I just realised I feel utterly lost. For no reason at all. I suppose it´s just another one of my luxury problems. Things Being Wrong With My Brain while I´m perfectly warm/fed/loved. I despise myself. I´m so afraid someone (mum, dad or T) will die. If something happens to Th or M I´ll bleed. For real. I´ll use a knife. I try to sleep but my thoughts won´t leave me alone. Why is this? For what reason? What´s the purpose? What´s the architecture of my brain? We already know languages come fairly easy to me, as do math and other intellectual subjects. But I´m utterly incapable of keeping myself sane. Maybe that makes me disposable. Yes, I think so. But that´s just another one of my pretentious attitudes because I would fight for my life, my right to life, until the ugly end. Obviously I would kill to live.
I watered the hedge and I thought about my reasons. I want attention and I want people to think I´m good at what I´m doing. I checked out the homepage of the university founded in 1477 and the stuff I´m seriously interested in (neuroscience seen in an educational/didactical perspective) is not available to me on the level that I want. Shit. Shit. Shit. I totally should have gone for a Ph D back in the days.
I fought with my son and it´s not his fault he´s as stubborn as I am.
I. Know. What´s. Right. Why can´t I use it on myself?
Quick is pretty so I tone my muscles (define in my language) with tuna and rice only. No salt. I run Stockholm marathon in under four hours and that´s good but it´s not enough for me. I paint my house and I write the novel of my generation and my kids are perfect. But still. I miss. I´m afraid. I despise and I loathe. And it wasn´t supposed to be like this. Maybe if I adopt a too-old child from some eastern country? You think? Yes? Giving birth is spectacular. You should try it. It keeps your mind occupied and for once, just this once, you´re totally focused. And then it´s gone. Back to the luxury problems. Maybe I should leave for Africa. Maybe I´m the crown princess. You wouldn´t really know now, would you? Think JT Leroy.
Then T says You need sex. Just like that. I love him. He´s for real. Really. Do you know how rare that is? At least I´m able to appreciate realness. I had a goat named Kisa. You can´t pronounce it, the first sound doesn´t exist in your language. She had eyes like the devil and she craved my presence. I hope I gave enough. I know what I crave. Someone I know doesn´t. She´s really lost. She pays good money to go to expensive spas and she comes back unsatisfied. Her kind and mine will be the end of this planet. Do you believe in God? In something bigger that yourself? I tried, but I couldn´t. The second law of thermodynamics owns me and that´s it.
I do appreciate life. I know it´s spectacular beyond belief. But as I live the life of goddesses my heart beats in the chest of a fallen angel. I wanted to know everything and there was a price to pay, and yet I could never turn my back on knowledge. Love and knowledge. So why not happiness? Too greedy? Okay, maybe.
Will you stay? I don´t blame you if you don´t. If anything I´ve learned to let go. You do your best from your point of view and I do my. It won´t be enough but I would NEVER blame you. At least this. I hope something bigger than me will show up.
I sat in the shower with my small breasts and one of them were twice as big as the baby´s head and I cried and said You´ll have to go to the hospital and bring me one of those babies born too early because this has gotten out of control and I thought of Sarah in the Bible and when I stood in front of the bathroom mirror milk spurted uncontrollably and stained the glass and I was so unprepared for the more physical aspects of life. Have you seen a dead person?
I´m also lazy. Know this. I feel I have a right to be entertained. If (if at all) I check this for spelling and grammar it´ll be because I´m proud, I suffer from hubris and I want you to think I´m good at English. But prolly I´ll be too lazy. Try to sleep now. No one´s here. There´s nowhere to go but space. Space is a dry and lonely place. I´ve seen worse.
onsdag 1 juni 2011
lördag 28 maj 2011
Abra tes ojos!
Cierra sus ojos la última surrealista. Leonora Carrington had 94 years of exploration, so I won´t be sad, but she took a strange and beautiful universe with her.
My time is being consumed, but my mind is in love with shades of gray. Because of that, watch this:
Woodkid Iron
My time is being consumed, but my mind is in love with shades of gray. Because of that, watch this:
Woodkid Iron
söndag 3 april 2011
I Always Travel In Odd Numbers
Hello, come in! We´re on The Space World!
(why do they re-invent the use of prepositions?)
(can space be spun by yarn??)
Press ”bird” then!
The concept of collective consciousness have grown immensely in my universe since 1996. I now see my strings intricately entwined with yours all over the planet, and obviously, continuing into space. I find your art, so stunning, and it saves me and I want to thank you but how? How?
