José

    
file date: June 27, 2013

 

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The weight

  a cheroot's ashes drop gravity is a matter of time The tic-toc of the cheap wall clock … I really should throw that one out. Its loud sound makes time goes slower. Or so it seems. There's a certain grandmother-feel about it but in a sad way. It doesn't evoke strawberry flavoured memories, but those of loneliness, loss and having nothing more to hope for than days without illness. I often visited my maternal grandmother after grandfather died. She was a tiny woman with very bad eyesight – practically blind. And her loneliness, of which she never spoke, of course, filled her rooms with something I only gradually came to recognize. You can't take sorrow, loneliness and longing for the past away from people if that is all they have left; and you can't compensate for what they've lost. Remembering her face I can see how slow time passed for her those last years. ripples on the coffee a passing train at 2 o'clock ... file date: September 9,...
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Bus Ride/Bustur

Bus Ride and on the bus you get to sit next to a lady whose head suddenly cracks open and lets out a myriad of friendly youkai and you're forced out through the window riding a kettle heading for the purple door between a preacher's eyes the rest of the day you're a vending machine for calories nobody really needs “you'll be late late for mass,” she shouts smelling of mints and lavender water November Sunday some trees refuse to shed their leaves . Bustur og i bussen kommer du til at sidde ved siden af en kvinde hvis hoved flækker og slipper en myriade af venlige youkai ud og du presses ud gennem vinduet ridende på en kedel der har retning mod den lysrøde dør mellem en prædikants øjne resten af dagen er du en købeautomat for kalorier ingen har brug for ”du kommer for sent til gudstjenesten,” råber hun duftende af mentolbolsjer og lavendelvand novembersøndag nogle træer nægter at smide bladene … file date: November 16, 2014
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Honesty

  stepping stones a slow fox-trot through the pain of the world back home Talking about the new more or less compulsory (and fault ridden) electronic commuter's card I say: "I've never cheated. I've always paid for my travels. I haven't got the nerves to cheat", and dad says: "Neither have I" and it strikes me that I never in a million years would have suspected him for doing so. Not that I'm naive and see him as infallible but that he's an honest man. Clear and simple: an honest man. in a prolonged intercourse Bob and Alice furbish the quantum field Mum says nothing, but we're all glad that her weird spell of trying to cut up sausages with a pencil has passed and not shown itself again. no matter how ravaged the housing project on Mars lies bathed in December's moonlight … file date: December 15, 2013
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