Wednesday, 24 December 2008

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.


The time for gratuitous purchasing of pointless pieces, time for exhibitions of consumerist mentality on a par with ungovernable frenzy. Regardless of the fact that these annual proceedings of a rather ridiculous nature are key to the structure of our society, I keep cogitating on how far this particular mentality is to be carried into other aspects of our lives. The concept of regarding virtually everything and anyone as objects that have the ability to complete our existence makes me green around the gills. 

I've listened to countless people listing objectives they want to achieve in their lives. Certain items that they imagine will turn their futile little lives into something the neighbours will envy. A flourishing career, an apartment (owned, of course, not rented), the fastest car on the block, a perfect husband that never forgets their birthday or anniversary, and a litter of beautiful, talented and successful children. All annexes to make them feel more significant. 

There is something that rings false in that list. Considering someone, an actual person, a simple extension of your ideal self cannot be anything but horribly wrong. Against a moral imperative not to exploit another human being to achieve something for yourself. Listing attributes of the perfect potential husband is in no way dissimilar to knowing exactly what colour car you see yourself buying and driving around town in. "I think I'd look fabulous next to a tall, dark and slightly muscular man with a good sense of humour." You meet a person, not a boyfriend. You can't dream about having a boyfriend, because you've never met them; if you do, they will never be anything but an accessory to you.

The things you think of eating your Christmas morning porridge.

Men ibland 
är det enkelt
man ser 
hur den kommer
sen känner man smällen

allt ont 
man har sett
alla råden 
man har gett
inte hjälper 
dom mig nu

jag anade aldrig
att frihet
och ensamhet

är samma sak.

Tuesday, 16 December 2008


you are 
so far
the one who 
makes me better
in your surroundings
I'm the one
I want to be.

Sunday, 14 December 2008


I haven't made it an effortless task for anyone to impact me, reach me, teach me. If anyone ever would get past the outer wall and even beyond the moat, there are always archers armed with flaming arrows and buckets of tar awaiting.

- not anymore. The barricades have been torn to the ground, moats filled and my trusted archers got their Christmas furlough they had been pinning there hopes on. (I'm still keeping the dragon, to be on the safe side.)

For the first time, in too long a time, I really feel liberated of myself. I, like I've mentioned before, have several voices in my head, some bellowing, others whispering. I haven't yet quite mastered to tell them apart. For some time now, the bellowing ones have been summoning all of my attention. I feel, however, that the whispering voices are not to be left unnoticed; that they are, dare I say, significantly more essential for my well being, as well as nurturing for the desired development of an educated and erudite mind. I will, in the light of my recent catharsis, let the subtle whispers of my mind come into my consciousness from now on.  

The liberation was brought on by yet another one of those days. A day on which I, somewhat instinctively it seems, seek to isolate and detach myself from all others. It may take on a form of physical seclusion, where I simply shy away from human contact by staying at home and under covers. On the other hand, if this option is not convenient for the time being, I might intentionally, to withdraw myself from others, resort to outright malicious remarks; which will grant me the opportunity to escape into my own little stronghold of sorts, behind my moats and archers.

Differing from most of days like these, yesterday my seemingly infallible vanishing act did not go according to plan. I was caught in the act, so to speak. Which resulted in mentioned catharsis and complete breakdown, in the middle of which I realized how confined and imprisoned I have been. I have caged myself, reducing myself to something far less impressive than I am capable of at best. Which, of course, will not do.

When the student is ready, the teacher appears. So thank you.

Thursday, 11 December 2008


liian usein
kaipaan niitä hetkiä
et saisin yksin nukahtaa
ja herätä
ei tarvis' jännittää
ja sisimpäänsä selvittää
kun ei sitä ymmärrä

mä tiedän sun on
vaikee ymmärtää
haluan sun lähelle
mutten että kosket
ja voi,
kuin se riittäisi sullekkin
niin tää kaikki vois jatkuu
paljon helpommin

mulle tämä syvä hiljaisuus
on parempi kuin huono valhe uus
en voi sanoo suorakaan
et joo edelleeen ahdistaa
kun me sitä jäätäis sitten kelaamaan

mut hei ei tää oo
helppoo mullekkaan
mä en vaan pysty sanomaan
mikä mieltä painaa
ja mä tiedän ettet
jaksa kovinkaan kauaa

tää hiljaisuus
taitaa meidät tappaa.

There are simply no words left to utter. I am weary of this. I am angry.


Seething; to the extent I did not believe I was capable of.

(Thankfully, I am going home soon enough.)

Monday, 1 December 2008

The Flame Beyond The Cold Mountain.

I will not succumb to this. I might as well assign some sort of machine to perform my daily tasks, allowing me to remain in the domain that is my own, my lair, my home. Nothing is required of me here. There is no need for apologies and explanations. 

Then again, how would I evolve if I should obtain a state of complete desolation? Peace is found in solitude, surely, but can one truly continue down the arduous path of self exploration without ever being compelled to question one's thoughts and ideas? True wisdom consists in knowing that you know nothing, indubitably; but if my thoughts are the only ones residing in my mind there will never arise any occasion to cast aspersions on them. 