What I´m looking for I know. I rarely find it. I´m beginning to think I´m old enough to create it myself. Why? Aha! This is what I´ve discovered, this is what I know; if someone creates something new it will appeal to other kindred spirits and then some of them will start their own projects, being inspired by the first one but taking it further and then the first creator will get what she wanted and more! SEE THE CUNNINGNESS OF THIS PLAN! Can´t do it by myself though, creative minds collaborating rules! I know this. I´ve investigated these matters for decades.
Sometimes she likes to stress her ”bodily being”, OD on caffeine and nicotine so that her head hurts and her stomach gets upset. It reminds her, you see, of her place in this universe. It´s something concrete, substantial as opposed to the electrical current that flows through her mind when it´s inspired, infected by that previously mentioned art. The electricity makes her think she´s immortal, detached from flesh and able to ride the loa as she wishes. She is too far gone for this, she is no longer fourteen and she knows the smell of her own blood.
Bombed by strange particles,
she opens her eyes, to the marvels of Jupiter dawns,
and dissolves, into stardust, again.
”Lookit! I´ve got I girly corner! It´s pink!”
SQUEEE!!!
I need you to see my point. We have this cultural TV program called Kobra and it´s kept me sane through many times/many comforting-unbearably-sad-baby-moments, since it assures me I´m not an alien (I LOVE public service TV!). Anyhow, some years ago they had this feature where two completely different kind of musicians were invited each week and given about three hours to make a song together. Here is my favourite, creative minds collaborating indeed:
Freddie and Frida
(why do they re-invent the use of prepositions?)
(can space be spun by yarn??)
Press ”bird” then!
The concept of collective consciousness have grown immensely in my universe since 1996. I now see my strings intricately entwined with yours all over the planet, and obviously, continuing into space. I find your art, so stunning, and it saves me and I want to thank you but how? How?
What I´m looking for I know. I rarely find it. I´m beginning to think I´m old enough to create it myself. Why? Aha! This is what I´ve discovered, this is what I know; if someone creates something new it will appeal to other kindred spirits and then some of them will start their own projects, being inspired by the first one but taking it further and then the first creator will get what she wanted and more! SEE THE CUNNINGNESS OF THIS PLAN! Can´t do it by myself though, creative minds collaborating rules! I know this. I´ve investigated these matters for decades.
Sometimes she likes to stress her ”bodily being”, OD on caffeine and nicotine so that her head hurts and her stomach gets upset. It reminds her, you see, of her place in this universe. It´s something concrete, substantial as opposed to the electrical current that flows through her mind when it´s inspired, infected by that previously mentioned art. The electricity makes her think she´s immortal, detached from flesh and able to ride the loa as she wishes. She is too far gone for this, she is no longer fourteen and she knows the smell of her own blood.
Bombed by strange particles,
she opens her eyes, to the marvels of Jupiter dawns,
and dissolves, into stardust, again.
”Lookit! I´ve got I girly corner! It´s pink!”
SQUEEE!!!
I need you to see my point. We have this cultural TV program called Kobra and it´s kept me sane through many times/many comforting-unbearably-sad-baby-moments, since it assures me I´m not an alien (I LOVE public service TV!). Anyhow, some years ago they had this feature where two completely different kind of musicians were invited each week and given about three hours to make a song together. Here is my favourite, creative minds collaborating indeed:
Freddie and Frida
torsdag 24 mars 2011
Revolution
You tattoo yourself, like you were never meant to last.
That´ll look like crap, I say, in twenty years. And you smile.
An ancient smile -- you´re not going beyond this revolution.
What would it take, you say, to make you like yourself?
Oh, I dunno -- a size zero appearance?
Is it eating you, the discrepancy between real life and your dreams?
Obsessively watching english Al-Jazeera doesn´t make you interesting.
Or interested.
Just pathetic.
Where is my revolution?
Damn, I think it´s televised.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Mood: 90 degree angle
Music: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised
@ This Is Where I Spend My Summers
That´ll look like crap, I say, in twenty years. And you smile.
An ancient smile -- you´re not going beyond this revolution.
What would it take, you say, to make you like yourself?
Oh, I dunno -- a size zero appearance?
Is it eating you, the discrepancy between real life and your dreams?
Obsessively watching english Al-Jazeera doesn´t make you interesting.
Or interested.
Just pathetic.
Where is my revolution?
Damn, I think it´s televised.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Mood: 90 degree angle
Music: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised
måndag 7 mars 2011
Flight 69
Shit, ovulating!
sexpornsexpornsexpornsexpornsexporn
I don´t mind having a cold as long as I´m being cuffed and used.
