Christian Molenaar

Author: cdmolenaar

  • It Seems a Pity

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    Stanley Elkin, Boswell Read more

  • Bloodletting

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    On the 25th March, 18—, a very strange occurrence took place in St Petersburg. On the Ascension Avenue there lived a barber of the name of Ivan Jakovlevitch. He had lost his family name, and on his sign-board, on which was depicted the head of a gentleman with one cheek soaped, the only inscription to Read more

  • Roadblock Riddle

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    Read more

  • Insidious and Cruel

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    The coming of spring is insidious and cruel. The mist pervades my throat as it melted the crystal my voice was. I am weak, and I much preferred the hard agreement of our truce of gauntlets. Read more

  • Contradictions

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    Dear Friend, Your letter affected me both unpleasantly and pleasantly (you see, I always move in dialectical contradictions). Read more

  • The First British Pizza

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    “Lud wishes to know,” Whike relays at last, “Mr. Emerson’s Cousin’s Views, upon the Structure of the World.” Read more

  • Animals Shaped Like People

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    March 13. Directed by Mr Judson, the hotelkeeper, and bearing a verbal introduction from him, I was able to talk to Mrs Mary Blount, a woman of eighty who lives with her granddaughter and the granddaughter’s husband on a farm about twenty miles from Frenchman’s Landing. The husband warned me before I was taken in Read more

  • Strophische Gedichten

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    Strophische Gedichten is my new film inspired by Hadewijch of Brabant, Stan Brakhage, Anne Carson, Emily Brontë and John Ashbery, premiering March 14th at Goldsmiths College as part of Religion & Art + the subjective. Read more

  • Perspective

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    At the striking of noon on a certain fifth of March there occurred within a causal radius of Brandon railway-station and yet beyond the deepest pools of emptiness between the uttermost stellar systems one of those infinitesimal ripples in the creative silence of the First Cause which always occur when an exceptional stir of heightened Read more

  • First Sun

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    Zurich in winter is often smothered in fog and low clouds for months on end. Prevailing winds from the north ram the clouds coming in from the Atlantic against the wall of the Alps, and there they stick. Gray day after gray day, in a gray city by a gray lake, split by a gray Read more

Thought:

“I go dreaming into the future, where I see nothing, nothing. I have no plans, no idea, no project, and, what is worse, no ambition. Something – the eternal ‘what’s the use?’ – sets its bronze barrier across every avenue that I open up in the realm of hypothesis.”

Gustave Flaubert | Flaubert in Egypt

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