Hello dearest subscribers, I have misled you! my work is now being posted at chilling with gwilym along with other interesting things that crop up. you know like photos of trees, videos of bubbles, poems for girls with nice legs…

see you there!

Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on you. Fool me thrice, shaman’s price.

We’re all going to die someday, so why not die every day?

Chat Noir (via Bram1978)

Chat Noir, a short film by Bram Griffioen. A man, led astray by the safe path, has lost his job and takes a trip to Paris, only to find himself haunted by a black cat.

Voiced by yours truly.

The text here is Masha, written by a friend of mine, Maggy van Eijk. She’s recently relocated to NYC with her boyfriend, and she writes a hell of a lot. She has a tumblr log, too.

Every day you feel tired. A drowsy fog wraps itself around your body. In physical form you imagine it to be a deep grey, smelling of stale cigarettes and solidified tears and it coils around your neck, your ankles, seeping in and out of your body. You can’t move, you’re wading through murky water and it’s inescapable and you’re drowning.

Every day you feel sad. Not a sadness that comes with disappointment or bad news or any other emotional stab you know you can overcome. No this sadness is darker and it’s bottomless and it involves realizing you will never feel the way you used to, a devastating realization, like a coma patient waking up to learn that he will never be able to walk again. You will never smile again, or tell a joke or enjoy someone else’s company. It’s just you and the gaping hole where a different life used to be.

You stop taking care of yourself, you don’t shower because it won’t make you feel any different. You don’t eat because you still feel the same afterwards. Nothing will satisfy you; everything tastes like rubber. Basic human necessities become futile chores that take up too much effort. So you sit in your own filth waiting and wading from sleep to sleeplessness, eventually forgetting the difference between the two.

You drift in and out of dusty rooms like a distant relative at a funeral, lurking behind the trees, staring at an unrecognizable corpse, trying to remember who it is you are mourning but not being close enough to see.

Fly bumps the window

Held by what it cannot see

It might get tired

Here’s a song I’ve been working on with Tilt the Head. It’s a story about a girl, her friend, a swimming pool, and destiny. It’s long, and you’d probably enjoy it most on a bus or bicycle. I wish I had more to say about this text but I think I’ve got to let it stew for a bit.

This is about the split between the past, and how complicated it is — and today (where we can do anything). It’s also about a piece of software.

Let’s write a book.

Björk talking about her TV (via igorbuenocorrea)

“You should never let a poet lie to you.”

A speech by the late David Foster Wallace

How to think?

A few months ago, while travelling, I bumped into an old friend.

She had changed a bit. Quite a lot, actually.

Used to be quite loud. But now she had quietened down.

It actually made her a lot more pretty. So I asked her if she wanted to get a drink.

While we talked, I saw that this new quietness wasn’t just superficial —

it went down a lot deeper than that.

So I asked her, what happened to you?

—-

Music by Emiel den Exter of Tilt the Head and animation by yours truly. I’ll also be performing to the full audio version of this song at the Paard Café, June 4th.