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The Self - beheaded
I imagined my death this morning: In a car crash or by a bullet. I felt sorry for myself. I cried over my corpse for a while. Soon after I started talking of cows, of the government, of how expensive life is nowadays, And I felt better, a little bit good. I meant to tell you that I am really ill. As if without skin, hurt by the air around, wounded by the sun, by words, by dreams. An annoying devil has climbed on the back of my head and doesn't leve me alone. Ulcerous, rotten, I have to live crawling, on all fours, slowly, any way I can. [Jaime Sabines (1926-1999)]
Walmer and Deal revisited
Three images of the coast around Deal and Walmer
The angels's rest
The angels' rest...
Early blossom: Hern Hill - Kent
Light, colour and textures: the subject of this essay.
White Cliffs at dusk
The White Cliffs of Dover before the storm...
Serkhe Khollu: Five views of a Mountain
Serkhe Khollu is a mountain within a section of the Andean Cordillera, Serranía de Murillo, Department of La Paz, Bolivia
I saw these spring onions and had to do something about it.