People are dying – it is no metaphor – for lack of something real to carry home when day is done.”
From Herzog, by Saul Bellow (1915-2005)

I’m Paul, a writer from Melbourne, Australia. I write about life as I find it; about life as I experience it. I’m not Herzog – anxious, grieving, broken and brooding, hiding alone in a country house, writing crazy letters to family, friends, strangers and the dead – but I do share Herzog’s view that many people are tired, harassed and hungry for something real to carry home when the working day is done. I hope to offer something real. 

Another year

Failure is inevitable, but not inconsequential: whoever fails better succeeds a little more.

Letter to a nomad

Long-term travel can be rewarding. The hard part is coming home and making sense of it. That, too, is a form of travel.

Saltwater dreaming

He swims. Almost every morning and usually before sunrise. In any season. In any weather. And never in a wetsuit.

Gone fishing

When the weather is good and the tide is right, Joe goes fishing, down where the Yarra River meets Port Phillip Bay.