RIVERS ARMS

Lokk meg til en bunnløs brunn Naar den fylles til rand fylles till bunn These are the everending days of being dead

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April 2026

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The single most annoying thing about having complex ptsd these days is that during the nicest, most unproblematic day when you're most likely just minding your business looking at some sticks in the woods, all of a sudden there's the deep, unbearable sadness. Like where are we supposed to put that and why are we still doing this. Didn't we go to therapy and all that for this thing.

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April the 8th, we make ok prints with new ink and celebrate the death of Margaret Thatcher.

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March 2026.

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There it is, the sun. St Michael's Day, minus one degrees. 25

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Season's greasons; we're now past Midwinter; the sun will come back.

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Drawing again. Blessed with several sunny days in a row, new and old books, the scent of autumn, the nearby small forest path with the dogs. It's going.

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File under: plants, hanging. August 2025.

A lot has been happening in a relatively short time - past three weeks to be exact. The dogs coming, first Guapa then Galleta. Discovering the joys of using a local 24hr laundrette. Realising it's the end of summer, which saddens me. I love the warm golden September days, but I was not ready for all that yet. Maybe I'll start knitting and it will heal this. I have been drinking black tea in the evenings and reading Summa Tunguska, which is terrific, right up my (really narrow) alley.

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Above my working space: ivy, pansies, asbestos &c. I have now been a very satisfied end user for this house for a year or so. It has made my life better, and since I'm a rural person I enjoy the peace and quiet at nights. And listening to Discharge at night, as well.

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Hi Guapa

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August. Went home for a little visit, felt well. Touching grass continues

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Puntala 2025

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Antti Salminen: Mir