14 December 2009
24 November 2009
I used to want to tear the world apart and put it back together again. Now I am just weary. My eyes are dry and sleepy. The cause is a mystery. I am watching Who Gets to Call it Art. And I don't know, who? Why? I began writing this only to remind myseld of an incredible artist whom I had never heard of until the show at the Musee D'Art in Paris... James Ensor, now I must learn to post images.
Walter is upstairs painting, this makes me happy.
I cannot wait to do something great. This is all I ever wanted.
23 November 2009
I am trying many things here. I am practicing patience, I think. I was in Paris last week, or maybe the week before. I found an amazing shoppe called Journal Standard Luxe. I cannot find a website, or any amazing photographs. Or anything. The card I received is cryptic. Why?
and I still cannot.
and I still cannot.
I am trying to figure this out. Sitting in Darla's living room I was convinced to give this a go. Of course Darla had the brilliant idea - when I feared NOT writing in my journal because of this - that I scan my journal pages. Amazing. I shall, but first I must learn this language. And I must also learn how to scan.
10 April 2009
This is just for a place to put things. I have a house full of vacant pages, yet I have decided that my fingers, to-nite, shall be more effective than the pen. It was Søren who begged for The Great Escape for we had been, all of this magnificent day, inside of the house. It is Friday night and though THursday is the night for trash in these parts, a holiday of sorts, brought this great fortune to me. (Perhaps there, um, is a god?) I have nearly forgotten about the wonders that can be found in other peoples trash but to-nite I was reminded and walked up and down the streets looking. There was nothing. The searchers surely, having an extra day for thorough searching have likely gathered all of the gold. Having nearly finished Utz alloud as we walked, Søren and I decided to gather dinner. The streets were crowded, leading us, afterwards to take the dark roads. A lonely house by 95 shined in a street lamp. A very dirty creature in front of the house was a-glow in the same light. And then I saw a wrist with a hospital band on it. And a face. and another. The man welcomed me, "baabclothes? awroo looking?" "Babbclothes?" there were more words, but without teeth, the sounds were not familiar.