I’m on the phone my mother gave me looking at porn in bed at a little before twelve, a few seconds too long my thoughts contain traces of parents, shame, ergo first blog post: what I do besides writing.
I masturbate often, most of the time just to ignore other feelings. Sometimes because I’m horny. Sometimes because I’m not quite tired enough yet.
I drink enough socially to be diagnosed.
I work in my parents’ pancake restaurant on an island in the North Sea, the NLs.
I live on that island.
Sometimes I run on the beach for a bit after masturbating.
I read, inconsistently varying between poems from collections like ‘the Rattle Bag’, ‘on writing’ books (my favourites are ‘Mysteries and Manners’ and ‘The Literature Machine’), switch between Dutch and English lit, reading Couperus and Franzen, Oe and Bolaño. Intermittently masturbating.
For unknown reasons I constantly check the BBC/Irish Times after masturbating.
I’ve become addicted to checking my Instagram, mostly for selfish reasons: likes, disasters, failures, sports.
I watch rugby.
I chronically self-obsess, then I write a little. I drive and drive without mind and I write. I close my eyes and take a breath or two, meditate for twelve to fifteen seconds and I accept a little chaos into my life. Then I write whatever, editing some work, smoking a cigarette.