I shall conquer myself.

and spacerockets
tend to leave me cold
man can walk
upon the moon
to gather dust like gold
and I am only bored

just make a bigger roar
and fancy homes
are gaudy tombs
really nothing more

quite easily ignored.

Something worth reading.

This person's writing continuously provides me with inspiration; a guiding light, really. The ingenuity and artistry - delivered with a generous dash of wit - is simply staggering. He never fails to entertain or excite one's intellect. Spot on and nonpareil.

Sunday, 23 November 2008


Time. What a guileful rapscallion. I am surely not the first one to point out the slippery quality of time, how she always escapes the grasp of busy, occupied people, and refuses to fly when life seems dreariest. Still, it exasperates me immensely that I cannot have twenty-seven hours in a day. Twenty-four hours just does not quite seem to suffice with the hectic lifestyle of people in  today's unfulfilling, alienated and impersonal society. Today I realized I missed out on Sunday, my favourite day, because I simply had forgotten to write down "leisure" in my day planner.

I feel as if I am on a constant adrenaline high, in a perpetual survival mode. A state of mind where, in addition to not feeling hunger or fatigue, I cannot say I feel or think at all. I am devoid of everything beyond instinct. I, quite monotonously, get up in the morning, perform what needs to be performed and collapse in my bed in the evening. I find myself waking up in the middle of the night in order to have some time just to read. Almost as if I'm on a diet, but at nights I sneak to the refrigerator to eat ice cream. During the day I dream about those transitory moments of nocturnal solitude.

Acknowledgement is the first step towards being cured, I suppose.

Time. What a cunning scalawag. The whole concept of days divided into hours is merely a configuration designed by man, who is to say if time abides by the rules we have imposed on her? In fact, there is proof of her not doing so, since every once in a while we just have to add a day to our year in order for everything to add up as it should. This to me is perplexing. I think  time is too clever a character to simply adhere to our laws.

asioistaan vaitonainen
kyyneleensä kiertää
päältä jäinen
rakkaudessa kerjäläinen
kuljettaa ja hiertää

hei tie
vie reunalle ja yli
kauas täältä
sinne missä oon
vie toiveista pois
sylistä syliin
en enää tiedä
missä oon
kännillä sotke päätä
mä oon 
paperisen ohut
ja mun sydän 
syväjäätä kasvattaa.

Monday, 17 November 2008

Vanwa Hîni.

Power. Authority. Influence. Dominance. Puissance.

In a very Nietzschean spirit, I've come to the conclusion that there are, in fact, two kinds of people. The kind who prefers to dominate, and the kind who more than willingly accepts their position as a subordinate. Simultaneously, however, all people want to feel significant, important and needed. They want to, at the very least, consider themselves as people of influence. They want their opinions and values to be embraced by others, preferably the majority.

The dominating impose these opinions and values upon the dominated, which adopt them as their own simply because it is what the majority assumes to be correct, so to speak. This is how the subordinate assume the illusion of influence, by considering their opinions and values to be a result of an analytical conclusion of their own making, when in fact they have, much like the majority of other people, simply embraced what the dominating have persuaded them to. The result being that everyone considers themselves influential and significant, a deviant and a nonconformist. When in fact very few actually are. Which does not matter really, since everyone, at the end of the day, is more or less happy with their situation. This concept is, to some extent, what philosopher Antonio Gramsci calls hegemony, which, according to him, is what the contemporary, consumerist society revolves around.

Problems arise, however, as communities form with the majority being of the dominating kind. I, in fact, witness this phenomenon on a daily basis, as I am involved in the student council of the humanistic institution at my university. This council and its meetings could just as easily be referred to as an arena for a battle between peacocks. Simultaneously, it is a stage for weaselly rogues stabbing each other in the back, all the while smiling. I find these plays they put up interesting and worth observing and cogitating on, but at the end of the day, I find myself wondering if it really is worth it. Despite not joining in and playing along, I feel abhorrence and despise after I've witnessed it. It is exhausting to be a part of, to say the least.

People really don't change as they age, they just grow old; and still, at a seemingly adult age, they keep uttering the phrase, "you can't play in our sandbox". They simply exchange the words for other ones.

I seize on little things
you can tell
a lot about people
by the way
they comb their hair
or the way they don't look
you in the eye

I have prided myself
on being in
the great tradition
albeit circus
that the show 
must go on
though in my community
the vernacular is

one monkey don't stop the show.

Thursday, 13 November 2008

Animalia Arthropoda Insecta Pterygota Neoptera Dictyoptera Blattaria.

I am officially letting the cat out of the bag. I suffer from a quite ungovernable fear of insects of the Blattaria order, more commonly known as cockroaches. This particular fear has been sneaking up on me over the years, since I really cannot tell at what point in time it came into being. Today, however, this fear of mine causes quite the predicament almost every day.

In the manner of phobias, it is exacerbating at an alarming pace, to the point where merely the uttering of the word used when referring to these critters makes me ill at ease, and the image of them brings me to tears. This happened only yesterday.

The development of this fear to me is perplexing, since I, as far as I can recall, have harboured a love for all insects and arachnids in general. I've many times thought to myself the only thing keeping me from becoming an entomologist is the fact that I actually find pleasure in the company of other people as well, and fascination for arthropods is not a common one I've come to understand(not that I find shrimp especially interesting).

