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Sprokkelmaand is a novel in fragments. Not a classical story with a linear progression, but a sequence of scenes, reflections, and observations that together form an underlying movement. What at first appears scattered reveals, upon rereading, an internal dialogue. Disclaimer: these texts are intended for an adult audience (18+). Explicit passages have been replaced with “XXX”.

Sprokkelmaand: Sigh

An unheeded reminder from the bank falls into my hands, in unopened envelope, just when opening the book on the drunken poets of Allah.

Probing month: lighting

Come to the root of the root of your Self. Molded from clay, but also formed from dust of certainty, guardian of the treasure of holy light.

Sprokkelmaand: Approach

Shhh, Adriaan is asleep as I write this. He must not wake up before six o’clock, because he has to rest for the trip. How it came to be that he is […]

Sprokkelmaand: Union

Hi dad! Dad?
Hello I was just eating.
That’s late, were you on duty?
No, I ate my soup at eight and then I wait until I’m hungry again. Blood […]