Eyes on fire

If I told you I sold my soul, would you believe me?
If I told you I didn't care about anything anymore, would you believe me?
If I said, there are no rules or walls or anything holding me back anymore, would you fear for my life?

An obsession that's growing stronger and stronger, the feeling of letting go f your life. The feeling of slipping from it. And not caring about it. School is a thousand miles away. Here, in this bubble, there is music and there are books. It's a world that I will never have to leave, I just take small bouts of vacation from it when it is absolutely necessary.

Such as school. What is that pile of homework to me? Is it really my future? I know people who didn't give a damn about school, and they did great later on in life. And they are happy. That pile of homework is sure not happiness at least. Because if I could care less than I actually do, there wouldn't be any angst in leaving the pile untouched as I disappear into my bubble. And I wouldn't feel stressed as I'm writing these words, knowing that french grammar is lying there, waiting. Untouched.

An obsession that won't let me go, and I'm giving in far too easy. I enjoy it. The absorption, the fairytale world, the hypnotic images, the words trickling into every corner of my mind. I shudder at the very sound of a non-existent voice and I can't imagine how it got to this. It is hypnotizing beyond belief.

Taking in moments, in concentrated form. If you just pay attention, you realize there is always something going on. As I walked past the meadow, I could hear the horse bite off the grass, the crisp noise as the grassblade broke, the clapping of the horse's teeth as it chewed, the wind on my face, sending that special scent of horse into my nose. As the horse looked up, its nostrils flaring, taking me in, it's eyes, the intelligence behind them, looking into mine. Or walking up a hill, on the pavement, watching the bare branches of a withered cherry tree struggle in the wind, opening my eyes wide, feeling the gentle drizzle of rain in my face, aware of every single muscle working. There's so much we miss when we don't pay attention and nothing makes me more sad. That we should lose our lives in inattentiveness. That we seem unable to live here and now.

Watching. Taking it in. New realizations. Why do I feel like I'm loosing all the time. “I'm loosing it” they use to say – going nuts. Can't really make a claim on loosing “it”, since I'm still a functioning member of society. But when no worth can be found in the endless repetitions I make every day, what is there left to live for? When you hate every habit and break them in every possible way, and the change is still not enough? When you feel unable to save even the smallest thing, unable to make a difference, just living in a haze of self-hatred, what meaning is there to go on living. When the meaning is evasive and lost and you realize your life has been an endless battle of escapism, where do you turn?
When all the rules you hated and tried to break still govern your life, and you start imagining that the shackles only exist in your own twisted mind, and you start hating yourself even more because life is choice and you're not choosing anything, and you want to... All the clichés haunting me, my own personal poltergeist, the fear of failure, the words in my mind, the plans and dreams and thoughts swirling. Why the hell am I not gone yet?

If I told you I see no future, would you get scared?
If I told you, there is no point in hunting whatever you're hunting, be it meaning of life, love, money, fame, recognition, whatever, if I told you that you'll never ever find it, would you cry with despair?
If I told you there are no rules, only the ones we as humanity make up to chain ourselves to misery, would you try to break free?
If I told you there is no way out of your own mind except for death, would you die with me?

Since I'm going to hell anyway

Jesus Christ Superstar. Ola Salo is such an inspiring person. An impulsive decision and 2 ½ hours later, I'm walking out of there with a broad smile, humming, and as I hit the road I can't help skipping and dancing and singing all the way home. Did it raise my mood tremendously or what? If there is any reason to be religious, Ola Salo as Jesus is one of them. He became my savior of the day – saved me from tedious ToK and math portfolio. And made me believe, just almost. His character, his charisma, his incredible charm: he literally lit up that stage. And I thought as I walked out: that is what I want. To be charming, charismatic, to draw people in. “Everything about me invites you in...”

Why bother about the works of yesterday, it will all work out in the end. Whatever grade I receive, that is not a measurement of me, there is so much more. Soul, and laughs and sunshine, reading and making love. Those exams do not mean the end of my life.