So yesterday, after dealing with yet another rather uncomfortable situation relating to the Blattarias(a word that causes much less anxiety), I decided to put my natural curiosity to use and turn my fear into an obsession, by finding out as much about them as I possibly can. So once again, I spent the night googling. After approximately eighteen panic attacks caused by the inevitable image results for my searches, I started getting intrigued. 

In other words, I am now one step closer to being healed of this affliction of mine. I find it essential that I try, seeing as how the climate is not getting any cooler and I cannot venture much further north. For motives beyond my reason, the Blattarias are also very popular in the extraordinary form of contemporary culture known as reality TV. This is why I've decided to undertake the challenge of ridding myself of this not-so-much-a-secret-anymore of mine. It is, plainly and quite simply, embarrassing and arduous. Wish me luck!

(If you catch me in the act of staring at Madagascar Hissing Cockroach in a pet shop, it is because I am admiring its way of living in close physical contact with its offspring even after they've grown up to become humongous, disgusting hissing machines themselves.)

Wednesday, 12 November 2008

The Complications You Could Do Without.

Delightful, heartening, enlighting, jovious, facetious, protracted, somber, dolorous, sepulchral.

on the floor
at the great divide
with my shirt tucked in
and my shoes untied
I am crying
in the bathroom

in the morning 
when you finally go
and the nurse runs in
with her head hung low
and the cardinal
hits the window
in the morning
in the winter shade
I thought I saw
you breathing

oh the glory 
that the lord 
has made
and the complications
when I see his face
in the morning 
in the window
oh the glory
when he took
our place
but he took my shoulders
and he shook my face
and he takes
and he takes

and he takes.

I have a pressing urge to ride a train. Whereverto. There and back again.

Tuesday, 11 November 2008

Let The Seasons Begin.

And I know winter
will pass by slow
without my heart
what can I do
and we grow fat
on the charms of our 
idle, dreary days
see the shadows grow
see an ominous display
with no alarm
could we say
we had expected
this that way
under certain death
penance and decay.

I feel rather despondent as winter, with its murkiness, is at my doorstep, pounding on the windows. I can feel it surrounding my house, telling me to stay indoors, preferably under covers. The vacant side of the bed is permanently occupied by stacks of books, mainly dealing with issues ranging from substance abuse to nuclear war and its consequences. In other words, I am not feeling all that jolly.

carousels twirl
all around
we are tonight
in a world
full of thrills
it can carry me up
far above it all

times I've betrayed
it's a long way down
from here
to the sound
watch the faces
go 'round
to the stars

then the ground.

Wednesday, 5 November 2008

Well Done.

"She was born just a generation past slavery; a time when there were no cars on the road or planes in the sky; when someone like her couldn't vote for two reasons - because she was a woman and because of the color of her skin. 

And tonight, I think about all that she's seen throughout her century in America - the heartache and the hope; the struggle and the progress; the times we were told that we can't, and the people who pressed with that American creed: Yes we can.

At a time when women's voices were silenced and their hopes dismissed, she lived to see them stand up and speak out and reach for the ballot. Yes we can.

When there was despair in the dust bowl and depression across the land, she saw a nation conquer fear itself with a new deal, new jobs, a new sense of common purpose. Yes we can.

When the bombs fell on our harbour and tyranny threatened the world, she was there to witness a generation rise to greatness and a democracy was saved. Yes we can.

She was there for the buses of Montgomery, the hoses in Birmingham, a bridge in Selma and a preacher from Atlanta, who told people that "we shall overcome". Yes we can.

A man touched down on the moon, a wall came down in Berlin, a world was connected by our own science and imagination. And this year, in this election, she touched her finger to a screen, and cast her vote, because after 106 years in America, through the best of times and the darkest of hours, she knows how America can change. Yes we can.

America, we have come so far. We have seen so much. But there is so much more to do. So tonight, let us ask ourselves - if our children should live to see the next century; if my daughters should be so lucky to live as long as Ann Nixon Cooper, what change will they see? What progress will we have made?

This is our chance to answer that call. This is our moment. This is our time, to put people back to work and open doors of opportunity for our kids; to restore prosperity and promote the cause of peace; to reclaim the American dream and reaffirm that fundamental truth, that out of many, we are one; that while we breathe, we hope. And where we are met with cynicism and doubts and those who tell us that we can't, we will respond with that timeless creed that sums up the spirit of a people:

Yes we can.

Today I awoke to a different world.

I feel both gratitude and admiration for the American people.

Where I come from people won't venture outside their homes to vote on Election Day if it's raining, not to mention if they actually had to stand in line for several hours to do so. So hats off to you, Americans. And I sincerely mean that. Can't complain on the choice you made, either(understatement of the year, I was moved to tears when Obama - who in my humble opinion is the most rhetorically gifted person I've ever come across - won).

No more talk of  knowing "the human being and fish can coexist peacefully".

