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. 

Extraordinary.

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

älskling,
det är vi.
 

Hoppipolla.

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
Euripides
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

Dawn.

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.

Balances.

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
ambition
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.

kesä
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.