Examining the sidewalk, getting lost in a reverie of a fictional character. Of a plot. Of living inside fictional worlds. Looking at the reflection of the streetlights on the damp pavement, thoughts rushing, I could hear them. It was like slush ice, slushing away, speeding up. Future, Edward, love, books, writing, future, fiction, university, exams, grades, ToK, bullshit, angst, pain, Edward, fiction...
Confusing me, holding me in its intense grasp. Fortunately the bus came and interrupted me.

“About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him – and I didn't know how potent that part might be – that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.”

And I am lost, inside a novel. Like I used to as a kid. Reading myself away from reality and never coming down to earth. Reading instead of caring about school, forming my own education. And still managing fine in the education that had been forced upon me, by attentiveness and cleverness. Those are not enough anymore, and I will never get used to it. Will never get used to having to work my ass off for a grade. Stupid grades.

“Since I'm going to hell anyway, why not do it thoroughly”

Reincarnation. Wouldn't that be a nice topic for a knowledge issue. If I now could find a suitable knowledge issue, which it feels like I wont. What is it anyway? How can we know that people don't reincarnate? (vague maybe) So to the more specific case of that little boy – how can we know he wasn't a reincarnation of his grandfather? All evidence points toward it. And since I'm going to hell anyway with this ToK essay – why not do it thoroughly.

“I can't stay away from you anymore”

Yes, it would be nice to fall in love. With someone. Not without. Not alone.
To be intoxicated by a smile.
To have that feeling that your whole well-being depends on that other person. If he's not around, you feel miserable to the bone, and whenever you're with him, you feel at ease, safe and calm and all butterflies-in-the-stomach. An intense gaze, the electricity. Yes, I miss it.
One touch or a word define your mood for the rest of the day.
I used to say I didn't know what love was. I still don't really. But somehow I still miss it.

And so the lion fell in love with the lamb

Are you afraid?

Supermassive Black Hole. Where a star sunk in, there you'll find eternity. The icons of today, it's so strange what constitutes world order. What if the symbols and the history meant nothing, would it all collapse on itself like a dead star? Would we find eternity?

Melting in the dead of night. Nosferatu is actually a really good movie although it feels like a bad nightmare. And it isn't very flattering to vampires. I prefer the Twilight version. No less deadly, but oh so much nicer to look at. "Everything about me draws you in" - me like. "You're like a drug to me - my own personal brand of heroin". "And so the lion fell in love with the lamb".

When the hunt becomes easy, it's no longer fun. When you realize you can have it, you loose interest. Like when I know I can get a guy, it's not fun anymore. Instincts are amazing in that way. And however much some would like to escape it, we're just a bunch of animals.

More often than not lately, nights out have been lame and boring. Where did the crazy partying go? Because if this dry spell is gonna continue, I'd much rather stay home and read. Or watch a movie. Hanging out with my dad, realizing how much fun we have together. My parents aren't my parents, they're my friends. Discussing with my mom if she should break up with her bf or not, watching movies with my dad and laughing our asses off. Love has many shapes.

That emptiness inside, when you see others find happiness, couldn't have phrased it better A darling. Longing for something you can't even imagine, wondering when it's your turn.
Well sitting on a chair watching couples stick their tongues down eachothers throats isn't much fun. Especially not when you're alone and the whole situation sucks anyway. I'm sorry, but I must speak my mind. Or else I suffocate.

Anxiety attacks and angst enveloping this fragile mind frame, storms invisible to the outside world, turning insides out without anyone noticing. Screaming and screaming, stopping from doing harm, and where did I leave the calm. Someone to wrap me in his arms and keep me from the dark, is this unforgivable, listening to clair de lune and crying, despairing and sleeping around. I'm so tired of myself I could order my own death sentence. It's always the same bullshit and whatever I choose I seem incapable of escaping or resolving or whatever.

Feel like I lost myself. I miss that little insecure, quiet, bookish girl who didn't care about anything except her books and her writing. I want her back. She's more me than that loud, exhibitionist fjortis partyanimal. She's deep, quiet, sarcastic. She looks at the world around her and laughs quietly at the foolishness of it. Why want. Why want what you can't have. Why try to catch attention. She doesn't care if she's loved or not. Sure, she dreams of it secretly, but it's nothing seen on the outside. No make-up, no fancy clothes, no vain ideas or coquettish laughs. There is no delusion. I realize now, she's like Bella. And I regret I lost her. Well actually I don't believe she's lost, she just got obnoxiously pushed out of the way. But I promise, I will find her again. I liked being her. Of course, only afterwards I noticed. Give me back my books and my nerdiness.