Tuesday, 4 November 2008

Monday, 3 November 2008

I wonder if the waves get weary
with the salt and surfers on their backs
or if the wind is angry 
when it throws the rain against my windows?
I wonder if the mountains are lonely
or only aloof
if the desert is as sullen as it seems
or only sad?
I wonder if the gulls are sick
of eating fish
if the sandpipers don't get tired
of dodging waves?

maybe we could send a man from earth
to study the stress on the waves
to chart the temper of the wind
and the temperament of the mountains
to tell the desert jokes until the sage shakes with laughter
to feed the gulls a balanced diet with mineral supplements
and the sandpipers?
well tune them into TV
to hear the future of the tides

I wonder funny things
do sandcrabs live in condominiums?

They Move On Tracks Of Never-Ending Light.

Dance with me.

I've decided to start adding photographs to my daily ramblings. Mainly to describe a feeling I've had or a mood I've been in, but also to develop myself as a photographer. The general idea is that I  take at least one picture I'm satisfied with every single day.

Today I felt something almost magical, and I took this picture of the very last mosquitoes to be found. Both their presence and the way they were dancing made them seem like magical fairies to my eyes.

Wednesday, 29 October 2008


Ég kyngi tári
og anda hári
minn besti vinur
hverju sem dynur

ég óska mér
nú rætist saga.

"The clouds are beautiful today", I found myself stating to my brother this morning. 

That was the end of the wonder that was this particular October Thursday. After that it's been a haze of headaches and uttermost vexation. I generally dislike writing when I'm feeling annoyed, but today I felt like screaming at times (I think I did, actually). I have to vent some of my rage.

I conveniently, first thing in the morning, stumbled upon a "documentary", which I have an aversion to calling it, on interrogation on television. I was once again reminded why I do not watch television in general. I want a documentary to present me with information new to me, to entertain with interesting anecdotes and to make me think. This one did nothing of the sort. It provoked me to the verge of lunacy with it's ways of presenting the truth to the viewer, as if it were the simplest of matters. Yes, communists are, in fact, the essence of evil. I know this now, after watching this marvelous piece of media. It really is that simple.

When my brother presented me with the offer to take a walk with him to the shopping complex(even the word itself is repelling) nearby, I couldn't refuse. Nice to get out of the house and away from the television for a bit, get some fresh air and clear my head.

Oh well. It seems, it is not enough to build these shopping complexes on every street corner, so as to make it impossible to avoid at least walking through them if you want to get around. Nowadays, people selling their completely futile whatchamacallits and doohickeys are not confined to the stores. They actually assault you in the "hallways" combining the stores (which constitute to this wonderful concept of the shopping complex) with various indisputable offers. And they wont take no for an answer.

Did I mention they've built a blockade of some form of remote-controlled-build-it-yourself-personalized-monstertrucks right in front of the grocery store? And they've hired children to run around and play with them, telling all the other children, passing by with their parents, that this car in particular is the ultimate christmas(that day of the year that occurs in two months when you get a bunch of cool stuff) gift. Since it is personalized, you have to buy every single part by itself, of course. Simple genius.

Since the brief but brutal shopping trip I've been desperately trying to unwind. The solution was an unexpected one. The wonders of television were, once again, thrown upon me, this time with rather more pleasant results. It was a documentary on Cuba, the Castro brothers, and communist martyr Che Guevara. After which, me and my brother, decided to put on the "Motorcycle Diaries". I was instantly whisked away from the discomforting reality of consumer driven capitalism.

Furthermore, I am leaving the big city for the cosy reality of small town living, only a day left and I'll be at home, alone in my apartment, enjoying my solitude. Where the television is safely locked away in the broom cabinet.

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

You Are The Bluest Light.

you'll find it
hiding in shadows
you'll find it
hiding in cupboards
it will walk you home 
safe every night 

if that's the way it is 
then that's the way it is. 

I still feel you 
and the taste of cigarettes 
what could I ever run to?

just tell me
it's tearing you apart
just tell me
you cannot sleep

and you didn't even notice
when the sky turned blue
and you couldn't tell 
the difference between 
me and you

and I nearly didn't notice
the gentlest feeling.

I am so in the wrong.

Thursday, 23 October 2008

Burial On The Presidio Banks.

I've had an underlying thought at the back of my head for some time now, which I, for reasons I've decided to sequester for now, haven't found the time nor energy to quite bring to a conclusion. Suddenly on Thursday morning, however, while I was - somewhat indecently dressed - running around my apartment in a desperate search for any form of clothing, I grasped what I had been trying to apprehend(multitasking is the key to success). 

I've always been quite the elitist when it comes to intelligence, as a character trait I've considered it fundamental. Despite being told by others that "there are other attributes" I haven't quite grasped the fact that intelligence in itself does not entail or effectuate any other attribute. Until now, that is.

What I've come to realize, both through interaction with a lot of people rather varying in kind, as well as simply meditating on the matter, is that intelligence is nothing more or less than a simple matter of choice. I've philosophized on the concept of a person having specific capacities in different aspects; about a person having social and emotional capacity, and the ability to exhaust these capacities. 

I think intelligence in fact is a capacity too. Not, however, in the manner it is usually considered or measured. Intelligence is a simple tool, that correctly used is quite the powerful one. It grieves me to say that more often than not it is not used correctly(in the greyest context possible), alternatively not utilized at all. It is also an attribute that needs to be exercised so as not to abate completely. For someone born with intelligence this entails a choice that a person born without it does not need to make. Whatever a person of intelligence decides to do with the choice is determined by other attributes.

