I am writing fireflies and my stocking is ripped. Not big, just a small nick. Got somehow caught in between the pedal of my bike and something else mysterious. Guerilla gardening.
Everyone’s soulmate, nobody’s partner.
He once told me that he felt I was writing especially for him. But one day he stopped reading and my writing continues. Still, It didn’t matter, because my writing is not a writing when he’s not there to read…
There is something so right about fireflies. The earthworms would wait for their time to hatch and fly out bringing tons of little lights. They would bring history with them like troubadours and fill your house with wings, encouraging it…
Once upon a rain in Boston, I fell down. Below the red carpet dusty megaphones were singing. Carol tides. Don’t you wanna go home, they said, I do. Well then just go home they said, I will. April would be…
AN ARTIST WHO CANNOT TRAVEL IS NO ARTIST http://tinyurl.com/4xnrobz
I woke up from a dream where the logic was, every time I would click on a YouTube link, my left neck would twitch. There was something fair and deserving about it, and so I just played along with it…
Like many others, Erica van Loon, one of my fellow artists at Kaap 2011, took some flowers home too. Nous ne notons pas les fleurs, Fort Ruigenhoek (2011) is commissioned by Kaap 2011/Stichting Storm. Photo courtesy of Erica van Loon.
Like always, these ducks were marching past a pond. Their feet flapped, muddling. One stopped in front of me, flapped its wings, and said: Yaaay. Softly. I was sitting down looking at them, with some friends. The spectacle of a…
Once upon a train in Tokyo.