Stupid little lamb. Not afraid. Only of loosing the lion. If there's a new obsession, it's Twilight. And when I get my hands on that book, don't expect to see me much around.

Lethal silence of the math book

Hi everybody, I'm O and I'm närhetsbenägen. "HI O!"
Guess we're all here to deal with our problems right? Fight to try and find a common cause. And tell ourselves we're not stuck in a Ferris wheel of perpetual sins.

My name is O. that is not my real name. Most importantly, to remember who I'm supposed to be.

Have some H.P. Lovecraft:
Invading a lethal silence of centuries
Exciting the envy of a Doré
Washing the base of a Cyclopean monolith
Grotesque beyond the imagination of a Poe or a Bulwer
Reminiscences of Paradise Lost
An ancient cemetary; so ancient that I trembled at the manifold signs of immemorial years

Rei Kawakubo. Library books. Inspiration. Reading. Tokyo street style.
Finding myself reading everything but the schoolwork. All these works calling out to me and I have to listen, and I take them down from the shelves, and I take them home like secret lovers, hiding them in my bed. And late at night, I take them out and turn the pages, letting the pleasure enfold me. The stories. Beneath my skin.

In the summer heat - as I look back. What will it be next summer? Walking in winter rain, is that depression? Tips you further away. In the coffin where you sleep. Twilight - that fictional love of eternity. suffocating choices lead you to a chasm - will I stay or take a plane? will i work up the money needed or will i take a chance. follow your heart. i don't know where it is. put your heart where your mouth is. where is it? where did O's heart go? rerouted the blood, to my skin instead, stay shallow and hot, there's no need to be pathetic is there. oh, i made another trouble man, oh man, im in trouble again. feel terribly small when my head works to hard. hardly capable of half the damage that i would like to do. Just like me. So who the hell are you?

Am I just another scene from a movie that you've seen a hundred times? Probably. The story is the same, I just personalized the name. Girls make boys cry.
Just like a picture on the wall, among hundreds. What is supposed to come first? And when the focus slips and the picture turns blurry, what will become of it? Embrace me and I'll brave my lost heart for you. No, none of it's true. I wanna be next to you, for my head. The wrong assumptions we make every day, finding truth in the hugs. The truth of it is. There is something I want to be, and I will make my way there. And I will have my future.
without forgetting about the journey

When the lights are dim. when thinking about hungry fingers and heart racing, exchanging body heat in the passenger seat. teen hearts beating faster faster. running short of time. the mask goes off, the make-up is flaking. messy hair caught in a cider spring, holding tight on to a drink. swaying and focusing, hands, lips, synced and working, into the cake, right there on the table in front of all the guests. and the stilettos break, and the dress slides down, revealing half a breast, and there she looks up, her eyes second to the right and straight on til morning. the afterglow of the afterparty. it slips, it slips, and it's gonna fall, on the floor. and it's gonna be a mess, a mess, and nothing can stop it. and there it is, but it isn't. it was just imagination.

I'm reading maths - in a sort of bohemian way. I avoid the book, I wont even open it, I just think about how much I have to do. Then I like disregard it. Then I force myself to do ONE out of the thousand problems I still have left. Then I get bored of it, try to not think of it and walk away. The more I try not thinking about math, the bigger the angst cloud that surrounds me. So I guess, this is the end. I will have to try. Bye for now.