What I've learnt is that intelligence in itself is not something to aspire for or look for in other people, but rather to search for people who have chosen to be analytical, solicitous and respectful. And I've decided to live accordingly.

Furthermore, I've embarked on a journey that is reading a book called "A Million Little Pieces", by James Frey. It will most certainly be a difficult read for me personally, but I want to see it through, I find it important that I do.

I was standing
on the surface
of a perforated sphere
when the water filled
every hole
and thousands
upon thousands
made an ocean
making islands
where no island
should go

those people
were overjoyed
they took to their boats
I thought it less
like a lake
and more like moat
the rhythm 
of my footsteps
crossing flatlands
to your door
have been silenced

the distance
is quite simply
much too far
for me to row.

it seems farther than ever before.

Stoppa mig.

men jag lever för ikväll.

vad har du gjort av dig, för dig, med dig själv?

sena nätter
tomma glas
skjuter upp problemet
för ett tag
för stunden

vad har du gjort av dig, för dig, med dig själv?

men jag märker alla har fått nog av mig

jag lovar jag kan fixa vem jag vill
men jag blir aldrig nöjd
jag förtjänar faktiskt något bättre

för dig är det alltid helg.

Monday, 20 October 2008

Without Feathers.

"In perpetrating a revolution, there are two requirements: someone or something to revolt against and someone to actually show up and do the revolting. Dress is usually casual and both parties may be flexible about time and place but if either faction fails to attend, the whole enterprise is likely to come off badly.
The people or parties revolted against are called the "oppressors" and are easily recognised as they seem to be the ones having all the fun. The "oppressors" generally get to wear suits, own land, and play their radios late at night without being yelled at. Their job is to maintain the "status quo". 
When the "oppressors" become too strict, we have what is known as a police state, wherein all dissent is forbidden, as is chuckling, showing up in a bow tie, or referring to the mayor as "Fats". Civil liberties are greatly curtailed in a police state,  and freedom of speech is unheard of, although one is allowed to mime to a record.
Opinions critical of the government are not tolerated, particularly about their dancing. Freedom of the press is also curtailed and the ruling party "manages" the news, permitting the citizens to bear only acceptable political ideas and ball scores that will not cause unrest. The groups who revolt are called the "oppressed" and can generally be seen milling about and grumbling or claiming to have headaches. (It should be noted that the oppressors never revolt and attempt to become the oppressed as that would entail a change of underwear.)"

There is no doubt about the man who wrote the "brief, but helpful, guide to civil disobedience" above being nothing short of a genius. I want to have his babies. 

Sunday, 19 October 2008

At Peace.

This Sunday morning when I arrived at school to complete my essay, I instinctively went to the same table I've sat at everyday this week writing, working, analyzing. To my surprise I found the very same cup of cold coffee that my dear friend left on the very same table on Friday afternoon. This is actually not that odd, to be honest, but because of this discovery I was overcome by a sense of belonging. 

This feeling was mixed with thoughts on independence and solitude. When I woke up as the the light from the window hit my bed this morning, I thought to myself how delightful it is to wake up alone to a day that is in its entirety decided by me. 

Tears and fears
and feeling proud
to say I love you
right out loud
dreams and schemes
and circus crowds
I've looked at life
that way

but now old friends
are acting strange
they shake their heads
they say I've changed
well something is lost
but something is gained
in living every day

I've looked at life
from both sides now
from win and lose
and still somehow
it's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know
life at all.

Thursday, 16 October 2008


I'm back after twenty hours on the road, carrying my entire world on my back; camera, computer, music, a pen and some paper and of course, my head. Which is aching from sleep deprivation; or caffeine poisoning, which, now that I think about it, is exactly the same thing either way you choose to express yourself. A day filled with bright lights and busy, distant people. On the train home, however, I got a chance to relax. Surprisingly my mind was suddenly filled with thoughts that felt the need to be expressed, almost as if I had an epiphany.

"I have, just now this very moment, come to realize a very fundamental aspect about my writing. It has become clear to me that what I choose not to put down in words in fact speaks more loudly about how I feel than what I do. I've assumed I've chosen not to mention a single significant person in my life, not by name or otherwise, because I wanted to stay anonymous. The fact is, I now know this illusion is in fact, an illusion. I am absolutely terrified of letting people into my life, and letting myself feel connected to someone, in the fear of being hurt, I assume (rather confident of myself to keep assuming facts about myself and how my mind works, isn't it?). As if writing about these important people and letting someone into my life would entail handing them the power to control it as well. The truth is, whether I am willing to admit it or not, there are some people in this new home of mine that have affected me in one way or another. Turns out I do like people in particular, just not in general."

I can see 
it all tonight
a perfect sky
where the universe
revolves around 
the pupil of an eye
and infinities 
stretch out
from infinities 
I'm a part 
of everything

am I falling asleep
is it all 
just a dream
the cars 
are like water
and the road
is like a stream
rolling down 
through the city
flowing out 
into the sea
going nowhere 
like me

when the morning
starts to glow
out in the corners
of the sky
all the people
come and go
and the time
just passes by
then I'm only
gonna see it
from the corner
of my eye
when the planet 
it sings
like the wings
of a dragonfly.

