There are things we speak of and things we don’t. Sometimes we don’t have the words. I do have the words, but I know how narratives twist and evolve on each retelling. Exposition, revelation, repetition. This Ghent story means a lot to me, but I don’t really like writing about it. It’s a medieval pilgrimage with high speed trains. It’s me before the encased altarpiece. It’s me in the Ibis hotel room, sleepless, waiting for the place to open, listening to the Suede album. It’s that fish burger. A little something of all this is lost every time that I try to tell it. Okay. This bit is done. LOVELY STUFF.
There are things we speak of and things we don’t. Sometimes we don’t have the words. I do have the words, but I know how narratives twist and evolve on each retelling. Exposition, revelation, repetition. This Ghent story means a lot to me, but I don’t really like writing about it. It’s a medieval pilgrimage with high speed trains. It’s me before the encased altarpiece. It’s me in the Ibis hotel room, sleepless, waiting for the place to open, listening to the Suede album. It’s that fish burger. A little something of all this is lost every time that I try to tell it. Okay. This bit is done. LOVELY STUFF.