Writing, as I´m sure you all know, can be a real bitch. For me, it´s like this: I start writing something and maybe initially it´s good. Fresh. New. Then I continue and I fiddle and I polish and it sort of dies in my hands. Like it´s only good before I´m tamed by what I´m doing, when everything´s wild and new. Conclusion: I will never be a true writer! I´m only good (goodish?) when I improvise! Leavemeleavemeleaveme! No, stay! And forgive my short-comings.
The dilemma: I did not raise you to tell lies, young lady!
The possible answers:
This is the truth.
I´m merely bending reality.
I´m telling a story.
I. Will. Not. Feel. Sorry. For. Myself. I have health food house love.
This you need to hear. Please chose ”Flight 69”. F*ck Force Five Welcome to Sweden, darlings =)
sexpornsexpornsexpornsexpornsexporn
I don´t mind having a cold as long as I´m being cuffed and used.
Writing, as I´m sure you all know, can be a real bitch. For me, it´s like this: I start writing something and maybe initially it´s good. Fresh. New. Then I continue and I fiddle and I polish and it sort of dies in my hands. Like it´s only good before I´m tamed by what I´m doing, when everything´s wild and new. Conclusion: I will never be a true writer! I´m only good (goodish?) when I improvise! Leavemeleavemeleaveme! No, stay! And forgive my short-comings.
The dilemma: I did not raise you to tell lies, young lady!
The possible answers:
This is the truth.
I´m merely bending reality.
I´m telling a story.
I. Will. Not. Feel. Sorry. For. Myself. I have health food house love.
This you need to hear. Please chose ”Flight 69”. F*ck Force Five Welcome to Sweden, darlings =)
lördag 5 mars 2011
Catching the Cat Bus
It´s Saturday and I´m faced with choices.
I know an animal that breaths through its back!
A whale, obviously. What about anglerfish?
They have gills.
So they don´t need to breathe?
It´s like this; it´s the oxygen we need and oxygen exists in air and water. Our lungs can extract it from air but not from water, it´s the opposite for fish.
I know. You told me.
Quit drawing on the living room table!
Do you know you mess with me when you remove stuff you´ve written from the internet? I go back and I try to find something and it´s gone. And I don´t care if you´ve evolved and moved on. That stuff meant something to someone and I´m not here to evaluate you on maturity or wit, I couldn´t care less actually -- be anyone you like, I´m here privately. And you never know what piece of information was important to me; it might have been the way you described something, your desperation or something you recommended. But now it´s gone. Well, copy stuff and keep them, you say, but I´m not that anal. Just leave things the way they are.
Ah, release it into the wind, you say, let it go! You´re right, I know, so why does change upset me? Why does loss, even the loss of some stranger´s internet thoughts, make me sad?
A man from another country moved to a small village and met someone´s schoolfriend. They had a baby boy and the man bought the village gas station and learned the language. He worked very hard, people respected him for that, came from a real working culture, someone´s dad said. He and the schoolfriend split up, but he stayed in the village, improved the gas station, built a pizza restaurant next to it, became part of the community. Eleven years later he took his son back to his home country and two of his male relatives held the boy while a third man performed a circumcision on him. Much against his will. When they came back to the village the boy caught an infection and had to be hospitalized to get well. Lots of sympathy was offered to his mother on facebook. No one shops at the gas station these days. Seriously, someone´s parents drive like 30 kilometres to get gas. The man will be out of business soon. That´s how small villages operate.
Somewhere the sport´s holiday just started. A family´s hosting a massive cold. The daughter´s lived in her pj´s for a week now and the son´s dizzy with fever, the dad´s got a sore throat and the mum´s got an eye infection. Some sport´s holiday! Although, they´re watching My Neighbour Totoro so you shouldn´t feel sorry for them.
And then she bought some new mittens, because her old ones were all worn out.
Choices. I ask myself; what would Charlie Sheen do?
I know an animal that breaths through its back!
A whale, obviously. What about anglerfish?
They have gills.
So they don´t need to breathe?
It´s like this; it´s the oxygen we need and oxygen exists in air and water. Our lungs can extract it from air but not from water, it´s the opposite for fish.
I know. You told me.
Quit drawing on the living room table!
Do you know you mess with me when you remove stuff you´ve written from the internet? I go back and I try to find something and it´s gone. And I don´t care if you´ve evolved and moved on. That stuff meant something to someone and I´m not here to evaluate you on maturity or wit, I couldn´t care less actually -- be anyone you like, I´m here privately. And you never know what piece of information was important to me; it might have been the way you described something, your desperation or something you recommended. But now it´s gone. Well, copy stuff and keep them, you say, but I´m not that anal. Just leave things the way they are.