Monday, 13 October 2008


The most awful of days ended in the most perfect of evenings, and I'm back to the whimsical little being that is myself again. Went out for a moonlit walk with vivid conversation in the best of companies and grabbed some sinfully expensive (but oh so good) ice cream on the way home. 
Now that I feel completely rejuvenated I realize I need to do some rearranging of my schedule. Prioritizing mostly, I need to see to it that I do things for my own reasons and not to oblige others.

And so I am, once again, looking forward to whatever tomorrow brings.

ujonlainen, keijukainen
asioistaan vaitonainen,
kaukaa kyyneleensä kiertää,
yksinäinen, päältä jäinen,
rakkaudessa kerjäläinen,
kengät kuljettaa
ja hiertää.

hei tie, 
vie toiveista pois, 
sylistä syliin,
kunnes en enää tiedä
missä oon,
pölyillä sotket päätä,
mä oon paperisen ohut
ja mun sydän
syväjäätä kasvattaa.

hei tie,
vie mut reunalle
ja yli,
vie kauas täältä
sinne missä oon.

Sunday, 12 October 2008

Pink Bullets.

Oh dear.

I like boys
with strong convictions
and convicts
with perfect diction
with good intentions
with stamp collections
plywood surfboards
ride the ocean
salty noses
suntan lotion
always seriously joking
and rambunctiously soft-spoken

I like boys
that like their mothers
and I have
a thing for brothers
but they always wait
'til we're under covers
to say
I'm sure glad
we're not lovers.

Most of the time, I feel the need to curse my natural spontaneity because of all the trouble it gets me into. On the contrary, on this particular occasion I am mighty thankful for this rather childlike trait of mine. Without it I would not have discovered that it is pointless to try and rationalize, and by doing so destroying, any emotion that is present. I've been trying to figure out my empty state of heart for some time now. I did not realize that a matter of heart cannot be figured out by contemplation, which usually is my way of getting through everything. 

Baby steps are the key through this bafflement. Breathe in. Breathe out. Sigh.

I'm naked
I'm numb
I'm stupid
I'm staying
and if Cupid
has got a gun
then he's shooting.

Thursday, 9 October 2008

Just Like You Imagined.

Two of my absolute favourite quotes can be applied to describe this day in all its glory. The first one was uttered by existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre, the second one is from "The Roman", written by, in my humble opinion, the greatest author to ever walk this forsaken planet, Mika Waltari.

L'enfer c'est les autres.

Olen jo kyllästynyt tähän levottomaan maailmaan, jossa viisaus istuu ovensuussa röyhkeyden juhliessa.

Today I am shying away from all humankind. There seems to be no limit for people's rudeness, impolitiness and insolence. It seems to be considered more socially acceptable to resort to obscenities in order to be noticed, rather than observing and contemplating in a manner resembling what was once valued by the greatest thinkers of the world. The strive for wisdom is not, as I had dared to hope, what people build their lives around.

I am, dare I say, disappointed.

And as a consequence, for one day, I'm filling my ears with music instead of talk devoid of content.

It makes a man
out of me
you take the fun
out of me
and I've been consistent
to the fucking dream
and I've paid
my dues
just to get them
all back

I'm just a skeleton.

Tuesday, 7 October 2008

Under Den Vita Hatten.

Jag kastar stenar 
i mitt glashus
jag kastar pil 
i min kuvös
och så odlar jag 
min rädsla
ja, jag sår 
ständigt nya frön
i mitt växthus 
är jag säker
där växer avund 
klar och grön
jag är livrädd 
för att leva
och jag är dödsrädd 
för att dö.

Lately I've been gathering responsibility on my tiny little shoulders. It comes naturally to me, to assume responsibility both for myself and for others. The problem is I tend to overestimate my strength, or rather I tend to ignore that for me energy is fickle, to say the least. One of these days I might wake up to a world I don't want to live in. At that point I have no one else to blame but myself. And this time I've nothing to fall back on.

I'm absolutely petrified of the thought that this might occur at some point. For the time being, however, I still feel I can handle it.

I think I might be addicted to responsibility. I think I want to feel irreplaceable.

I'm digging my own grave.

Tuesday, 30 September 2008

Lost And Found.

I've come to a conclusion in my strive for finding an answer to the question, "where has my inspiration gone?". The fact is, almost all media - I, we, our generation or whatever one might call it, is exposed to - is unsupportive of actual brain activity. Probably to avoid the possibility of anyone disagreeing with the values we are handed. I've already stopped watching television for this particular reason. Now I see that is not sufficient if I want to protect the opinions I've seemingly adopted on my own accord (how can I ever be quite sure?). I've already taken a violent dislike to films and books where the author or director deliberately leaves no room for the observer to contemplate over the content or the values stated in it, they are simply made to be absorbed and embraced accordingly. These particular works seem to be rather highly esteemed in fact, by popular opinion. What I've recently discovered is that the wonders of the internet also seem to have a similar effect on me. I need not take more than a few hours break from it, and suddenly I can think on my own again. 


