The Overloaded Man (1961) is a short story by JG Ballard. Ballard is one of those writers who I can’t seem to put down. I have a collection of his story stories, which I have been reading for almost 3 years. I don’t want to conclude them, so I intersperse each short story with other books. His stories are often unnerving, in the mid-1970s he published, several novels, including Crash (1973), a story about car-crash fetishism that I still find thought-provoking. The collection of short stories I’m engrossed (Volume 1 and 2) are to date a gentler affair, although underpinned by his trademark dreamscapes of isolation, tension, dystopian and post-apocalyptic narratives. The Overloaded Man provided the influence for this photograph.
25.8.08: A place to hide. Often found through a casual chat with friends. Hidden Treasure. A tip-off, a forgotten space where nobody else goes. You can share with your past memories, a conjuring taste for adventure, a distance of forgiveness that feels within touching distance, but you will never eclipse the stretch. I woke at 6am each day to sit and watch the sun glide through the tree-tops until she stood announced, bright. The damp morning dew under my bare feet made me feel alive, no noise other than birdsong. It was then I thought for one moment of traffic, the march to labour, the conflicts of office politics, but yesterday is yesterday like a passing breeze gone. I sit here, watch the bees and then cook breakfast on an open fire.