Scottie the Netto dog

I had three interesting experiences on my short respite of essay-writing which consisted of a brisk walk outdoors in the almost-storm and buying alimentary necessities at the local Netto the scottie dog. The first one was on the unsettling steps of Netto, when I ignored, as I always ignore, the homeless bum standing right outside the automatic doors in his shredded rags begging for money. I nervously, because I am always nervous and/or angry when visiting Netto, pushed open the door, walking in, his eyes boring into my back. "Kan du inte ens ta dig tid att svara för bövelen" he shouts after me, me turning jerkily and with scared, trembly voice mumbling "har inga mynt ändå så", then turning again, trying to shake the uncomfortable experience. Walking into the Burka-infected store, I grab a basket and the shopping commences.
Now, the second experience was as I absentmindedly looked down on the floor while standing in the abnormally long queue. There it was, lying on the dirty linoleum floor, half-crushed, its head sticking out under the cheap trainer sole of that obnoxious, fat woman who fought me minutes ago by the ham counter over the last package of Pärsson's skinka. It was the most depressing sight ever, its sticky texture sticking to under her trainer as she shuffled ahead in the slow-moving queue. Finally it dropped off and rolled away 3cm to the right where it was out of reach for cheap trainers. As if possessed, I couldn't take my eyes off it. That sad little purple key-ring whale. Yes. A whale. Purple.
The last experience was when Burka-fest became even more crowded. I was still in the queue (GODDAMMIT!) when a crowd of Burka-women walked through the doors, hastily heading for the baskets. I don't know why, but for some reason I got very agitated and felt the atmosphere (or imagined it) changing to one of a more hostile quality. And then it hit me. I know why some people don't like immigrants. It's because they are scared, scared of the unknown. They feel threatened, their normality is threatened by something abnormal. And I know why conflicts arise, because the immigrants in turn are scared of us, because we and our country is unknown to them. Thus fear versus fear and we act instinctively trying to eliminate the thing that causes the fear. I had never realized that before. In my childish ignorance I indignantly thought "why can't just everyone be buddies and love each other".

Netto is a very depressing place, generally, filled with broken people who lost their dreams and ambitions. Ugly, fat, bulging, smelly, old. Or maybe that's just how I see them. Me: young, aspiring student, hopeful, just spent a day on university information dreaming and planning about my glorious future as a wealthy diplomat and politician who makes a real difference in the world and improve living conditions for people like the homeless. Who do I think I am.

Now dreams are very fragile. They need to be nourished, taken care of, indulged. Caressed. There might be tutorials for other things, but not for taking care of dreams. Il faut les soignent.

Her heart was beating in his bleeding hand, like morse code. She said to herself, "if I reach the bend before the car, he is still alive", "if the train enters the tunnel before I count to seven, he is still alive"... Inspiring movie. About hope.

So there's the combination. Hope and dreams. Reach for your wishes, make them come true.

La musique souvent me prend comme une mer!
Vers ma pâle étoile,
Sous un plafond de brume ou dans un vaste éther,
Je mets à la voile;

La poitrine en avant et les poumons gonflés
Comme de la toile
J'escalade le dos des flots amoncelés
Que la nuit me voile;

Je sens vibrer en moi toutes les passions
D'un vaisseau qui souffre;
Le bon vent, la tempête et ses convulsions

Sur l'immense gouffre
Me bercent. D'autres fois, calme plat, grand miroir
De mon désespoir!

— Charles Baudelaire

An allergic reaction to the universe

To have someone fight for her. That's really all a girl wants in the end..
to have someone who cares for her, listens to her, is there to catch her fall.
I guess its cheezy romance stuff but it works in the end.

too much oc does that to you. spending hours and hours with romance. when i really should have my mind on the books. and my heart elsewhere. just loosing touch. "it was the most sexually charged nose-graze ever in history, it was more like major nose-humping!"

these pointless discussions. these pontless thoughts that lead you around inside a maze. "it's just a phase". is life just a phase. when longing for a dream.

another broken bottle. whose tragedies is it this week. a chance to make a difference. sneaky quick ones. and vanilla shots. right to your brain. lick your lips, it's worth the burning. i long for a concert.

i spend more money than i should. mostly on partying and gifts for friends. i give like i was much richer. and i borrow like a drug addict - although i am not one. and borrow for booze and clothes when i really have money myself, just forgot to bring it. 700 to m. 300 smth to s. and gift for 200 to another one, and a gift of 500 to someone else. can you see why my hard-earned earnings are just dripping away? and traveling! this nuisance of getting from one place to another! and all the other christmas gifts coming up! oh me, oh my. those pieces of paper.