Monday, 29 September 2008

She's Hearing Voices.

trade your demise for mine
a tissue for a cigarette
my eyes are dry
but on the inside
I'm all wet

we sit and we sigh
and nothing gets done

Today I was nervous, exhausted, uninspired, energized, hungry, interested, intrigued, disappointed, surprised, homesick, cold and stupid. I got absolutely nothing done of the things I had planned to do.

I'm constantly running out the door when all I really feel like doing is curling up in my bed and sleeping away an entire day, hoping to feel inspired again after that. Yesterday I walked for miles and miles just to get to a certain road with certain trees, that in the end look exactly the same as the trees you might find anywhere else. For that brief moment I spent looking at those trees, however, I felt serene inside and out, only to be filled with a sense of restlessness when I started walking home again. 

and it came to me then
that every plan
is a tiny prayer 
to father time

Thursday, 25 September 2008

Så Enkelt.

Good food, accompanied by some new, wonderful music. Followed by a stimulating read in an intriguing book. And turning in early. Nothing can beat that.

Det finns smärta
som växer in
in i den väv
som är ens liv
det finns stunder
av ljus och glädje
mod och närhet

det är vi.


In addition to having multiple personalities defined by different moods on certain days, I have to separate the physical from the mental too, it seems. These two have minds of their own, always wanting different things. The other one wants instant satisfaction and the other doesn't mind the occasional challenge. I want to define myself as the latter but the other one bellows rather loudly at times. 

(This is starting to sound a bit too psychoanalytical for my taste.)

On another note, my strong sense of ambition is back with a roar. To the extent where I've become something similar to a petulant child when I don't get exactly what I want, when I want it. I feel I need to take a step back and consider what it is that I really yearn for, strive for, hope for. Also, for now, I am going to focus on what I know I am good at and what really is the essence of my being. The joyous journey of learning, my education and my natural curiosity. I will not tolerate any disturbance in that department anymore.

I've become a silly little girl.

In fact, I want to remember at this point the most inspirational piece of poetry for me personally, written by Ben Jonson, the English Renaissance poet and writer. This particular piece is written in the remembrance of the great William Shakespeare, considered to be Jonson's rival.

He was not of an age
but for all time,

and though thou hadst 
small Latin
and less Greek,
from thence to honor thee,
I would not seek for names
but call forth
thundering Aeschylus
and Sophocles,
to live again
to hear
thy buskin thread

Nature herself
was proud of his designs,
and joyed to wear
the dressing of his lines,
yet I must not give Nature all
thy art,
my gentle Shakespeare,
must enjoy a part,
for though the poet's
matter nature be
his art does give the fashion;
and that he who casts
to write a living line
must sweat,
for a good poet's made
as well as born.

Monday, 22 September 2008


This day has been an extraordinary energetic one, with much to do and very little time to stop. I love days like these.

In fact, today was an extraordinary day in every sense. I felt something, a sense of familiarity mixed with curiosity. And even affection, I might say. Peculiar, to say the least. I feel like I am at the doorstep of a new adventure.

Today really was a warm day despite the ever approaching cold of winter.

and I danced
with the leaves around me.

Sunday, 21 September 2008

A Sunday Smile.

This tree made made my day.


As is to be expected, a more of a slow and rather melancholy day has to arrive at some point. I think I'm just a little bit homesick, in the sense that I miss being with people that I know and that know me inside and out. Even though I've met a lot of seemingly interesting people, it is tiring to constantly be interested in them. Somewhat similarly to what I've asked myself before about emotional capacity, maybe a person possesses only a certain amount of social capacity, too? I'm someone who likes being with other people and especially new people, but I need a lot of time by myself to balance it out. To contemplate and to set my thoughts into some kind of order. Almost all of my favourite pastimes are something that is done best alone, in fact. I'm afraid if I don't get enough time by myself for a change, I might say or do something that I don't want to. The worst case scenario, that is actually not that far fetched considering my heritage, is that I will drown my need for solitude and contemplation in some form of addiction. And I most certainly do not want to go down that road.

in life
one is always balancing

like we juggle our mother
against our father
or a teacher
against another

three grains of salt
for one ounce truth

and I've begun
to balance
the pleasure of loneliness
against the pain
of knowing you

Hope Leaves.

Saturday, 20 September 2008

The Sun In Sails.

... and so she went away again. The sun that is. She appears sporadically and stays in sight for long enough for one to start planning a wonderfully sunny afternoon, only to disappear again just when one is about to actually put the plan into action. She is elusive, the Sun.
And until it's June again there's no hope of holding her.

I want to capture autumn on film today.

If a man's hands show his trade
does it suit me then?
this papercut skin
that make me wince
with each hand
I'm required to shake

Thursday, 18 September 2008

Our Last Days As Children.

I've always wanted to be able to bend words the way I want them, to tame them in order to describe everything that occurs in a single moment, every scent and every look and every sound. Today is yet another day that I wish I possessed this talent. There are simply no words for this day. Feels like I've wasted them all.

if I could write musical notes
this is where they would be.

The Pioneers.

We promised the world we'd tame it
what were we hoping for?

Yesterday evening turned into yesterday night and yesterday night turned into this morning.

