the pleasure of finding things out.

Back to English.

2010-08-01T10:40:00.012+02:00

I find it interesting how I seem to naturally fall into a certain language depending on my state of mind.

And I am acutely aware of which certain state of mind requires English to be expressed.

Today is the first of August. The start of a new year is upon me. As I have previously expressed, in whatever language, I count years in academic years. Whatever milestones I have achieved thus far in my life have been in some way related to school so it seems the most natural. Not to mention the fact that this way I get to start a new year in the best of weather conditions. (In theory.)

At least sunlight
will remain constant
and free of cost.

I don't intend to gaze forward before revisiting the year that is now meeting its demise. Truthfully, I am not going to miss it. As enlightening as it has been.
But I do owe thanks to a handful of people who have shepherded me through it. Because I really have been a sheep for the better part of it. And a lion masquerading as a sheep will only tear up its costume and end up naked.

Today I find immense comfort in many things, and I am quite proud to say that not one of them is destructive to myself or others. Which is a first.
(Who knew folding paper and collecting memories could be so exciting?)

At times I do feel idle and redundant. ("At times" here meaning once every hour, of every day.) Then I realize that I never did do anything of value during those empty moments - I simply thought I did. Calling such a moment "drinking because it's Friday" or "having sex because I can" will not make it any less void of substance.

The boundaries of language
I quietly cursed
and all the different names
for the same thing.

Emptiness still scares me witless. Simultaneously I find tranquility in feeling it, because I know it will pass and then something wonderful will come along.
The problem, I believe, with filling those moments with seemingly meaningful activity is that that those activities seldom keep to their allotted spaces of time. They spread, and soon one's entire life consists of empty moments covered up with meaningless tasks.

I struggle to find direction or value in my life. Perhaps everyone feels an inherit need to be needed in some regard. I have been clinging desperately to the concept of belonging to a family. Because children provide their guardian with such excellent sense of responsibility.
And I have felt responsible for all my siblings for as long as I can remember. They are, all three of them, such extraordinary people it is difficult not to want to be in as close affinity with them as possible. But they deserve to be treated as equals by me. And I think I would enjoy not feeling like a parent for some time to come.
So I accept that I will miss them when I am away. And that I am not abandoning them when I leave.

All I need to do now is find some other meaning for everything I do. And that brings us to the commencing new year.

If not the moon
will us guide
will then the streetlight?

I am at the verge of probably the greatest adventure I have yet undertaken. In twenty-six days I will be throwing caution into the wind and moving to Japan for the autumn. By myself.
And it absolutely terrifies me.
(Actually it is probably the best thing that has happened to anyone, ever.)

Excitement. Thrill. Exhilaration. Rapture.

All things definitely worth living for.

And finding them in all places imaginable is a meaningful purpose. Be it reading an engaging book, defying a previous fear, paddling down a forceful river. Or touching someone whose smile is so disarming that you feel you might dissolve at any given time you have the pleasure of witnessing it.

If you touch me
well I just think
I'll scream
cause it's been so long since
someone challenged me.

In other words, I eagerly anticipate whatever this year might bring. I am really scared out of my mind and nervous and devastatingly infatuated and confused and disarranged and mostly completely without direction.

But I'm having the time of my life.

(I might add that I probably will be writing significantly more about Japan in the future.)

Om att finna sitt hem.

2010-05-31T18:47:00.003+02:00

Terminen är slut nu. Mitt hyreskontrakt är slut nu.
Året är slut nu.

Det känns som att allt är slut nu.

Och för första gången någonsin

- känns det inte okej.

Jag vill inte åka.

Hér vill ég vera, hér á ég heima.

Om ensamhet.

2010-05-30T00:54:00.003+02:00

Ensamhet. Frihet. Två begrepp som jag insett är samma sak. Eller nej, inte samma sak, men de går hand i hand. (Vilket blir nästan lite ironiskt.)

Jag lider av en förlamande känsla av ensamhet - mest hela tiden. Jag kan umgås med folk och då är det lättare att ignorera känslan. Men den är där, konstant där, och äter upp mig inifrån.

Och det finns en bra anledning till dess närvaro. Man är ju ensam. Hela tiden. Det finns inget sätt att kringå det. Man kan som bäst vara ensam tillsammans med någon annan.

