DOPPELGÄNGER (Anthology 2021)
My childhood was curious. As the moon circles the Earth, so was my mother always present, ever prepared to remove any dangers that came my way. I was not to be exposed to direct sunlight. I was not to touch the ground. No one was allowed to meet my gaze.
Published by Infinity Land Press, London 2021.
Translated (from Swedish) by B. J. Epstein.
Edited by Steve Finbow.
Book design: Karolina Urbaniak.
The doctor listened to my veins: “The lightning in your blood is an echo of prehistoric gods – the thunder is activating your race,” he said, pleased.
I was woken by a guttural moaning. Mother was standing by my bed, holding up a new-born boy by his chubby arms. His body had two noisy red heads (twins). One was on his neck, as it should be, but the other was on his chest, with its face directed at the first one – they were staring at each other. There were long, inflamed scars stretching up from the navel towards the neck of the chest-head, as if it had been born out of the navel and then slowly moved up towards its mirror reflection. “Now you are three. The time is nearing. Father will come soon,” Mother said.
The full moon pushed and pulled on the waters of the Earth. Nailed-up sheets of paper with animals painted on them in watercolour were pulverised into colourful clouds in front of the walls.
THREE NAILS, FOUR WOUNDS (2018)
It was as though the area had been struck by a peculiar curse.
Strange incidents kept occurring, acts of insanity, abuse of animals,
Hector Meinhof has written a book that is both beautiful and cruel. His poetic prose and the doom-laden pictures from his extensive collection of vintage photographs have bled into one tortured, corporeal unity. This is the illustrated scripture for the new dark ages, it will be read and beheld again and again.
- Martin Bladh
I rarely am eager to go right back to the beginning of a book and start reading again, immediately after finishing it. But this the case with Three Nails, Four Wounds.
- Michael Barnett (This Is Darkness Magazine)
Published by Infinity Land Press, London 2018.
Translated (from Swedish) by Marianne Griolet and John McMillan,
with an afterword by Martin Bladh.
Book design: Karolina Urbaniak.
So you medicated yourself back into your childhood room. A dark night coagulated itself around your body as memories of pointless incidents crept around inside your chest. For a long time, you stared at the graphite lines on the door-post: thin, horizontal lines that climbed higher and higher each year that went by, until your fall was sure to be lethal.
I’m reading Hector Meinhof’s book right now, and it’s excellent to say the least, so I encourage you to investigate its evidence up there and think about making it your own.
- Dennis Cooper, author
Just as winter’s lost toys are found anew in springtime, with their colours faded, the children returned from the realm of disease. They were naked and washed with sparrows held by the claws, flapping over their bodies. After that, the wings were torn off and the children
ran out in the crisp April rain.
Copyright © Hector Meinhof 2022. All Rights Reserved.