Ah, release it into the wind, you say, let it go! You´re right, I know, so why does change upset me? Why does loss, even the loss of some stranger´s internet thoughts, make me sad?
A man from another country moved to a small village and met someone´s schoolfriend. They had a baby boy and the man bought the village gas station and learned the language. He worked very hard, people respected him for that, came from a real working culture, someone´s dad said. He and the schoolfriend split up, but he stayed in the village, improved the gas station, built a pizza restaurant next to it, became part of the community. Eleven years later he took his son back to his home country and two of his male relatives held the boy while a third man performed a circumcision on him. Much against his will. When they came back to the village the boy caught an infection and had to be hospitalized to get well. Lots of sympathy was offered to his mother on facebook. No one shops at the gas station these days. Seriously, someone´s parents drive like 30 kilometres to get gas. The man will be out of business soon. That´s how small villages operate.
Somewhere the sport´s holiday just started. A family´s hosting a massive cold. The daughter´s lived in her pj´s for a week now and the son´s dizzy with fever, the dad´s got a sore throat and the mum´s got an eye infection. Some sport´s holiday! Although, they´re watching My Neighbour Totoro so you shouldn´t feel sorry for them.
And then she bought some new mittens, because her old ones were all worn out.
Choices. I ask myself; what would Charlie Sheen do?
tisdag 1 mars 2011
Spring-Clean Attempts
It´s March and we need to spring-clean them brains!
Where to start? Where to start?
I could give you some advice, but as life move along I´m leaning away from that sort of behaviour as it seems to enhance the amount of guilt in people´s lives, not the amount of quality.
Recipes? You want recipes? I bought fenugreek in an enthusiastic attempt to become more apt at African cooking. So far, well, we´ll just have to see -- strange can become delicious! I have other recipes, I have written down things I actually know how to make, but ah bleh sudden loss of interest...
Writing then. Nothing I can teach you, but we can always inspire each other. Some time ago I submitted four very short stories to ”Short, Fast and Deadly”. I was fairly certain at least some of them would be accepted, but they all got rejected and I got disappointed. So. Silly. I thought I´d moved beyond that, but no. Well, I applied one of my favourite strategies on this situation: I rearranged reality to better fit my needs.
This is what I came up with: the editor, a sensitive, real artistic guy, read my work and was so taken in by my talent he found it unbearable. Therefore, he had some wine, got thoroughly pissed and when he woke up the next morning my writing was gone! Vanished! From real life and his computer. Oh, the tragedy! The poor man now roams the Earth, starved and pale, glass shoe in hand, in search of me and my awesome work -- he can´t live without any of us! This is now how I remember it, yes it is! Fixed memory!
Whaddya mean? ”What about the rejection email?” Get with the story line, people! He was drunk and completely beside himself! Jeez…
I don´t think the stories really fit anywhere else though (with that very specific S, F & D rule they can´t be more than 420 characters) so here they are. Maybe they can be of some input use to some of you:
Power Dreams
On my lampshade there´s a pattern of dragonflies. So pretty those creatures; nicely shaped and completely symmetrical. As I fall asleep they come alive and I imagine myself reaching out for their fragile bodies and picking them, one by one. I collect them into a bouquet, their shimmering wings flutter helplessly as I put them in a vase. Now wouldn´t they make a master piece on any fancy old dinner table?
Tentacle Love
He´s got a very special talent; he can grow as many arms as he likes. He´s holding me tightly against himself, my bum against his erection, and I mold myself after him as he parts my labia, pinches my nipples, fists my hair. More arms; I suck on his finger as I offer him my wrists to hold, secure, restrain. He brings me off with the talents of a god and if, in the end, he happens to strangle me, I won´t object.
Perfect
Nothing´s cleaner than the first snow. In spring, she planted marigold by the stones in his backyard. They laughed and kissed. Her tomatoes grew during summer; she served them with mozzarella and he thought maybe, just maybe. Come fall she harvested carrots, silent and angry. The frost bruised the rest, like he bruised her. She said she´d leave but he put her where she belonged -- in his pure winter garden.
Family Photos
There´s a reluctance in the way he regards the world. ”You have to accept it for what it is!” she laughs, and frames her photos. Family photos. His smile is always forced and she laughs again, condescending, when she watches it.
In the last photo he takes of her she´s lying still on the floor, a pale beauty with hair drenched in red. He thinks she finally communicates some truth. He didn´t know she had it in her.