I am dreaming that I am awake. the sinful demands. in a chapel, in a brothel. i got the time, if you got the place. giving other people pleasure saves me. suffocating stress.

And for the last hundred years did anyone care? in the history of man, did anyone care? we fail to go from the specific to the general and back. why would there be so much that we don't want, pain and suffering, if we succeeded. It's Rocket Summer all over. Do you feel. The weight of the world singing sorrow. Or to you it's just not real? Cause we all got our own things. Yeah, we all got our own things. The specific. We focus on our problems here and now. Some don't even try to solve these. They're just holding on. The flame is gone, the fire remains. we are circular beings who just keep on spinning. we face the same problems over and over, but we forget from one occasion to another, so we think it is new when it really isn't. like this blog. this post is what i have written a hundred times, even written about writing this before, and it never ends. it's my mind, doing cartwheels.

and what if they run out of band-aids? and what if they don't know first-aid? what if they aren't able to patch up the unpatchable? the sores that never heal, the wounds that never seal. who can claim to fix what was broken even with out knowledge. if the unpatchable is unable to say where it hurts? what will happen to the unpatchable?

take me to your secret places, the places no one else gets to see. trust becomes my nourishment and my enjoyment. take me to that lonely beach, that special park, that street-corner where the thugs smoke and dream. take me to that stairway, take me to the stars. take me anywhere, i'd be pleased to go.

The Dear Hunter

And there are stars - giving away promises to those who turn their eyes
to the heavens
for comfort

I wont give up the fight. Drive around, make peace with an empty town. We'll feel so alive.
The texts speak for themselves, enjoy.

Messages from broken bottles fall on black sandy beaches
Ink in vain across the page now run from morning dew
Hands which chance upon it lead to eyes which strain to read
Heart which pound from love long overdue
Lips which press together, stifle rhythmic heavy breathes
Oh how she cries from vicarious love from the one he writes about
She must have been so glad for him to throw it out
Further steps lead to yet another broken bottle
Again the words contained have bled the page
Whose tears were these which ran the ink
From who they'd pour to make this streak?

(The Dear Hunter)

Salt in the sky in the sweet summer air while mammoths depart
Abandon dispair with thirsty affairs of the heart
But the chances of escaping my heart are inadaquate, and when all is said and done I'm left with my history

Goodbye, my eyes shed heavy tears
One for every soul still sitting on the fence between pain and arrogance

Ebb to the left flow to the right
The exit's unflawed
The boys on the train
The almighty tongue with prose spilled in vain

Goodbye, my eyes shed heavy tears
One for every soul still sitting on the fence between pain and arrogance

We fall beneath the sea of dreams and fail to breathe until we awaken again

Sing softly sing me to the lake
Sing softly bring me to the lake
Through all of this I've felt just the same
The flame is gone the fire remains

(The Dear Hunter)

Even if there is no answer

"Although it is part of my nature, I cannot understand all that I am. This means, then, that the mind is too narrow to contain itself entirely. But where is that part of it which it does not itself contain? Is it somewhere outside itself and not within it? How, then, can it be part of it, if it is not contained in it?"
(Saint Augustine, retold by Auster)

And even if there is no answer, I have begun to speak.

Umm. Yes. When strawberries and a spiked waterpipe makes life a little more surreal. I mean, if you can't focus, that's fun right? Spending a night doing irrelevant stuff like laughing and such. I read that french book too, and some Strindberg. SO. it wasn't a complete waste, schoolwise.

My nature is never knowing when to stop. the one who gets an eensy bit more wasted than the rest, an eensy bit too high and continues to smoke even after that. even after the little voice saying "that's enuff". Pressuring others to join the madness. I guess. I just have this dream of meeting someone as completely fucked up as me, who doesn't know when to stop either. Because where is the fun in stopping? Even if it continues beyond what is right and good, that other place you enter is such an interesting space. Just because it is forbidden. I believe that forbidden fruit makes it more interesting. That to some extent, the law criminalizes. Too bad I can't explain it in a tok-ish way so that people would actually listen and get impressed by all the great arguments. It makes perfect sense in my head, but can i relay this information to others? Oh, the limits of language.

