through nightly mists I beckon
for you to strike out alone
and meet me, on the moor
come rain or come shine
I’m not like an ordinary world.
I have my madness,
I live in another dimension
and I do not have time for things
that have no soul.”
― Bukowski (or perhaps not)
“We need to sit on the rim
of the well of darkness
and fish for fallen light
I want to fall
and to shatter
and to put myself back together
A solitary quiet moment in 2015 in granny’s kitchen when she’s shuffled off to the bathroom. A respite and yet always a premonition of the emptiness of her kitchen without her in it. Sister post to “yellow roses // to love, and to remember” (January 2015).
One raw night of wildcamping in the forests around “die Haard”.
I remember with lucid certainty that several people walked by down the path at night while I was tossing and turning in my tent trying to sleep, but I am also quite sure that they were on the way to a kind of ball-like birthday party in an old ruin lit by fires, so…
I know I know, my obsession with having the sun as an element in my pictures is getting out of hand, but I can’t help it. For now.