Here I am sitting, after four hours of sleep fit for a king, fit as a fiddle and as happy as can be. It is an extraordinary sensation to wake up every day and look forward to every single thing you have planned for that particular day. I really don't know what to do with it, to be honest. I can't even muster the strength to think the unevitable cynical thought that it can only go downhill from here.
How peculiar that my state of mind can change so drastically in such a short period of time. I think this is something worth exploring.
I am a Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde of sorts, even. But in a rather less frightening way. This way I always have something to do, occupied with getting to know whoever I happen to be that particular day. I rather enjoy the multiple me.

The interesting thing is that the only fixated fact about me is music. Every day I enjoy the same music, even if it might be for different reasons or from different points of view each time. 

so here we are
reinventing the wheel
I'm shaking hands
with a hurricane
it's a colour
I can't describe
it's a language
I can't understand
tearing out the heart of you
carving lines into you
dripping down
the sides of you.

Wednesday, 17 September 2008

All Cats Are Grey.

I just finished writing my analysis on the film Lost in Translation. It needs to be said that I adore Sofia Coppola's talent to really mirror the characters' emotions in a a truthful way. More often than not the actors need not say one word for them to be understood. She has faced alot of criticism, especially on her take on the life of the much talked queen of France during the revolution, Marie Antoinette. Still, the film is, in my humble opinion, utterly beautiful and well made. Courageous of her to take on the challenge of pointing out the queen and her struggle as a person, instead of focusing on the phrase which has become the epitome of her in the public eye. Needless to say, I don't feel the need - or want, for that matter - to utter this particular phrase, be it truthful or not that it actually escaped her lips at some point in time. I think that is enough said on that matter, just wanted to point out the brilliance of Ms. Coppola's films, in case it has escaped some of you.

Furthermore, I still want to go to Japan more than anything. I haven't been working on my knowledge of kanji as much as I would have wanted to, but most importantly I still have the inspiration and motivation to keep at it. I've also been studying origami and otherwise dwelling in the depths of Japanese culture for some time. Once I've managed my first exam I will march right into the university library and grab me some books I spotted yesterday on Japanese film. I am overjoyed at the fact that this dream of Japan, going there, being there, living there, is something I've managed to stay committed to for so long. I'm a very spontaneous person and I usually change my mind from one extreme to the next over pretty much anything at the blink of an eye. This is the first exception. It fascinates me.

I never thought
that I would find myself
in bed amongst the stones
the columns are all men
begging to crush me
no shapes sail
on the dark deep lakes
and no flags
wave me home

in the caves
all cats are grey
in the caves
the textures coat my skin
in the death cell
a single note
rings on and on 
and on.

Tuesday, 16 September 2008

Nancy Boy.

eikä mitään tekemistä
kaupunki nöyränä sylissä
sormissa tuoksuu tupakka
sun nauru on vieras ja ihana
kato mua kun mä villinä värisen
enkä surua pelkää
kun tunne en
oi miten suloinen kesä
kun se loppuu jää vain pimeä


Today I am not affected by the gloominess of the outside. I know it's still lurking there at the windowsill, trying to get to me. Not today. Today I found myself dancing while I was brushing my teeth. Can't get much better than that.

today I dance


Monday, 15 September 2008

Running On Empty.

Why yes, in fact this is my second post today. Even though I haven't been doing that much my mind is set on high speed for some time it seems. I was rather hoping it was only a result of a restless night. 

I went bicycling earlier and then I took a stroll in the university library. Books have an ability to give me a sense of serenity, even when I'm not reading them. Just the smell, it seems, is enough to relax me. And being aware of the fact that there is so much to learn comforts me, it gives me direction.

I still feel completely devoid of sentiment, however. Pun intended.

things keep popping out
on my face
or of my life
it seems no matter how I try
I become more difficult
to hold
I am not an easy woman
to want

How I enjoy the poetic genius of Nikki Giovanni.

Cotton Candy On A Rainy Day.

don't look now
I'm fading away
into the grey of my mornings
or the blues of every night

I've found myself, on more than one occasion, spontaneously writing in the wee morning hours, yesterday being no exception. I go about for pages and pages, spilling out heaps of completely abstract thoughts. Where these countless ramblings spring from I've no idea. Nor can I even begin to explain the masterplan behind posting some of them on the internet. The logic behind revealing something I on my own accord only seem to want to do in the dark in the comfort of my own bed is beyond me. Still, this is what I am going to do.

words fail me all the time
i don't even feel like talking
still I go on and on
can't we just stay silent?
speaking now seems far too violent

Suddenly, this very morning, I woke up urging inspiration. To read, to listen, to observe, to contemplate. To just be silent, and let whatever it is stir and to see what happens if I do. Today I awoke with a sense of curiosity, not only for everything around me - which is always present - but for the first time I want to know what I am capable of if I set my mind to it. To quote, I want to "explore the corners of my mind".

Yesterday sometime at night, I started writing. I wrote for hours, went to sleep at some particular moment in time, experienced some rather unsettling nightmares about certain crawling critters I cannot stand the concept of yet utter their name, woke up like the early bird and continued my quest to grasp what's in my head with a pen. 

Does a person contain only a specific amount of emotional capacity for a certain timeframe? Can this capacity be exhausted to the extent where a person is simply unable to feel?

I've no answer for the time being. Only an incredibly jejune state of mind is left.