Men inte ens det är lätt att uppnå. För att känslan av frihet försvinner med det. Sekunden man tycker om en annan person börjar man kompromissa sig själv, och förändras. Det skrämmer mig mer än något annat. För att man så lätt glömmer bort sig själv.

Allt är ensamhetens fel. Han är svartsjuk av sig. Viskar små ord i örat för att skrämma en från att gå ut genom dörren. Han vill ha mig för sig själv. Vi har ju blivit så bra kompisar under åren.

Jag vet ju att jag inte kan hålla på så här. Jag måste vända ryggen mot ensamheten. Men närhet skrämmer mig. Jag vill inte att någon rör vid mig. Eller att någon ser igenom mig.

Fast egentligen vill jag. Jag är bara rädd att det någon ser i mig inte är nog.

Jag vill vara ensam tillsammans. För att det är bättre än att vara tillsammans med ensamheten.

Ingen läser det här ändå.

2010-05-22T00:01:00.003+02:00

När man sitter mitt i natten på en fredag och hoppas på att spindeln man delar rum med ska smyga sig fram och hälsa på en.

Det är då man vet.

Att man är rätt ensam.

(God natt.)

(Det hann bli lördag innan jag vågade publicera det här.)

Swing, Brother, Swing.

2009-10-14T18:47:00.004+02:00

I'll be
seeing you
in all
the old familiar
places
that
this heart of mine
embraces
all day through

in
that small café
the park
across the way
the children's carousel
the chestnut trees
the wishing well

I'll be
seeing you
in every
lovely summer's day
in everything
that's light
and gay
I'll always
think of you
that way

I'll find you
in the morning sun
and when
the night is new
I'll be looking
at the moon
but I'll be

seeing you.

Åh. Iförd enbart trosor och en allt för stor tröja som inte tillhör mig. Mitt i natten lyssnar jag på musik. Dricker kaffe och arbetar i After Effects. Det är bara en vanlig torsdagnatt. Men ändå inte.

Som att åka bil - eller ännu bättre, tåg - och se ut genom fönstret och betrakta världen. Så romantiskt känns allting. Och det är tack vare ägaren till den hesa men barnsliga rösten som upptar hela mej och för mig bort till regnstänkta gator och karuseller, till pastelliga gamla bilar och glassbarer. Saker jag inte upplevt men ändå jo. Åh.

Och förresten, om det någon vacker dag är någon som möjligtvis vill imponera på mig. Sjung inte Barry Manilow eller Westlife. Eller 10cc. Sjung det här istället.

Förtvinar.

2009-10-10T15:49:00.002+02:00

Känner redan hur vintern ligger som en skugga över mig. Han står och trycker ner mig i sängen om morgnarna. När jag känner att jag vill tala med någon håller han igen mina läppar. Ska jag gå ut är han där och viskar i mitt öra alla anledningar att stanna hemma istället. Ibland är han som ett täcke framför mina ögon och skymmer hur fint det är med de röda träden och regnmolnen i bakgrunden. Och det är så svårt att bara ignorera honom. Särskilt då han egentligen är jag själv.

Ni förstår, det är fel att skylla på vintern.

Jag försöker ignorera mig själv så gott det går.

You've been
living awhile
in the front
of my skull
making orders
you've been
writing me rules
shrinking maps
and redrawing borders

I've been
repeating your speeches
but the audience
just doesn't follow
because
I'm leaving out
words, punctuations
and it sounds
pretty hollow

I've been
living in bed
because now
you tell me to sleep
I've been
hiding my voice
and my face
and you decide
when I eat

in your dreams
I'm a criminal
horrible
sleeping around
while you're awake
I'm impossible
constantly
letting you down

Someone
oh, anyone

tell me
how to stop this.

Repris.

2009-09-19T22:45:00.004+02:00

Såhär kan man känna ibland.

Jag såg nyligen en anime film, "5 centimeters a second" hette den. Inte särskilt bra var den. Jag fick helt enkelt inte känslan av att filmen utnyttjade mediet särskilt väl. Den stod stilla en stor del av tiden och manuset hade behövts revideras ett antal gånger. Trots det tyckte jag att själva syftet, såsom jag tolkade det, var ett fint ett.

Filmen handlade om olycklig kärlek. Den enda osjälviska kärleken. Sägs det. Jag håller med.

