Terminal Velocity—A Man Lost of Tribe 

What is a life, revealed? What is this idea of truth, the unadulterated history in one's narrative? The baggage, the contexts, the points of view, dredged into one's psychological state, all the trauma of simple moments in a boy's or man's life, boy-to-man and man-to-boy sense of things, are these parts of the lens one should focus in a process of a looking backward (writing it) and then forward to draw lessons learned and still to be revealed (as an organized, somehow, autobiography)?

Is it important for someone like me to write a “biography” even at all without the pedigree of “someone who's big, still rising, haven risen and/or now fallen from grace,” or in this case the anti-autobiography of a simple man, Willy Loman sort of teacher, even without a bone of celebrity in my body?

The body of this long-form writing is a  30-part “series” possibly distilled into  fictional fusions—captured life moments, galvanized to the heart of seeing creatively in a pretty messed up world. I believe this to be one of the most gut-flooding truth seeking to some of us, painted characters and landscapes, conflicts, yet the dog of the lamentation, those roses that shed blood, tears from the prickly pear, the ghost inside cenotes.

Full Preface Here

Paul Haeder