38

38 and counting. angry americans. i hope i dont go crazy. i hope i do. cute boys. i miss my cute boys. aeroplanes are such a tease.

39

1pm. PJH. 39. Procrastination.

44

My friend's first photograph with a cheap analogue camera i gave him on our last weekend together, a portrait of me in my bedroom at 12 laura. cross processed.

44 en

Bathroom II, 2006

Bathroom, 2006

44

A book i made this year that hung on the wall. Entitled: The Undergarments of Character Incision. Inside is a collection of photographs, stories and poetry which are sewn and pasted together.

45

55 donker avonden

fourty five

Ik slaap in brievenbussen wachtend op brieven,
Ik slaap in enveloppen wachtend op brieven,
Ik slaap in sigaret dienblad wachten voor telefoongesprekken,
hoewel mijn telefoon is onheilspellend en stil en oorverdovend in zijn het opleggen aanwezigheid.

48 days till

drinking awful red and looking at romantic necks. inspiring numbness.

and through these transformations between
naked boys and naked owls we howl at the moon.
because we know that we'll be always
and always will be we sitting and staring
and listening and photographing.
Endlessly, irrevocably
down to earth.
I hope you can justify the things i see, the things i steal,
i hope to collect enough souls to mend my trousers, and to mend our shower door. it's broken.

missing my soul

photographs to remind me of memories. of tiny moments, that these tiny fragments represent. too little to never get bored of.

fifty two and counting up

video stills from Movement 38 seconds, 2006.

The video piece was made up of one photograph, (new years 05-06, Holga, fujichrome velvia 100), that i cropped into 38 frames. The individual images are on screen for 1 second and slowly fade into one another. The work is backed with the first 40 seconds of The Mars Volta's L'Via L'Viaquez, (Franics the Mute).

56

56. i have a momentary forgetfulness of where i am and my kitty and i both peer into the mirror we hurl ourselves out and lick our paws, simultaneously.

58 for two days

typewriters sit ominous
in puddles

and missing jongen
and missing miesje
ziggy stardust is at my door

naked and erect
starlight genitals
for 58 days

58

He sent me a photograph of a white bird, dead in mirky water, and slowly drifting.
Secretly pried upon,
the dead white bird,
laying upset in a mirky pond,
...and he slowly walks by and shares few thoughts with the dead white bird,
...and she walks down an open but dark street and wonders.
Sharing few thoughts with the passing road and few thoughts with the photograph of the dead white bird. And photographs smere, and photographs leak, and photographs are decaying in reverse. The grass is freshly cut and sneezes break the air and i'm listening to the early 90's. Phone books sit under telephones and under telephones, homeless. Inboxes sit empty and still, still i'm thinking of you. Down to 58.