CONCRET JOURNAL
WRITING / VISUAL STRATEGY / CONTENT EDITING
SINCE DECEMBER 2021, I AM PUBLISHING MY SHORT STORIES, POEMS AND SELECTED JOURNAL ENTRIES VIA CONCRET JOURNAL. I CREATED A VISUAL IDENTITY AND COMMUNICATION STRATEGY AS A FRAME WORK FOR MY WRITTEN CONTENT. CONCRET JOURNAL USES ARCHITECTURAL INSPIRATION TO DISPLAY STORIES THAT ARE INSPIRED BY the honesty of words and the brutalism of feelings.
IN SUMMER 2023, A SELECTION OF POEMS WAS PUBLISHED IN THE PRINTED AND DIGITAL ISSUE OF THE BIANNUAL WRITER'S BLOCK MAGAZINE.
[...] Dreaming of our car
A convertible pink one
In between rough cliffs and surfs
Writing stories, our ping pongs
Holding hands the whole way long
Diving in the sea
Beneath apricot colored skies
In between the night and day
‘Making our dreams come true’
I start the car and say
A convertible pink one
In between rough cliffs and surfs
Writing stories, our ping pongs
Holding hands the whole way long
Diving in the sea
Beneath apricot colored skies
In between the night and day
‘Making our dreams come true’
I start the car and say
we sat at bar kikkie, outside at the prinsen, and the tables and cobble stones were still a little wet from a rush of summer rain and it smelled fresh and earthy with a rest of warmth still lingering in the air and we ordered three orange wines, the one I had a couple weeks ago, tasting of light fruits and minerals at the same time. The sun was just about to set between the leaving clouds - the lights a bit golden, almost deep night blue - and we sipped the glasses when she asked about our peak moments in life and those seconds were everything seemed to be just right; and we told about taking cold showers after having the hot city layin on skins for a day, or biking home on a summer night, still a little drunk and dizzy from the beats, or biking in general and how you always seemed to feel the city a bit more just then, or about perfect spoons and only a duvet and skins, or eating an entire fresh loaf of sourdough bread with butter at eleven in the night, or coming home for sunday breakfast at your parents smelling fresh filter coffee and croissants. And we didn’t stop for a while, taking turns the three of us, when I thought, maybe, one of these peak moments was just sitting here on a rainy summer night with my two coffee girls sipping wine and spritz and talking life when the air was still huggingly soft and warm yet sharply cleaned and crisp after that blitz of summer rain. And amsterdam, back then, was still summer holidays.
Looking at you
Chestnut honey brown
Sunset
Already lost in eyes
Making time slow down [...]
Thinking of you
Looking out the windows
Sunrise
It’s all butterflies
And pink flamingos
Chestnut honey brown
Sunset
Already lost in eyes
Making time slow down [...]
Thinking of you
Looking out the windows
Sunrise
It’s all butterflies
And pink flamingos