Tag: photography

Also, I guess there are ducks here now, for whatever raisins. They have been following me around and they are kind of jerks. The precise number it takes to tip a cadre of ducks over the line from “charming” into “sinister” is six, by the way.

Their appearance has also elevated the number of bird species milling around this house to Weird-Plague proportions. Their presence is upsetting the pheasants.

I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

When the End Times do come, I’m going to stay here and survive on peas. Or maybe I’ll try to eat that giant hairy thing, whatever it is. I think it’s a form of giant rhubarb that happens to sound like a venereal disease, but then most things do in Latin. (Gunnera.)

Ephemera.

1. Met this fox-like mongrel in the park and played Fetch at his insistence. He did not understand the rules and refused to surrender a stick once Fetched, so I kept throwing more to see how many he could carry at one time. (His max was five.)

2. Sustained multiple rope burns. This one looks remarkably like a high heel, which might be the universe’s way of telling me I am too glamorous for physical labour.

3. Giant freakish vegetables, I don’t know why the garden is doing this.

4. Photographic print found in a second-hand travel book about Patagonia.

5. Underdrawing for a painting I never got around to, sketched on cardboard and sealed with green-tinged glue.

6. Shoes I inexplicably don’t FINALLY own.

7. Lately I have spent too many mornings sitting hungover in the sunshine on this boardwalk, nursing manifold regrets.

8. Illustration of Sappho looking unimpressed, found in a children’s history book.

9. Footbridge downstream. This river is an umbilical cord, I can’t seem to detach.

10. A buzzard, I’m told.

found my river in the wetlands, and went to a small old graveyard that had a felled tree lying amidst the tombs for additional, heavy-handed symbolism.

summerrrr. things keep living, things keep dying.

Stumbling through woods to find a way up to the old railway line. Hasn’t been a train through here for the better part of sixty years but there are hoofprints in the sand and the squirrel knows more than he’s telling.

they have a whale eyeball in a jar and a depressed ex-con crab that can’t adjust to life on the outside, and they make an effort to replicate features of the natural habitat e.g. traffic cones in order to make the sea-life feel more at home.

i want to live here.