Counting her visible ribs, playing them like a glockenspiel in my head, hollow, marrow sucked out.
El ano pasado, flashes of Spanish, I understand easily.
Aggressive front crawlers with flawed technique draw grumbles from surrounding bathers. Unwritten rules are being broken.
Old ladies with their hair pinned up, gossip & glide, gossip & glide.
Many shapes: compressed curves, scrambled edges, widths. It is good to see all these bodies. Still people try to say: this is me, you can tell by my sunglasses, by my gait and by who I'm with. Today I love this.
No longer longing for uniformity. Be full and multiply. Adorn yourself. Exclaim. No hate today.
Flesh spreads white and molten, careless.
Stripes florals polkas blocks florals polkas blocks stripes polkas florals blocks stripes.
Black and red ants gathering.
Colour and light, cool water, coffee with ice.
|Luc Tuymans: The Swimming Pool, 1989|