______________________________________________________

Att en dag märka att den där fula gula tröjan och de för korta byxorna egentligen är det härligaste man vet. Att plötsligt rodna för att en person man känt i åratal nämner ens namn.

Att vilja dö när det kommer fram att man blir hög av en klasskamrats doft. Att bli lycklig men falla sönder av en blick.

Att hjärtat slår som en kolibris då en person av misstag rör vid en. Att gråta sig till sömns för att det är jullov och ingen skola på två veckor.

Att tro att en kyss betyder lika mycket för den andre som för sig själv. Att ren eufori förvandlas till ren illamående av en enda mening som yttrats. Att tro att det är något fundamentalt fel med en själv för att man inte duger.

Att flera år senare minnas och bli lika sårad som då. Att märka att man kan bli kär i någon annan igen.

Att trots allt som hänt fortfarande tro världen om en person som förmodligen inte är något speciellt ändå.

Att lära sig livets svåra gåta, att älska, glömma och förlåta(som farmor alltid tjatar om).

Att man då man ser på en halvdålig animefilm inser att personliga sanningar oftast är universala sanningar.

På led.

2009-09-19T20:56:00.006+02:00

Toner av varierande tonhöjd ställer sig ofta på led i mitt huvud, i hopp om att forma små ljud då jag tänker dem. I allmänhet kallas detta för musik, men jag har svårt för att kalla dem för det för dessa toner existerar inte någonstans förutom i mitt huvud. De yttras aldrig, för att jag saknar kapaciteten att uttrycka dem. Jag kan inte spela något instrument eller sjunga särskilt väl.

Så de förblir toner på led. Ända tills jag tar tag i saken och letar fram ett redan existerande stycke som uttrycker det jag hört i mitt huvud. För det kan jag, om inte annat. Sedan hamnar styckena på min dator i en spellista - organiserade efter känslotillstånd och tankar, inte artister eller genrer.

Jag tror att detta är anledningen till att det är främst instrumentell musik, alternativt låtar med text på något språk jag inte förstår ett ord av (till exempel isländska eller kinesiska) som jag lyssnar på. Jag vill ju inte få en låt med text som berättar för mig vad jag ska tänka eller känna då jag lyssnar till den.

Hade jag varit ett (det vill säga kunnat spela ett) instrument hade jag varit en cello. En cello med en lätt men djup röst. En vemodig, melankolisk cello. Som cellon i Prelude II av Dustin O'Halloran. Han VET vad jag känner och hör i mitt huvud, förresten.

Prelude II

Nyvaken. Nyfödd.

2009-09-19T16:41:00.006+02:00

Skatteverket skickade ett brev åt mig. För att jag bett dem. Ett personbevis. Ett bevis att jag existerar, mer eller mindre. På det stod det att jag varit bosatt här sedan 1.4.2008. Ett och ett halvt år om tio dagar.

Jag kan på direkten konstatera att jag förmodligen lärt mig mer vad gäller det svenska språket under dessa arton månader än under mina tvåhundratrettiofem månader i Finland som "finlandssvensk" - vilket, för övrigt, för mig som ett begrepp känns än mer fel idag än då jag ännu räknades som en.
Idag gör helsingforssvenskan ont i mina öron. (Och i mina ögon också för den delen - tack Facebook.) Att blanda två språk som är så fundamentalt olika i struktur och grammatik kan inte leda till något vackert.

Då jag anlände här i Örebro såg jag mig själv som språkligt obunden. Jag talade och tänkte på tre språk likvärdigt väl, och det var väldigt viktigt för mig att känna mig postmodern i den bemärkelsen att jag helt enkelt inte höll mig till gränserna för ett språk. Därför har jag skrivit på engelska, fram till nu.

Det känns konstigt att medge att man efter att ha talat ett språk sitt hela liv inte kunnat det väl nog för att uppskatta det. Men det är precis så det ligger till.
Svenskan är som en liten gåta som inte går att lösa om man inte är svensk. Nyanserna och tonerna kommer inte fram förrän man lär sig det som sitt modersmål. De är som små hemligheter som bara svenskar känner till.

