I attempt to describe, illustrate to get my thoughts and ideas down on paper. Will I ever be able to express what I struggle to say, to describe ? The limitations of language that lay upon me and beyond that, those of the writer.

How does it start, with a thought and idea? One word which leads to another and another, building slowly into a whole. And in the vague horizon a book. Is it beyond my reach? I don't have the means of expression. How can I make the words come alive, to touch those who will read what I will eventually write?

So much written, and then rewritten innumerable times, then rewritten, extinguished, lost, evoked and a clear sentence, once familiar, becomes enigmatic as it passes, in silence, from life to death, while the original thought disappears under the ever flowing words. Words constantly rise up and tumble from my brain onto the screen, like threads of some substance, clinging. I distinguish them but not with great clarity. There is something fragile in their emerging disorder. A code, a signal, a confusion of words!

The dreamed of, implausible words flowing, growing, expanding. Don't flee from me! A central word in a phrase discovered, which serves as a base for the others that come after. What a review of palindronic words. I experiment, with phrases and ideas. Cut, paste, at last it's complete. Then take it apart again, alter it, I take away a word here and there. The words stare at me. Somehow their exact meaning has been lost and they've become ambiguous.


Words and more words, a play of words scrabbling to unravel ...