London, from a distance

"Hurry up and say something. Make it up."
"People ought to live in a town where there are no trees trees scream when there's a wind here there's always a wind always except for two days a year in your place don't you see I'd leave this place I wouldn't stay all the birds or almost all are seagulls you find them dead after a storm and when the storm is over the trees stop screaming you hear them screaming on the beach like someone murdered it keeps the children from sleeping no I'll leave."
"Perhaps we're wrong," he said, "perhaps he wanted to kill her right away, the first time he saw her. Talk to me." (Marguerite Duras, Moderato Cantabile)

(Magdalena Abakonowicz)

"In this hole that we have fixed, we get further and further and further from what we must do" (Cat Power, In This Hole)








(Light Dynamo by Heinz Mack)







(Yayoi Kusama, The Passing Winter)



London. Downright old and shabby. Of time past. A world left untouched. I am at Hoxton Square, an "upcoming" area for the fashionable. Perhaps it refers to the students in colorful garb, polka dots, neon pink, top hats, having their lunch on the grass, busking in the sun, reading a Julian Barnes, and to me, I feel the need to whip out a pen and paper and join in the artistic, the whimsical, writing, scratching, re-writing, putting ink down in a way which I haven't done so for a long while since the invention of Microsoft Word. I write with a kind of fervor and anxiety - like I must write - to fit into this Hoxton picture.

"If man did not imperiously close his eyes, he would finally be unable to see the things worth seeing" (Michel Foucault)

(Juliao Sarmento, Forget Me)

(Sara Impey, Punctuation, from the Quilt exhibition at V&A)

see you suddenly one day
at
the gap between thoughts
or in
the color of speech
or along
the dash of the stitch
or around
the curve of the question
or beyond
the pinpoint of focus
or on
the brink of omission
or under the imprint of footnotes
or through
the texture of script
or above
the shout of the surface
or inside
the web of cross reference
or before
the lilt of the comma
or after
the final full stop

never did like punctuation
see you suddenly one day

London, moderately and melodiously

[1]
the man stuck his tongue into my mouth. cold as a stone, i don't feel, i don't see, i don't care. but i dramatize these pointless moments in order to ascertain that i existed once, at 5am, for a stranger, who wouldn't be able to recall what happened the night before.
[2]
the child: it acts, it imitates, it surprises; a ridiculous figure
[3]
because i've always been passive, neutral, neither argued nor confronted anyone, never understood what clarity or lucidity meant, now my mind sways and wanders, never fixed, rooted, stable, endlessly, never

i'm still in london due to the volcano eruption. london makes me want to write, to draw, to design, to make things happen. london happens. i found lots of beautiful words and images here and will post some up later when i've time.

April Spring

i bear witness to the changes in the seasons. on my bike, i deliberately slow down to enjoy the sights, of busy grocers and bustling crowds, Tropenmuseum, Sarphati Park, Linnaeusstraat, Hogeweg, the fountain and the forbidden garden, School Straat, Prins Bernardlaan, the fences cast shadows like bridges on the path, of which the shadow of my bicycle runs over, the rusty chain rumbles, the poodle marks its spot, there, on that green, green patch, the birds flock above and about, the withered couple smoke on the patio, the child runs wild and free, air of joy and life, the occasional whiffs of weed, never mind, the wind chills the skin but the sun warms the soul, i record, i forget, i create all the loveliness that is Spring.

all good friends have moved out of diemen. no more breakfast/coffee moments in the kitchen or sunday dinners. i'm bored. a drought. nothing.