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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)]
Somewhere in London
Views from Greenwich Park in monochrome
Cassiel
Archangel Cassiel, the domain of solitude and tears...
Knole Park, funghi and a deer
A walk in Knole Park and some details along the path...
The Window
Isolation seems to be the feeling one gets these strange times, full of uncertainty and peril...
The Passage
" The action or process of moving through or past somewhere on the way from one place or state to another"
Storm clouds over Waterloo Bridge
On a memorable day: 25 April, 2016... Going home
Ancient trees in Winter
After a frustrating couple of weeks, I managed to recover my vision: trees in Greenwich Park
Roses...
My fascination for decay and stability:two contradictory forces at play, as well as dark and light...
Autumn harvest
Some sweet Kentish apples on a bed of dead leaves...