'There are days when I sit alone watching the Bombora break at high tide, sitting motionless on a windswept sand dune with the seagulls that flock towards me. I humour them by throwing sticks with a quick flick of the wrist, watching them reduce in number as they slowly determine my worth. But it’s the groper holes that draw me in towards the late afternoon. There’s a big one a few hundred metres south of the point, and when a monster wave hits the underbelly of the cliffs, there’s an ominous lull before it sucks and gurgles, devouring kelp, sea foam and small fish down its black guts. I lay down with my head just above the opening and stick my hand inside to feel the power of its draw, breathing the toxic vapour as if it was my salvation. I slipped a couple of times when a wave broke over the top of me and I lost my hold on the jagged rock. Once I actually fell into the water, right in the middle of an ominous lull. Timed it perfectly. I knew then that life is all planned out, scripted to a certain point by the powers that be, the ones that hide in the stars and push all the right buttons. It takes the fear out of the event, the big day when I’ll break on through to the other side, when I feel the slimy black edges of that groper hole, and push forward until the darkness becomes a permanent fixture.'
Source: Publisher's blurb.
