09. november 2025
sitting under the fig tree
sun song bird
far east serenade volume two*
i followed a cat strolling around the garden. it first walked behind at close distance. but in a another part of the garden surpassed and took the lead. a white-reddish spotted one, walking through yellow-coloured leaves, the light on its back changing, shadows of trees. me being here is me being here. at the same time i feel i still have some sense of how i did feel being here, and really being here is somewhere else i cannot find anymore. not just a shadow placed there.
a leaf just slowly made its way down, touched my notebook through my legs, to the ground. this soft soft sound of the leaves falling, touching plants, the ground, some light wind and the sounds start growing, all around me. it stops, slightly fading away, and fading in again. i like the spatial drops they make, a curtain of soft drops all around. this writing calms, as does sitting in the sun by myself. now a yellow leaf just landed on my notebook, another brown one too. the colours so intense in the autumn light. such a beautiful day. but i feel haunted by a spectre.
*i found that japanese book some time ago on the street – a small paperback, flower-patterned cover in yellow. i liked the haptics of the paper, so it moved with me. the page with the title, its vertical line in center, stayed in my notebook, same size–it’s a fit. what is the book about? serenade: music, a song performed for someone, by moonlight, outside, at night. so i have the moon in my pocket?
02. november 2025
_i've started writing some notes, since yesterday.
_i feel i lost myself. again.
_i want to have a typewriter to put me into words.
_i drink a coffee.
_i ripped out a page from an exhibition brochure. now there are four scars—three in the paper, the staple cut, one on the image.
_how can i say unrelated things? all the things around me relate to one another.
09. november 2025
sitting under the fig tree
sun song bird
far east serenade volume two*
i followed a cat strolling around the garden. it first walked behind at close distance. but in a another part of the garden surpassed and took the lead. a white-reddish spotted one, walking through yellow-coloured leaves, the light on its back changing, shadows of trees. me being here is me being here. at the same time i feel i still have some sense of how i did feel being here, and really being here is somewhere else i cannot find anymore. not just a shadow placed there.
a leaf just slowly made its way down, touched my notebook through my legs, to the ground. this soft soft sound of the leaves falling, touching plants, the ground, some light wind and the sounds start growing, all around me. it stops, slightly fading away, and fading in again. i like the spatial drops they make, a curtain of soft drops all around. this writing calms, as does sitting in the sun by myself. now a yellow leaf just landed on my notebook, another brown one too. the colours so intense in the autumn light. such a beautiful day. but i feel haunted by a spectre.
*i found that japanese book some time ago on the street – a small paperback, flower-patterned cover in yellow. i liked the haptics of the paper, so it moved with me. the page with the title, its vertical line in center, stayed in my notebook, same size–it’s a fit. what is the book about? serenade: music, a song performed for someone, by moonlight, outside, at night. so i have the moon in my pocket?
02. november 2025
_i've started writing some notes, since yesterday.
_i feel i lost myself. again.
_i want to have a typewriter to put me into words.
_i drink a coffee.
_i ripped out a page from an exhibition brochure. now there are four scars—three in the paper, the staple cut, one on the image.
_how can i say unrelated things? all the things around me relate to one another.