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Connemara (2005)
john luke chapman
Category Archives: Location
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Road To Nowhere (2004)
john luke chapman
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Mr Beckett’s Holiday (2002)
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Love · Labour · Loss (2009)
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Og Fegurðin Mun Ríkja Ein (1984)
john luke chapman
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‘The loveliest flower lives in hiding; very few people ever manage to see it, many overlook it, some do not understand its value, while those who discover it will never see another flower again. All day one thinks about it. When one sleeps, one dreams of it. One dies with its name on one’s lips.’
Halldór Laxness World Light (1969)
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Jackbox Diner (2008)
john luke chapman
‘We are lucky, even the worst of us, because daylight comes.’
Jeanette Winterson Lighthousekeeping (2004)
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The Black Cat Of Montmartre (2004)
john luke chapman
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Why Hast Thou Forsaken Me? (2004)
john luke chapman
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Na Gaillimhe Gorm (2005)
john luke chapman
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I Am Poured Out Like Water And All My Bones Are Out Of Joint (2004)
john luke chapman
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Indreabhán (2005)
john luke chapman
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“The story of my life doesn’t exist. Does not exist. There’s never any centre to it. No path, no line. There are great spaces where you pretend there used to be someone, but it’s not true, there was no one.”
Marguerite Duras The Lover (1984)
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Pont de Bir-Hakeim (2004)
john luke chapman
pour F.
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“And then he told her. Told her that it was as before, that he still loved her, he could never stop loving her, that he’d love her until death.”
Duras (1984)
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Prenzl’berg (1998)
john luke chapman
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… a slice of pflaumenkuchen: a plum tart with a sweet pastry base, firm underneath but soft and sticky in the middle, and a clear gelatinous glaze over the halved plums, ripe and soft, that when bitten caused the sharp sour taste of plum-skin to flood through the claggy sweetness. It was like biting into a piece of mercury-filled fudge, only stranger and ever-so-slightly better. He’d eaten a slice the day after he’d moved to Berlin and knew in that moment that this city was where he belonged. He’d never had a slice since, just that once, for fear that the experience wouldn’t be the same. How could it? No experience can ever be re-lived, only sullied, through meagre repetition.
[~fragment]
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darkling eye 