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Where do we go when we yearn for something beyond actual memory, beyond knowledge of our actual being; when we suspect, realise or recognise that there is more to us than what we remember of our own experience? We have to go back before our time, into our heritage, into

I accept that tastes change, and my favorite readings will someday be lost in a distant, nostalgic past. I accept that words survive, and each generation puts them into new forms. I accept that all I have written may be lost forever in the course of time. My website gone

Our family archives are like maps that haunt and guide us toward paths past-travelled and directions unknown. We travel through these archives that offer up new stories and collections of data. We gain insight into intimate conversations, letters, behaviours and movements, juxtaposed with categorisations of people, places, landscapes and objects.

Why do you never find anything written about that idiosyncratic thought you advert to, about your fascination with something no one else understands? Because it’s up to you. There’s something you find interesting for a reason that’s hard to explain. It is hard to explain because you

I think poets live in a world that is maybe a tissue-thin layer away from the divine. So I am always reading poetry in order to sidle up, through their words, into something more ecstatic. I think we need to boot our mobile phones into the ocean, and walk around

That nothing good ever goes down a straight road. You have to go through all these different things that are quite hard. And You’ll find your way eventually, if you are curious enough. I kind of wish I’d been a bit happier in those days. A bit more

Is specifically a middle-aged crisis. It comes after decades of world-building, making a family, making a career, making meaning. And then there’s this crisis that interrupts it. There is a reckoning in middle age, it’s a tragic sense that you have been formed by things, and sent hither