Tuesday, 16 August 2022

yesterday i was cooking for my-so-called-self because everyone is away and i was being a bit experimental and thinking, if it's inedible it only inconveniences me, so it's ok. and then i realised my writing block is partly fear of serving up an indigestible narrative and, because my so-called life forms the basis of the narrative i am writing and my own so-called life as it is now is as yet undigested (and indigestible probably), i have a problem. 

so is the solution to serve up a narrative from twelve years ago which has been well digested?! this one for example. it made me laugh because it reminds me of my favourite dutch writer who would have been completely cancelled if he was writing what he wrote then today. and yet...

Helmond = Hellmouth

i wanted to take this picture last time i was in Helmond (oh yes i've been there before, also on a computer related errand probably) but i was too tired to park the car and walk back, but when i was there yesterday i was determined and it's a better picture probably because the light was very even. the activity reminded me of a time in my life when the photograph was everything to me and i would go to any lengths to get it.

what this is about ...