Och det är anledningen till att jag nu valt att börja skriva på svenska istället för engelska. Den gamla goda förklaringen för att jag skrivit på engelska håller ändå inte. Alla hemma i Finland som eventuellt läser vad jag skriver kan svenska bra nog för att förstå det ändå. Så det så.

__________________________________________________________

Med samma tänker jag tillägga en liten reviderad beskrivning av bloggen, såsom den kommer att se ut framöver. Hittills har The Pleasure Of Finding Things Out i största utsträckning varit en serie iakttagelser vad gäller mig själv som person. Men särskilt på sistone har jag känt ett behov att skriva ner även mina iakttagelser vad gäller Den Vida Världen (en fullt medveten referens där).

Jag har i nu närmare ett halvår varit mer eller mindre deprimerad. Min vinterdvala blev en sommardvala utan att jag egentligen noterade det förrän jag vaknade igen. Men nu känner jag att jag är nyvaken ur den, och i samband med det har min efterlängtade nyfikenhet och kreativitet vaknat till igen. Jag minns saker jag älskat att hålla på med som om det var i ett annat liv. All musik jag lyssnar på, alla filmer jag ser, allt känns som en ny upplevelse.

Och det är de upplevelserna jag vill skriva om. Inte bara vad jag gör när jag känner mig inspirerad, utan varifrån inspirationen kommer.

För det är just nu jag verkligen upplever "the pleasure of finding things out".

Idag
istället för en låt
eller dikt
uppmanar jag dig
vem du än är
att se filmen
"Tokyo Godfathers"
trots att
det är en anime
om du inte gillar
den stilen
trots att
du på imdb har läst
att den handlar om hemlösa
och du inte tycker om
deppiga filmer

för den är
vackrare
och mer hoppfull
än något
jag sett på länge.

Home.

2009-07-13T13:01:00.004+02:00

The time here on the tiny island paradise draws to a close. It has been so much I never wanted it to be and still so much more I could have ever imagined. There are just no words left. I am leaving my family for who knows how long. And today it feels alright for the first time. I am going home.

I made a list of all the things I will remember, and I thought it sounded much like a poem.

the fuzzy horizon
the moon that vanished
and turned from red to white
in a single night
all the spikes on the plants
rust
and colour contrasts
flies that light up like fireflies
from the light on the veranda
the hedgehog
and the bats
all the parasols
and the haystacks
in the endless fields
black pines
and the trip up to the top
filled with laughter, tears
and bags of vomit
Fjarskanistan
by Amina
the taste of mint and cinnamon
cheap wine
the most surprising party
waterfights
sprinklers and rainbows
the evil witch
on the mountaintop
lazy days and StumbleUpon
The Silmarillion
and my stepfather reading Lord of the rings
to my sisters
the paper-thin walls
that enable me to hear it as well
the three of us crammed in a single bed
watching bad films
eager speculations on Aion
the dog that assumed an attitude
an inspiration that came back
with a roar
cheap beer in Pafos
and how beautiful it was
against the white parasols and the blue sea
the forgotten restaurant in Lofou
with the fancy forks
the best halloumi in Kellaki
the president
and speculations about his
frequent visits to our village
we think he has a mistress here
because no man should visit their mother
quite that often
the traffic
people stopping in the middle of a crossroads
to pop into the shop to get some cigarettes
the fact that you can smoke in Ikea
and pretty much anywhere
which is why they don't sell
nicotine gum here
to my mother's woe
and last but not least
when you realize how much
you really like someone

again
and again

and again.

Decomposing.

2009-07-01T00:05:00.003+02:00

I spend a good bit of my time online, reading the random writings of random people. These writings are in fact more commonly known as blogs. I, however, strongly feel that the word "random" should be in the title, or at the very least in the immediate definition of the concept of a blog. Naturally this would be the place to insert one or two not so positive remarks on my experiences of most blogs, especially widely popular ones, but I shall not stoop quite to that level. A lot of the time I actually do find immense comfort and inspiration in these writings of other people, some whom I know IRL and some not.

I myself have been pondering on the concept of having a personal blog. As a person who inhabits a whole litter of personalities I find it difficult to keep to just one online place of writing. But I know owe that thinking to a slowly fading "me" who has persisted on separating all the other sides of me from each other.

