So my studies of Chinese (that will eventually led to some kind of art, I just don't know i which form yet) has at least helped me understand how the language works. My notebook The Chinese language has

These days I use too much time on writing Chinese. I do other things as well of course, but my thought are very much captured in the realm of Chinese literature. I dictionary read poems from all eras and

My new passion - Chinese calligraphy. Not sure what I am going to do with it, but the poetry I have read doing this is intensely beautiful. So one day I will probably be a mediocre Chinese calligrapher.

Slowly getting into the habit of writing short and fast. Behind lies a thousand drafts. Of life lived Rubbish collected and put into collections To be dusted and flown into some sort of form - an internetform.

9 month or something like that since I last did social media. Here is an update. Last December I began writing a book based on ultra short stories that I had written here on Hive. Now it is finished and

At the age of two she impressed everyone by being able to recognise complex words and speak complex sentences. At three, her father engaged special teachers so that her talents would not be wasted. At

My free writing is not as free as one might expect. It goes back into the dry tumbler, getting damper for every iteration. But it is a continuation of an approach to making art that I have had as one of

Ornate Deal Arctic Rivals #Blast# Button Firefly

Some more of my Inktober drawings. Heavy Sweep Sting Shredded Drink Trunk Ragged Blunder

He was wild and bald. His long, grey beard reached all the way to the ground. His body was wrinkled, white birthmarks and scars covered it, and waves emanated from it – madness, growth, longing, the need

In the seventies you would meet Musk Man at a bar. You would take him home and offer him tequila – put on Annie’s Song. Dance. He smelled of sweat (because of the polyester shirts) and musk (as it was

Raiment of purple silk and gold jewellery, exposed white breasts with light-red nipples, dark brown hair and a crown. Smoke from bronze lamps with embers of juniper and rosemary. A warm evening breeze

We begin at a small patch of grass, grey and faded yellow, full of blue and red sweet wrappers, cigarette ends, woodlice. In front of it a concrete slab lies with asphalt on the opposite side, and more

Sea The two hemispheres of his brain, port and starboard, were coalescing. From his boat he could see a bay where fires burned. It was beach scavengers waiting for him. A bridge was built across the wild

Now tell me - are you sad… angry? I understand that you had an incident. Your dog pulled you into a hole. You must trust me, I am here to help. I know I look odd, but I can assure you that my help is always

A rose in a fair and orderly garden grew, above a sensitive plant. The light of the sun landed on the rose leaves of poesy, and not a single ray reached the self-styled sensational plant in the bottom

Crawling up the smooth tunnel someone once carved into this mountain. Afraid of losing my grip, slipping, sliding downwards to the bottom where it all began. Where everything begins. It is a long story.

You could say they were walking. Under the white sky. Above the black earth. You could say that much. Moving their legs. Her big dog hovering nearby, knowing that something was wrong. She cried. He cried

It was morning. The deer stood very still in the clearing. It had caught their scent. They stood just as still, not to scare it. Somewhere up the hill behind it were Karga and Smilla ready with the spears.

I have been making some small drawings for the holy month of illustrators - Inktober. This time I choose to do it in the same low resolution format - closer to the pixels you can say. Here they are: Moustache