Bim, tiddely pom, tralla la la la… Oh, you still here? Very sweet of you! Let me share one thing: there´s a woman with a music project called ”Hello Saferide”. She´s from my hometown and you might not like the music or you might get really annoyed with her for having an accent (much like my own I imagine) but if you can see beyond that, I really think she´s got some special talent when it comes to writing. And she´s serious about it, which makes her a kindred spirit and an inspiration because she actually does this for a living. And she gets it out there, even if some of it isn´t correct or perfect… Her Swedish writing is more nuanced of course, but we can´t share that so… Bla bla bla "Hello Saferide", lyrics. Check it out if you want to.
And Becky, this is for you! The first photo ever taken of me as I arrived here!
You do know I´m taking you with me when I leave, don´t you? Your talent is expected elsewhere =)
Where to start? Where to start?
I could give you some advice, but as life move along I´m leaning away from that sort of behaviour as it seems to enhance the amount of guilt in people´s lives, not the amount of quality.
Recipes? You want recipes? I bought fenugreek in an enthusiastic attempt to become more apt at African cooking. So far, well, we´ll just have to see -- strange can become delicious! I have other recipes, I have written down things I actually know how to make, but ah bleh sudden loss of interest...
Writing then. Nothing I can teach you, but we can always inspire each other. Some time ago I submitted four very short stories to ”Short, Fast and Deadly”. I was fairly certain at least some of them would be accepted, but they all got rejected and I got disappointed. So. Silly. I thought I´d moved beyond that, but no. Well, I applied one of my favourite strategies on this situation: I rearranged reality to better fit my needs.
This is what I came up with: the editor, a sensitive, real artistic guy, read my work and was so taken in by my talent he found it unbearable. Therefore, he had some wine, got thoroughly pissed and when he woke up the next morning my writing was gone! Vanished! From real life and his computer. Oh, the tragedy! The poor man now roams the Earth, starved and pale, glass shoe in hand, in search of me and my awesome work -- he can´t live without any of us! This is now how I remember it, yes it is! Fixed memory!
Whaddya mean? ”What about the rejection email?” Get with the story line, people! He was drunk and completely beside himself! Jeez…
I don´t think the stories really fit anywhere else though (with that very specific S, F & D rule they can´t be more than 420 characters) so here they are. Maybe they can be of some input use to some of you:
Power Dreams
On my lampshade there´s a pattern of dragonflies. So pretty those creatures; nicely shaped and completely symmetrical. As I fall asleep they come alive and I imagine myself reaching out for their fragile bodies and picking them, one by one. I collect them into a bouquet, their shimmering wings flutter helplessly as I put them in a vase. Now wouldn´t they make a master piece on any fancy old dinner table?
Tentacle Love
He´s got a very special talent; he can grow as many arms as he likes. He´s holding me tightly against himself, my bum against his erection, and I mold myself after him as he parts my labia, pinches my nipples, fists my hair. More arms; I suck on his finger as I offer him my wrists to hold, secure, restrain. He brings me off with the talents of a god and if, in the end, he happens to strangle me, I won´t object.
Perfect
Nothing´s cleaner than the first snow. In spring, she planted marigold by the stones in his backyard. They laughed and kissed. Her tomatoes grew during summer; she served them with mozzarella and he thought maybe, just maybe. Come fall she harvested carrots, silent and angry. The frost bruised the rest, like he bruised her. She said she´d leave but he put her where she belonged -- in his pure winter garden.
Family Photos
There´s a reluctance in the way he regards the world. ”You have to accept it for what it is!” she laughs, and frames her photos. Family photos. His smile is always forced and she laughs again, condescending, when she watches it.
In the last photo he takes of her she´s lying still on the floor, a pale beauty with hair drenched in red. He thinks she finally communicates some truth. He didn´t know she had it in her.
Bim, tiddely pom, tralla la la la… Oh, you still here? Very sweet of you! Let me share one thing: there´s a woman with a music project called ”Hello Saferide”. She´s from my hometown and you might not like the music or you might get really annoyed with her for having an accent (much like my own I imagine) but if you can see beyond that, I really think she´s got some special talent when it comes to writing. And she´s serious about it, which makes her a kindred spirit and an inspiration because she actually does this for a living. And she gets it out there, even if some of it isn´t correct or perfect… Her Swedish writing is more nuanced of course, but we can´t share that so… Bla bla bla "Hello Saferide", lyrics. Check it out if you want to.
And Becky, this is for you! The first photo ever taken of me as I arrived here!
You do know I´m taking you with me when I leave, don´t you? Your talent is expected elsewhere =)
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