There is of course the brooding me.
And the temperamental me.
The over-analytic neurotic.
Let us not oversee the treehugger.
She is of course friends with the socialist.
The hedonist. The superficial aesthetically inclined.
The nerd. The romantic.
The self-proclaimed artist.
Daughter.
Sister.
Lover.
Student.
The observer. The meddler. The pain in the ass.
And of course the self-involved, who cried all the way home.

I accept that I am, and will forever remain, a paradoxical person. And I believe all are. You might feel shallow one day and a philosopher the next. There is no need to deny that fact. We should instead be proud of inhabiting the capacity and having the right to have multiple personalities.

I know I am trying to be. So there's that.

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

I picked
a bad day
for the beach
crowds of scarcely
clad sides of meat
our world's all wet
but on the inside
something's dried.

- I will stick to one blog from now on.

Disavowal.

2009-06-30T23:17:00.003+02:00

The essence of me. Ever fluid, hardly constant. I feel I can make out the outlines of a beacon of myself in the horizon. I have always felt the ever present struggle to locate that beacon, that seems ever moving, is the purpose of one's existence. The point is not the destination but the journey, so to speak. Or perhaps it is the journey, and the wisdom it provides, that keeps moving that beacon further away?

It is commonly considered that the time when one's physique develops into that of an adult is also the time when one's spirit, or mind, or personality, does. I have to respectfully disagree on that. I think both my youngest sibling and my mother are in the midst of the same kind of vexing battle with themselves as I am. I simply feel my mother knows her limits better than my sister, or I, do. My dear mother, after (probably)having lived over half her life knows not to travel south when the beacon clearly is seen to the north.

I still sometimes feel the inclination towards going south. Sometimes it seems warmer there. And greener. But I will not find my haven there.

Speaking of horizons, here in Cyprus the horizon is so far away it seems blurred in the distance. Only literally speaking of course.

You were not
to blame for
bittersweet distractors
dare not
speak its name
dedicated to you
all your needs

because we separate
it ripples
our reflections.

Welcome to our home.

2009-05-16T21:00:00.002+02:00

Sharing a home, sharing a life. It puzzles me.

Moods And Madness.

2009-05-05T10:19:00.004+02:00

I doubt sometimes
whether a quiet
& unagitated life
would have suited me

- yet I sometimes long for it.

Red-haired and eager to start a new day, having morning coffee and reading

"An Unquiet Mind - A Memoir Of Moods And Madness", by Kay Redfield Jamison.

On another note, according to the most recent poll by Dagens Nyheter relating to the upcoming European Parliament elections, the so called "Pirate Party" or Piratpartiet has now reached a popularity of five point one percent. Astonishing.

Quoting party member Rick Falkvinge, "They are certainly not writing about the Swedish Christian Democrats in the European press today."

Indeed.

Turning.

2009-05-04T13:28:00.002+02:00

A change of heart and head needs to be encouraged, it needs help along the way to reach its full extent. That is why I have decided to, in baby steps, rearrange my surroundings to suit my state of mind. To others the same thing goes by the name of spring cleaning. Starting today I will thoroughly purge unnecessary objects out of my (our) home.

Firstly, which is my mission for today, I will gather all the pieces of clothing I can find that I find do not reflect who I am anymore (or simply don't fit around my ever expanding anatomy). These pieces of clothing I will then sell to new, loving homes.

In the matter of clothing I noticed I now only experience repugnance when browsing various online shops. Even blogs which mainly focus on what the writer of that specific blog has worn that day - and what piece of disposable plastic he or she would like to buy next - leave me with an impounding sense of nausea. I feel so ashamed and sorry that I myself have not actively, not even introspectively, worked against this kind of mentality until now. I feel so encaged and consumed by a way of thinking that I know is not my own, but something which continuously strives to take hold of my daily life. A compulsion that is planted in my head by the images I see, the voices I hear and the things I read.

The art, magic and power of the commercial continues to fascinate me. Simultaneously, there is nothing that is more terrifying to me. I feel this is a battle I will never leave behind.

she compacted her
life into one
tiny room with kitchen
bed and roaches
in the four corners
which contained nothing
that couldn't be stolen
or left in case
she had to run
for her sanity

so she turned
with all
the introspections that nothing
not even them was meant
not to turn
and from that understanding
she gained
knowledge

- Nikki Giovanni never fails to captivate.

Living in slowmotion.

