On moving, change, leaving, having left:

The thing is, my life has been really fine. Perhaps at some point things begin to stick out, and my emotions pull and latch onto any thing remotely connected to myself as a personal tragedy. Or perhaps it actually was, in a sense, a personal tragedy. No right, no love, only a lack of ground to stand on. Only a person who has been swimming for fucking ever finding some solid ground to see what it feels like.

A lot of this just feels like clawing at a wall of water. I want it, it seems so solid, it seems that, if I just run head on into it it will be mine: the pain. finally if I could have it, that having a home, a place I can feel about. Or the pain of being truly truly upset about a lost relationship. I run at them, want to take them and make those feelings of loss mine. But they’re not. You can’t lose something you never really had. You can’t lose something you knew would be lost at one point, anyway.


Hai Long Bay; A description of Rocks.  20th of December,2017.

  • One (rock formation) stands straight; stoic and respectable like a Catholic monk bowing to his master. The garp hangs down into a straight line over his feet, barely hovering above the water.
  • Another looks as though an impressive entrance to an Angkor Wat temple has been carved into it – the entrance is guarded on the left side by the two-dimensional carvings of just two devotees looking towards it, kneeling and prosterning themselves respectfully.
  • And there!’s one where a barely worked canvas of stone has been angrliy ripped – one large gash created by a harsh slash from the center down.
  • Next, a fortress of stone, quite simply; the gate at the bottom, three towers (two thin, one larger, perhaps a central living area). Small guard towers shoot up most places along the outer walls.
  • A clear dragon’s ridge emerges ahead. That’s where one version of the myth makes sense; the dragon falling into the water, and, unable to get up, resting there permanently, mostly submerged with only a stony, or scaly, back emerging.
  • ——- Amongst these temples of stone, the ocean just shines, aggressing the eyes that attempt to look too hard —–
  • A mountain like a spearhead comes into view (we (a friend and I) are slowly progressing through these stones on an overcrowded boat – however, perched at the front, we are more or less peaceful as the boat advances). Next to it, a thicker one is still undergoing the process of being sharpened. Between these two products of local artisanat, a small, square yellow temple has erected itself on white sand, proudly asking for hommage.
  • Next up stalk in a collection of stones that look like giants; thick heavy arms laying on the water, heads hunched into shoulders. They could be godly guardians of the floating houses below, thickset rugby players or simply an overweight couple watching TV… who knows?
  • Amongst larger objects, three queens form a neat procession, demanding alliegance with a red, white and orange sceptre (which also, suitably, happens to be a good indication for boats on where they can pass).
    • Coming closer, I realise that there could be six figures, rather than three; all lined up in ranks of two. The two (or one) figures in front look down at something; a coffin or a cradle? One would need to see their expressions to know.

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