“Shipped on a large vessel of a fish-catching
or scientific explorationatory nature, traveling the icy northern waters, and
what the thoughts are, gazing at the foggy
horizons, hanging over a railing, following sea birds with my eyes… Or an all devouring
love, setting new standards in insanity, annihilating you and me, time and day, the world, the Gods… an all-sacrificing
love between me and a 29-year old red-haired Japanese laboratory worker in the
field of crop seed breeding… Or how my the neighbour from number 85 was found out to have brutally
murdered the neighbour girl from 83, or, preferably, the other way around; who would have thought, the spindly,
pale, blond Russian girl, possessed with raging jealousy and homicidal tendencies… Or
a tale of an experimental program in alchemy, a roulette system, spiritualistic
practices, setting up a catalogue for various garden, cloud (poetic) or shadow
types… The endless reflections on life & being while fishing or cycling, sitting on a park bench or flying a kite… Or a
new job, new buildings, new people, a new place to live, preferably abroad, or on
some remote island… There are so many
topics I’d have been thrilled to have kept a journal about, but apparently –
because my lust for writing seems to be not very great – this does not apply to
this one.”
My own words on March 3rd 2011
in a journal about the state of my soul.
My lust for commenting seems to be not very great.
ReplyDeleteYour mouth says no, but your face says differently, Dave. Hê hê... Isn't this just the perfect blog: one man not wanting to write and another not wanting to comment? It's so zen. (Why am I hearing my inner voice done by Woody Allen?)
ReplyDelete'Lust' was perhaps a strange choice of words. I made it deliberately, for want of a better alternative, but perhaps it sticks out too much now. Never mind.
ReplyDelete