2009-05-02T23:05:00.002+02:00

The concept of sustainable living - an attainable one?

That is what I've been trying to figure out the last few days. This is not in any way an unfamiliar territory for me to dwell in. About a year ago I had similar aspirations. Looking back now I realize I had a very naive outlook on the whole concept. I was, in a manner which I now think is a rather common one, looking to fill the empty spaces in my life with the luxury of affording "organic" and "ecological" products, without really giving much thought to the values behind the words. I am in no way any less overjoyed by the fact that the more ethical brands have taken a more modern and "fashionable" approach when it comes to defining their image and advertising it, but I think this is the downside to it. Consumers applying the, much too familiar, disposable attitude to products that were meant to provide an alternative to a lifestyle so vilely widespread nowadays.

My epiphany, of course, was brought about by my economical independence. Apprehension, even for the most pigheaded, is reached under compulsion.

Today I realized how inspiring having a specific goal actually is.

I am a dweller
a preoccupiee
an obsesser.

Without being consumed and driven by a certain something, my creativity wastes away. Now I have something driving me - the ambition of creating a sustainable lifestyle. In every aspect.

Today instead of buying new, organic and fairtrade-marked clothes for summer I chose to buy second hand fabrics from The Red Cross to make clothes out of. Instead of being blinded by marketing techniques, which I arrogantly think I seldom am, I chose to think about the values behind them and what they are really trying to convey. This might be an obvious comprehension to some, but I really had not given it a thought. The organic clothing are just as much newly produced, packed and shipped as the regular ones, despite the fact that they have been produced in a way less destructive on the environment. They still have been produced.

That is why I choose, which both my money purse and the rivers in India can be thankful for, to recycle already produced and used material and make it into something new, all the while letting my creativity run amok.

These new aspirations even spawn an abundance of layout ideas - hence the updated blog design.

on no account
will I succumb
to be disposable

but when
will I be
living in slowmotion?

Lateralus.

2009-04-29T13:41:00.002+02:00

The concept of privacy is lost on some people.

For Your Consideration.

2009-03-09T13:52:00.003+01:00

passing through

unconscious states

when I awoke

I was on the onset

of a later stage

the headlights are

beacons on the highway.

Living in a shared existence - not the most unchallenging of tasks.

One is faced with something so wholly unbearable as one's own loathsome conceit.

An Owner's Manual For Me:

I manage to turn even the most unremarkable of day-to-day tasks into grand events that deserve acknowledgment. This, of course, applies only to tasks I myself undertake.

If my grandiose hubris feels the slightest bit hurt, it will find a way to stab you in the back when you least expect it.

I am temperamental to the extent where I might be experiencing twelve feelings simultaneously, resulting in paroxysm.

If I seem quiet or tranquil, there is a distinct possibility I am ill.

My expectations for others greatly exceed those I harbour for myself.

As it happens, I love musicals. All of them.

Anyone sharing a habitat with me should be Decorated For Outstanding Bravery. Or at the very least, allowed to sleep for as long as they like in the morning.

all these people

drinking lover's spit

the sit around

clean their face with it

swallow words

while giving head

listen to teeth

to learn how to quit

tied to a night

they never met

better take some hands

and get used to it.

Engulfed.

2009-02-16T18:31:00.003+01:00

Well.

Whether the weather is to blame, or if the current state of my mind is a result of something else I am not quite sure. My brain is simply barren of creativity. I muse and brood and huff and puff and I even produce ideas, but I can't seem to express them. I forget them instantly.

One of our teachers told us that creativity is a result of

inspiration

immersion

isolation

and

iteration

At the moment I feel I am in a state of searching for inspiration, moving slowly into complete immersion. I just need to find a way to gather all the inspirational information.

I see myself leaving post-it notes for myself all over the apartment. Tiny reminders of a lurking parallel self that is in hiding. Someone told me to buy a notebook. I did.

This is what I've written so far

"An apple."

(?)

The atrophy of the brain becomes mercilessly rapid post puberty, it seems.

Meanwhile, I am mind-bogglingly happy.

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.

2008-12-24T09:36:00.004+01:00

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.

Huokaillen.

2008-12-16T17:38:00.002+01:00

you are

so far

the one who

makes me better

in your surroundings

I'm the one

I want to be.

Enlightenment.

