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| Poor thing
I look in the mirror. I am almost fifty. I have a photograph of my dad when he was fifty. He looked older at fifty, compared to me. Does he? Or not? No, don't think so. His photo is old, thirty years at least. But still, every photo they take of me, from now on, is "older". Everything is older now, and in the future, which is around the corner. Me. Not the paper, nor the ink: "Here Joop is older; much greyer. He must be in his fifties on this photograph, early fifties. Look! Here's one of the last photo's they took of him, taken in the nursing home. There on the left, that's nurse what's-her-name. Poor thing, she cleaned his ass so many times. She must be in a nursing home herself by now! Gosh, I'm sure she still remembers every inch of his sad ass! Poor thing. That's how it goes." 27.March.2007 |