There is a manner in which certain things ask to be written, not so that they may be found, but because to exist in silence, for too long, eventually becomes insufficient. It is not urgency. It is something closer to a necessity that makes no noise, waiting patiently until it discovers the proper form. This archive was born in such a way.
Not as a diary. Not as a blog. Not as something that is updated merely for the sake of appearing alive. It is a place where certain thoughts come to rest, those which do not dissolve, those which return, those which insist with the silent obstinacy of things that truly belong to you...
The canals are almost black at night now, which makes every reflection look impossible. # Walked again after dinner. Black water. Light breaking into long pieces. Cold air. I photographed...
December keeps placing little lights against darkness as if the argument can be won by persistence. # Lights everywhere now. Festival lights, Christmas lights, shop lights, windows, tree. I know...
Sunday did not request documentation, so naturally I am documenting it. # Late coffee. Tree lights on before dark because I could. Laundry. Food. Phone calls home. A walk. Tea....
I stopped trying to make myself aesthetically consistent years ago and life improved immediately. # Pink, black, gold. Perfume. Boots. Country. Hardcore. Museums. CSS. Football. Christmas lights. Gabber memories. Tea...
Yesterday country Christmas. Tonight hardcore. The tree remains neutral. # Hardcore Christmas, which mostly means hardcore while a Christmas tree happens to be present. The combination is visually ridiculous and...
Country singers apparently possess a legal obligation to record Christmas music, and tonight I am grateful for it. # Country Christmas in the kitchen. Too much singing from me. Appropriate...
Smell reaches memory before language has put its shoes on. # The house smells like Christmas tonight. Warm food, something sweet, candles, tree, perfume. It sent me backward for a...
Winter windows show you two worlds at once, the street outside and the room reflected over it. # Our windows tonight held Amsterdam and our Christmas tree at the same...
I have spent an unreasonable amount of time looking at the tree instead of the television. # Tree on. Main lights low. Tea. Four biscuits. I sat on the sofa...
A Christmas tree always looks slightly absurd for the first ten minutes and completely necessary after the lights go on. # Tree. Lights. Decorations. Music. Something warm to drink. Boxes...
Sinterklaas has barely left and I have already mentally installed Christmas. Efficiency. # Now Christmas. Tree tomorrow. I have decorations out. Yuri has accepted his fate. Remember me, Eclipse.
December fifth belongs to two calendars in this house, and one of them began long before Amsterdam. # Sinterklaas outside, thirteen years of Yuri and me inside. December fifth has...
Why?
Because every thought leaves a trace. If something moved you, disturbed you, softened you, or made you think, leave it here, quietly.