2008-12-14T13:51:00.003+01:00

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.

Hiljaisuus.

2008-12-11T02:29:00.005+01:00

liian usein

kaipaan niitä hetkiä

et saisin yksin nukahtaa

ja herätä

ei tarvis' jännittää

ja sisimpäänsä selvittää

kun ei sitä ymmärrä

itsekkään

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.

Angry.

Furious.

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

(Thankfully, I am going home soon enough.)

The Flame Beyond The Cold Mountain.

2008-12-01T16:27:00.004+01:00

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.

Skyscrapers

and spacerockets

tend to leave me cold

man can walk

upon the moon

to gather dust like gold

and I am only bored

seven-forty-sevens

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.

Luna.

2008-11-23T23:22:00.004+01:00

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.

ujonlainen

keijukainen

asioistaan vaitonainen

kaukaa

kyyneleensä kiertää

yksinäinen

päältä jäinen

rakkaudessa kerjäläinen

kengät

kuljettaa ja hiertää

hei tie

vie reunalle ja yli

kauas täältä

sinne missä oon

vie toiveista pois

sylistä syliin

kunnes

en enää tiedä

missä oon

kännillä sotke päätä

mä oon

paperisen ohut

ja mun sydän

syväjäätä kasvattaa.

Vanwa Hîni.

2008-11-17T10:39:00.004+01:00

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.

Animalia Arthropoda Insecta Pterygota Neoptera Dictyoptera Blattaria.

2008-11-13T23:14:00.002+01:00

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.)

The Complications You Could Do Without.

2008-11-12T22:19:00.003+01:00

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.

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

Let The Seasons Begin.

2008-11-11T19:16:00.004+01:00

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.

Well Done.

2008-11-05T22:27:00.002+01:00

"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.

2008-11-05T22:07:00.004+01:00

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".

Where Ends Meet.

2008-11-04T23:02:00.003+01:00

2008-11-03T18:02:00.005+01:00

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.

2008-11-03T17:26:00.006+01:00

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.

Exasperation.

2008-10-29T19:30:00.002+01:00

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.

You Are The Bluest Light.

2008-10-28T17:17:00.003+01:00

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.

Burial On The Presidio Banks.

2008-10-23T09:07:00.002+02:00

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.

2008-10-23T00:29:00.002+02:00

men jag lever för ikväll.

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

sena nätter

tomma glas

femhundra

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.

Without Feathers.

2008-10-20T21:51:00.003+02:00

"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.

At Peace.

2008-10-19T12:05:00.002+02:00

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.

Dragonfly.

2008-10-16T00:30:00.004+02:00

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

underneath

a perfect sky

where the universe

revolves around

the pupil of an eye

and infinities

stretch out

from infinities

within

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

spins

it sings

like the wings

of a dragonfly.

La-de-dah.

2008-10-13T23:19:00.002+02:00

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.

Pink Bullets.

2008-10-12T12:01:00.002+02:00

Oh dear.

I like boys

with strong convictions

and convicts

with perfect diction

underdogs

with good intentions

amputees

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.

Just Like You Imagined.

2008-10-09T12:24:00.004+02:00

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.

Under Den Vita Hatten.

2008-10-07T07:21:00.004+02:00

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.

Lost And Found.

2008-09-30T23:52:00.002+02:00

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.

She's Hearing Voices.

2008-09-29T21:14:00.003+02:00

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

Så Enkelt.

2008-09-25T19:25:00.002+02:00

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.

2008-09-25T08:17:00.003+02:00

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.

Dawn.

2008-09-22T21:48:00.002+02:00

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.

A Sunday Smile.

2008-09-21T18:45:00.005+02:00

This tree made made my day.

Balances.

2008-09-21T14:58:00.002+02:00

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.

2008-09-21T00:27:00.003+02:00

The Sun In Sails.

2008-09-20T12:45:00.004+02:00

... 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

Our Last Days As Children.

2008-09-18T09:42:00.005+02:00

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.

2008-09-18T09:42:00.003+02:00

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.

All Cats Are Grey.

2008-09-17T09:07:00.002+02:00

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.

Nancy Boy.

2008-09-16T09:33:00.002+02:00

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

Running On Empty.

2008-09-15T16:31:00.004+02:00

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.

2008-09-15T10:02:00.000+02:00

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.