Understanding the limits of language and art. Such is my extended essay. don't make much sense but hey, i enjoyed writing it. and exploring it. and auster awesomness. you should really read his meta-ficticious works. not that im pressuring you or anything. i really gotta stop doing that, no matter how much i enjoy it.

i wanna kiss you but i better not touch. poison. rediscovering great songs has become one of my favourite passtimes. Anberlin's new album isn't that killer, but their old songs will be in my heart forever. random love. and random moments. took the hand of a preacher man, and we made love in the sun. Oh. hormones are an amazing thing, the rollercoaster they offer. if you let them rule, which i do. one day incredibly låt-mig-va, the next jumping on people, longing for closeness, for touch, and the next normal. well as normal as it gets. think we hang ourselves. too much to that concept of normality. even if chinese food or subway creates an illusion of making sense of the world.

making sense is not easy. can't you see the smoke? And OH did i die in tok class today. "Imagine if everyone in this classroom was high, we would not seek knowledge, we would just sit and enjoy life". Killer argument by Seraj. Loved that. even the teacher couldn't deny how awesome that would be. i suspect she's experimented with recreational stuff in her youth. but shhh don't tell anyone i said that.

have a pressure to be deep and say meaningful stuff. a pressure to perform well in school, be liked and have loads of friends and do fun stuff. when will it end. the end credits and the curtain fall. someone asked what if you die today, well will it make much difference, why can't i be indifferent, why would they cry, and why is it wrong, and why do i think about it, and why and why and what not. wear a halo and it breaks, a sinful end, the fall from babel and the fall of language and man. voice of the voiceless and love of the loveless. the blind can only see with their hands and maybe that's a sight more true than we'll ever know.

so how can we know? why do we want. i am not being wasted. why do i want. the halo is crumbling and the angels falling down on their knees, praying for the godless who didn't ever believe. it's apocalypse now baby, every day in my head. and im beginning to sound like one of the crackwhores down that dar alley you would never walk in your senses. but out of senses? then maybe.

why do i memorize, the theatrical lines, why do i lay out for the world to scrutinize, the tangled webs within. i dont want your recognition, because no one can ever know me anyway, a belief i will hold until someone breaks it. and still to this day, the glass cube remains intact. without a scratch. that was not truthful, maybe a scratch or two. what about the feel good drag, the dreary heaviness of every day life and sensory overload.

cyberpunk lolitas serving tea, excuse me this confusion and the black eyeshadow, but i always dreamed of a sweeny todd world of my own. dance to a fight, and stare all day at the problems that wont go away, what's left to collect but the broken hearts, the lost souls, in your top drawer by the swindling stairs. the piano clinking away like a seesaw massacre and the leaves fading to mud. the fleeting voice of life, all but expelled. no i never believed. maybe in fairies but never in god.

God has always been dead so newsflash on Nietzsche. We must be into the abuse.

Goodnight.

May the force be with you

I wish this was a story I was writing. If it was a story, it would have an ending. Life would be able to go on after the end, pick up where I left. As it is, this is not a story I am writing. And I don't know where I would pick up, was I to end it.

Human weakness is what allows evil and darkness to flourish. Through our human compassion, evil gets a chance to survive. Now, I'm not questioning it, because how else could it be. I'm merely stating, that this is the way of the world. Such it is, in all the stories we read. There is always a moment of weakness, which allows evil to live on. To name my favorite examples, Obi-Wan failing to kill Anakin, and Isildur refusing to let go of the ring when he could have destroyed it once and for all. These were necessary, and it all ended well in the end, but think of what would have happened if these events went in another way. Don't underestimate the power of fiction.

The Jedis inspire me. Their philosophy has followed me ever since I saw the first movie (IV) as a little kid. It has affected me as I grew up, and I remember a time when I really believed that loosing control of your emotions lead to the dark side. Whatever that was. I was so afraid to loose control of my emotions, I couldn't even allow myself to feel. And later on, there was another time when I despised human weakness, weakness in whatever form. I put my body and mind through a hard regiment, to eradicate all weakness, molded my character and my physical body, yearned for perfection, for becoming a master. It lead to a mental disease.

