There was a time when my handwriting was like a line of the tiniest ants of all ants

Now it’s slightly larger. But I still think it looks like ants desperately queuing to get somewhere they haven’t yet been. The matchboxes I’ve been making lately are more simple and hold more words. And I’ve been writing in English as well. I guess at some point it gets frustrating to write to yourself alone. I’m going to show you eight of the matchboxes now and the rest at a later date. (As always.)

When I first moved away from home about eight years ago, I took a small collection of newspaper clippings with me, mostly just random images and some small poems. And for some years I had a wall covered with those images and words, some of them were smaller than stamps some a bit larger than a postcard. I didn’t really care about the subjects so much, I was always looking for a perfect color to add to my collection. And the collection grew, and my walls grew. I moved from one room to another and then into the first real apartment and the whole mosaic moved as well. I’m sick of blu-tack. So it was time to do something with my random old people and pretty young people and leaves and trees and lakes. This is what happened.






More.

I’ve burnt my skin too many times this year (not even slightly tanned though! that’s what my super sunscreen is good for). And it’s like the summer just begun. Hay fever & heatwave.

Under the trees


When you look up and see something other than a lamp that needs fixing, you know you’re doing great. It’s been rainy and cold, but I’ve still been out a lot. I think I’ve had enough of my wet, squeaky jeans and wet, squeaky shoes for a while now.

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