Ill Seen, Ill Said

I've had some questions about my blog name recently so thought I'd share this picture. It's the short novel my blog is named after. This copy is a first edition that I treated myself to for Christmas.

When I started blogging I didn't want to write long meandering posts and only wanted to include what would be deeply expressive. But no matter how hard I try, I always have a feeling of inadequacy when it comes to expressing myself. I'm compelled to give utterance to thoughts and feelings and at the same time words and pictures - even at their most beautiful - seem like such an anemic representation of our inner world. Hence, Ill Seen, Ill Said.

I got home last night and this book had been delivered. The postman had left it gently laying against my apartment door and I came inside and peeled off the wrapping so slowly and carefully. On the back flap the bio refers to Beckett as still living. For a moment the present tense fooled my brain and I imagined a world with Beckett still in it. Then I was sad.
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