Now I have lost all that can be called character. I escape from myself through various means, I do not live in my body and I despise my weak mind. "Your body is your temple" some say, "so take good care of it". Why is it then that I have such a strong desire for self-destruction? Seeing the glory in thrashing myself. The booze, the drugs, being wild. Eat only junkfood, maximum calories, no greens. No exercising. It is true what I said, I feel like a hippo. And number 5 was not ironic, as some of you hoped.

Otherwordly and eternal make us long for more. Because the universe is infinite and there must be so much more out there. All the people out there, all the possibilities.

Where is the horn and the rider?
Where is the magic?
Will I have to imagine all my life, that there is something more, a secret hidden behind all this? That the plastered facade isn't everything? That soon, the proof of their existence will be revealed?

How we think about ourselves is such an interesting thing. Because often these images don't correspond very well with what everyone else think of us. Sometimes the images correspond to some extent, but mostly not. Having insight into your own character is another interesting thing. Feeling urges you know you shouldn't is another interesting thing. The nature of the human mind is beyond interesting. Would you say you have good insight into your own minds? Can you define yourself, who you are? Can you guess how others see you, and what does that mean to you, does it matter?

We laugh at those with no distance to their self. Those who obviously fail to see their own flaws, or even worse, refuse to see them. But really we should be laughing at ourselves for thinking us so clever. We are not any better are we. Being aware is both a blessing and a curse, what we choose to do with the awareness is another thing. Some strive for change, because they do not like what they see. Others go for the philosophy "i am like this, nothing to do about it, take it or leave" and there are so many other ways to tackle it. Self-image is very interesting indeed.

How many times did i wish i was a mind-reader. Too many. If we think about someone, alot, and wonder if this person thinks just as much about us in turn, why don't we take a chance. Just for the sake of it. Is it over-confident to expect this, to expect that other one to think as much as we do? Or on the other hand, if we take it for granted and act out, we might create a happy ending. Divergence. I will go to bed and dream my lonely dreams now. Sleeping with ghosts. Goodnight,

Another day has passed

Take me somewhere. hold my breath all night. And drink myself to sleep. Think of Every Day. Make up the rules as we go along. because they make it seem so easy. I lsiten to my music, it's everywhere I go...

So are we lost or do we know
Which direction we should go
Sit around and wait for someone to take our hands and lead the way

Cause every day we're getting older
And every day we all get colder
We're sick of waiting for our answers
(lostprophets)

Think of Each Day. There will never be this very same November day ever again. When this month has passed, it will not return until a year has passed. A lot can happen in a year. I might be in a completely different place - both mentally and physically. Think of all the things that happen in a year. In A Year. I might be in Japan, might have felt the touch of a thousand lovers, might have died in an accident, written a song, painted a house, carried a hundred sorrows, made everyone around me hate me, or anything else. The next November around, I might be a totally different person.

And still, I do not cherish this day as my last day like this. It is the last in its sense. We let the days pass as if they were insignificant. As if they didn't mean anything. Why do I want to sleep the days away, why don't I care? Why don't I care my life is passing in front of my eyes and I stand passive watching?

Alot can happen in a year.
Alot can happen from day to day.
Yesterday - Bush was president of the U.S and A. Today - Mr. Obama is the first black president of the U.S and A. History has been written within 24h.

Think of all the things that happen in 24h. A baby born. Life created. Life extinguished. Why do we not realise the importance in the passing of a day?

Can't get these thoughts out of my head. They're everywhere I go. I think about it when I talk to people. I think about it when I smile. I think about it when I walk, sleep, stand dead in the shower.

In the shower. Not aware of the walls no less than 30cm all around me. Surrounded by stability, still a mind collapsing. In the hot drizzle, in the subtropic waterfall, the foaming soap, the touch of skin. There I am. Lost to everything but my thoughts.

Please rhyme away with me.

I was made for heat and passion and strong dramatic feelings. I'm suffocating in these ashes that never will ignite.

This is an unspection. Not seeing anything. Where is the caress when you need it? Freedom to choose our shackles. And the rockstar life. Overdramatic. Cocaine girl. It was all in time. A snuffed candle, a taste of ocean.

