Looking For Ayla

I was bored on the train to Saint-Ghislain when an ebony goddess sat next to me. The twenty-something took her smartphone out of the bag with her extended nails and started tapping on a few keys. Her perfume was penetrating. A little later she stopped and only shoved her long black finger from bottom to top. Unashamedly I read a fraction of the Old Testament. Unexpected image manipulation.

Elliott Plays

When I finally went to check after hearing someone shouting 'hello', I found the little guy in this position. Clamped, and perhaps already in a cramp. He was unable to take any further action. I soon felt guilty for taking this photo before finally releasing it from the plight. But everything always turns out fine.

Solitude Is Everything

The man comes running, briefcase in his left hand, shirt in pants, slightly irritated facial expression, and on closer inspection also slightly smelling of salty sweat. The woman who was already sitting on the couch smokes a cigarette, staring at nothing. She puts the cigarette between her stiff lips, sucks so hard that her cheeks dent, rips it out again and lets some smoke escape to quickly inhale it again. Her tongue claps. Through the small hole between her upper and lower lip she blows out the inhaled smoke for seconds. The soft wind lets the remaining cloud pass by me.

Dark Woods

The heat hung over me like a sword of Damocles. A forest would soften the body temperature. The full moon that had free rein at that time, nestled on the other side of the earth, turned it into a mysterious experience. I was sleepwalking.

Black Widow

The world seems to have changed completely for a moment. Sometimes, sporadically, a fear can overtake you. A fear that is completely hidden under the skin and takes your breath away. As if you are driving in a group, in equal rows (according to the symbolic one and a half meters) on a black motorway, to an unknown destination. And nobody knows where you will end up.

Nordic Shimmer

Peace. Silence. These are gradations that must constantly be reduced in this raging twenty-first century world. We live and work in a soundtrack of constant noise usually generated by ourselves. I have to run, jump, fly, dive, fall, get up and go on again. I don't know if I always have been or if I started to develop later on, but count me among the highly sensitive souls. I pick up too many stimuli at once that I find difficult to select. I process impressions in slow motion, but intuitively I am focused. It is a character trait like any other.
Give me a thin landscape, like Iceland, which I visited in 2009.
From that moment on the search for silence began.

Leaving Town

A Belgian tragedy took place today, in Asse. I was expected there for an epidural infiltration with corticosteroids. In human language: a thick syringe in the back with some traction and resistance to find the right place for destruction, the hernia. I used to sit in an ugly chair with an infusion in my arm. Before that I had a drop in blood pressure, which went just a bit too fast to recover. And before that the nurse had pierced me twice, and I had enough of all of this already. Before that I was on the bus with an empty stomach and very little faith. From Brussels to Asse.

Many thanks to creative soulmate Tom Warmoes
for his inspiring pictures and insight in his work.

www.tomwarmoes.be
www.facebook.com/tom.warmoes
www.instagram.com/tom___ski