Sunday, August 26, 2007

Drop by drop

The hot sun struck the backs of their close-shaven necks. It was a peaceful, uneventful, glorious Sunday afternoon.
Yet Kiyoaki remained convinced that at the bottom of this world, which was like a leather bag filled with water, there
was a little hole, and it seemed to him that he could hear time dripping from it, drop by drop.

from Spring Snow by Yukio Mishima

Saturday, August 25, 2007

At the Beginning of Each Season

Last day of summer, first day of fall, light is changing.

Monday, August 20, 2007

Hyggliga och föraktfulla cirkusbetjänter

Han hade sett alltför många kollegor som "stupat i manegen ... utsläpade ur ljuset av hyggliga och föraktfulla cirkusbetjänter."

Ingmar Bergman citerad i DN, 19 augusti 2007

Friday, August 17, 2007

Dirt on the ground, shadow of a tree

While searching for another picture yesterday I found this instead. I'm not sure where it comes from or
how it ended up in that drawer, I think perhaps it's from one of my family's holiday in the sixties before
I was born. I don't know why an uncertain origin always seem to add more beauty to a photograph.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

I'm not a person in this dream - I'm a place

I had this dream
and in it
I wake up in this small house
somewhere in the tropics.
And it's very hot and humid.
And all these names and faces
are somehow endlessly moving through me.
Not that I see them exactly,
I'm not a person in this dream;
I'm a place.
Yeah... a kind of a... just a place.
And I have no eyes, no hands,
and all these names and faces just keep...
they keep passing through. And there's no... no scale.
Just a lot of details.
Just a slow accumulation of details.

from Laurie Anderson's United States Live

Monday, August 13, 2007


They clothed me and gave me money. I knew what the money was for, it was to get me started.
When it was gone I would have to get more, if I wanted to go on. The same for the shoes, when
they were worn out I would have to get them mended, or go on barefoot, if I wanted to go on.

from The End by Samuel Beckett