Think of Every Day.

Eee trouble

when something that is supposed to work doesn't work, you just don't get frustrated. you cry from frustration.
when someone you thought didn't care actually proove to care, your heart warms up a bit.
when you can't talk to anyone, and find someone to talk to, you feel a connection.
when you just want to bury yourself under a blanket, you do just exactly that.
when everything is boring, grey and dull, you think of how you will surprise your family next weekend.
when you despair about the future, you think of the childish embrace of your little siblings, their unconditional love and trust.
when you think about your failures and your bad character, you think of everyone else's shortcomings.
when autumn inevitably seeps through your mind and dull your senses, you go to sleep. and dream beautiful dreams. and write a poem about autumn depression.
when you just don't wanna face the pile of homework, you go to the telly and watch Ugly Betty. betty is inspiration. "growing as a person is taking responsibility and making the best of all the stupid decisions you made".

im glad i got it all out. and i know we're not those people anymore, but what we have will always be special.

sometimes a strange urge falls upon me. the "withdraw and hide"-symptom. that's when i show up next day in school with my hood up and anti-social loud angry metal in my ears. when i ignore you and sit as far from everyone as possible and draw emo doodles in my notebook instead of taking down the notes from class. that is the "nobody-understands-me"-mood. which im pretty sure not many people do. and im just fucking tired of waiting for someone to do. so next time you ask why i think of giving up, don't bother, you know already.

when i looked into those eyes, an electric shock went through my entire body. it was so real i could almost touch it. it was there and i thought... i thought it was all going to be ok. that it would all work out.

maybe i need a cloud.

you're still up? mhm.

Give me my alcohol

Saturday. I simply love masquerades. Dressing up as someone else, playing a part. I should be in theater, it's so much fun pretending. Prince Charming made out with alot of people, as S said - it was almost like hultsfred all over. the prince didn't mind though, even if he has a hard time remembering some pieces - it's like a scattergraph. Fractions here and there, but at least he behaved. And the brat and those people didn't despise him. So it has been quite a week for reconciliation, but just as Charlotte i have to worry that something bad is going to happen. "Honey, you shit yourself this year, maybe you're done." But you never know do you. Maybe something bad will happen today, or tomorrow.

Thinking back on this very long week i realize all the little bits and pieces add up to a pretty pretty mosaic of experiences. It's people and places, and new faces. Think how much relations give us, think how much we experience just by knowing other people, just by talking to someone else or doing stuff together. How much we learn. Yes, relationships fascinate me. The way we relate to other human beings, the way we function in a society, in a group of friends. We never think about how interesting that is.

Prince Charming did his funny macho walk, danced like a brat, smoked alot and as promised showed off some well-proportioned body parts when swimming in the pool. A spinning bottle. Fuck, those shots really did him in thinking back. All over the place apparently. Well he had a hard time getting it up, until he realized he didn't have one in the first place. That was fun. And also laughing at the ghost in the bathroom. Have such great toilet-moments. "Gooooaaal" and no paper, and uncontrollable laughing etc. Toilets are special.
Cleaning wasn't much fun, oh the stench, oh the sticky floor, but Narnia is really fun to watch early in the morning with hungover people. Especially with Epic movie in the head. And comments about shaved balls. Aslan was shaved yes.
the breakfast rocked - homemade BMT's, too bad we ran out of salami and ham.
Do you think "two baguettes a day" sounds gay?

Did I write about Bond? Can't recall. Anyway. Daniel Craig rocks. but the movie doesn't really. with kudds it does though, just like indiana jones did. See, there we are again - it's a people matter.

read through old posts - gosh im philosophical. the scary thing is, i forget all the things i write about, so i keep writing the same stuff but in different formations etc.
talked to granny on the phone too - which was interesting considering i havent talked to her in half a year or something like that. i just want to cherish the relationship now, when i can, before she's gone and ive felt really really bad for neglecting her. i am probably going up there somepoint. visiting.

bruises. and acting crazy and falling in the pool and stripping. i love the crazy life. somewhat like a bulldozer, there's probably alot damage left in the wake, but look what alcohol does.
it makes things interesting.