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The English Writer
Thoughts to words to thoughts…
![The English Writer](/_next/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Ffirebasestorage.googleapis.com%3A443%2Fv0%2Fb%2Fprompt-6db57.appspot.com%2Fo%2Fusers%252F4ge8qOmMXhc2wqLbsT8qXF7meKh1%252Fprofile_image_128x128.jpg%3Falt%3Dmedia%26token%3Daaf9b56c-78a9-494c-aedd-cd006c866b35&w=256&q=75)
The English Writer
Thoughts to words to thoughts…
Thoughts to words to thoughts…
Thoughts to words to thoughts…
Think of a stone floor
Where if you fall from a great height
You will only crash and crumble
Focus your thoughts once more
Hovering over a trampoline, in flight
Bouncing, flying, turn and tumble
——————
Floating like a lonely feather 🪶
Or on the wing in windy weather
Soaring over fluffy clouds
——————
It is only through softness
By giving way to another
That we reach our potential
For eve...
Windows in the aftermath of a war zone
battered shutters hanging on one hinge
Breeze blowing through frames into homes
Glinting shrapnel shards in things
Glass that used to keep elements out
Along with the sounds of invaders
Taking their spoils unimpeded
Rich in the things we once needed
Like bread
We walk amongst rubble and the dead
At least the bombs have stopped
The streets no longer liq...
What a year
Seeing so much
Or perhaps sea-ing
Rough seas
Although often dead calm, shock
Experiencing weightlessness
While bearing an unfathomable load
Like some vast ship, full of cargo
Brimful of baggage
Heavy, yet floating
In the middle of nowhere
In some vast darkness
Beyond the pull of Gravity...
Clouds roll by. The sky extends into a vast distance.
I have my legs crossed, and kind of melt, turning 180 degrees through the ground.
Now the clouds roll below me like some vast white ocean. I’m sitting alone at the top of a mountain.
I breathe deeply, closing my eyes to take in all of the fresh, thin mountain air.
I watch the clouds for what feels like hours.
Endless hours of peaceful so...
A black and white photo, dated 1910
Full of children, women and men
Children who since became old,
Women and men
Images. Snapshots of a bygone decade
Repeat over, and over again
We are but little raindrops in time who fade
A circular ripple on a pond
Here for a fleeting moment
And then we’re gone...
It’s been 70 years.
Not a word in sight. Or in mind.
People have ceased to think, because they have no words to turn over and to transform in their minds.
The words we do use are no longer concrete. They have no anchor.
Over time THE permanently became DE. Cat and car both became ca, depending on the local dialect.
Signatures and contracts have long since become hieroglyphs that descended fr...
A cool October morning.
I waited for the metro at an above ground station, Pétillion. Tuesday morning rush hour in Brussels, Belgium.
Nobody goes to, or even thinks of Brussels. But the politicians do. It’s the home of the European Parliament, and of NATO, the most powerful military coalition in the history of mankind, led by the U.S.A.
And this week the United States will sign its first expor...
Jan the watchmaker
Lives in a small apartment at the top of an old house. He sleeps in a single bed, in a somewhat dark attic and loves to read by candlelight.
He often lays awake in the faint warm glow, thinking of little gears. Turning.
Tiny ticks of constant movement, mimicking celestial motions. Jan often thinks of this connection on nights where he lets the moonlight shine through his win...
I’m a fleshy camera
Dangling on an optic nerve
Hanging from the eye socket
Of a dying soldier
Memories are flashing
As I, eye, or we lie here
Surrounded by blurry flashes
And blurry figures rushing around
Eye am fading away
Memories of the last few months
Are also flashing before me. Us
Fear. I have seen true fear
Others moments before meeting
My currently unfolding situation
Starvation...