From the Notebook Vol. 3

[…]

No shortage of living today… capital L! Wandering about like a Lost One. Like a Born-again One. The sand of the beach, the brown burned bodies. Unwiggleable, lickable. The boorish coastline, filled with disfigured villas & animal flats. The Sun... and the Shadows. Bend over, pounding on the pedals, over ran-down asphalt and painted tar. On! On! Forward!

You know, this writing of mine is complete shite of course. Once upon a time, I could write like bewitched. Especially something like four years ago, on dirty grey notepad paper, disposable paper... in places like Arles and Lisbon. Words flew out of my pen like barbarous & colourful swarms freed from the aviary. And even though it proved later to be worth very little, or was often completely embarrassing tripe, by alcohol intake and corresponding sentimentality, still… I mean, still... I could write!

These days, when I want to write… I begin to think first. Classic mistake: he who ponders, blunders*…  Quite ugly wordplay this too, come to think of it. So I go Thinking… then Rethinking, whether or not it makes any sense. It rarely does of course, but that’s not something you should ask yourself. Just create like a motherfucker and ask yourself later if it can be knead, cut & kicked into something sensible! […]

The shadow falls on my paper/ and the steps/ her ankle/ and the hollow knee

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The immaterial becomes dust of yellow and blue, stone and oil

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As if one is scratching at the scabs of layers of callous and worms and strings are severely strung over combs of tuberculosis, of suckling and sway over deeply depraved reason. Wanting Priests... ghosts. Folk wanting stones with two tongues, preferably dead, better than alive. But my forms and my toes are rocking like drunken macaws. White macaws with preposterous yellow crests.

This is a way to live… overlandish.

To trot, rebellious, pure, a lichen tamer**, greenly in love and greyly liberated from the King who came over the Mountains. The animals who licked themselves after a short, wild sigh, yawning.

Like that.

*Orig. ‘wie denkt, verengd’= he who thinks, narrows.
**Orig. ‘meeuwentemmer’= seagull tamer, as opposed to ‘leeuwentemmer’ = lion tamer.

Alas, I no longer have the possibility to scan my drawings so you'll have to make do with primitive hand-held camera shots...