Am I a slicer?
One of those to cut
Their wrists
Am I one of them now?
Just because I got scars
On my palms
I thought I was different
And never would end up
Like them
My pain was different
I did it out of other reasons
But needles or scissors,
It's all the same
They all leave marks on me
The same
And so I am a slicer,
I guess
In the supermarket queue
My VISA won't go through
There's no money left on it
And I'd only picked things
I really needed
In my car is the bag of beers
That I forgot there last night
And all of it froze and the bottles popped
And my car now smells of day old party
I call for a friendly voice
And I'm told that I'm stupid,
On the other end of the line
Maybe I am stupid
Maybe I shouldn't expect things
To ever get any better
And it's hopeless now
And I'll give those needles a good boil
So that at least my scars won't be infected
Maybe it would be better if they were
Thursday, December 31
Monday, December 28
Predator
I won't die for you
I won't shield you
From the rain
I'll turn off the lights
When I see you arriving
I'll make your path dark
And dangerous
Hoping you'll get lost
I won't kill for you
I won't shield you
From the pain
I'll turn and walk the other way
If I see you on the street
I'll make sure you won't
Close in on me
I'll be invisible
You're a predator, in the dark
Shiny, sharpened claws at ready
I was your victim once
Easily slaughtered
By your blade,
And will
I defended you
And your bleeding heart
Told them all it was your call
To kill
I won't forgive you
I won't die for you
In vain
I was sent here again
To be a scout
To warn the world
That you were out
You'll be lost
I'll be invisible
I won't die for you
I won't shield you
From the rain
I'll mislead you
And defeat you
In silence
Evacuate the others
While I see you die
You don't deserve a second try
I won't shield you
From the rain
I'll turn off the lights
When I see you arriving
I'll make your path dark
And dangerous
Hoping you'll get lost
I won't kill for you
I won't shield you
From the pain
I'll turn and walk the other way
If I see you on the street
I'll make sure you won't
Close in on me
I'll be invisible
You're a predator, in the dark
Shiny, sharpened claws at ready
I was your victim once
Easily slaughtered
By your blade,
And will
I defended you
And your bleeding heart
Told them all it was your call
To kill
I won't forgive you
I won't die for you
In vain
I was sent here again
To be a scout
To warn the world
That you were out
You'll be lost
I'll be invisible
I won't die for you
I won't shield you
From the rain
I'll mislead you
And defeat you
In silence
Evacuate the others
While I see you die
You don't deserve a second try
Sunday, December 27
Heads Or Tails
Heads or tails, I'm failing
Have it your preferred way
Serve me on a silver platter
I'm dead already, waiting
Heads or tails, I'm falling
Take me, do what you please
Rape me now, or leave me be
It'll make no difference,
Not to me
Heads or tails, I'm failing
Failing to pretend
And nothing matters
I'm dead already, fading
This is me, a broken shell
A misdirected jinx and spell
I'm ruins, with a drowning heart
I'm no one you know
Just a shadow, one that fell
Heads or tails, you came too late
To modify your old mistakes
Send me down your silver ladder
I'm dead already, kneeling
Heads or tails, I'm failing
Failing to mend
My wounds are not sealing
My wounds are not healing
This is me, a broken shell
A misdirected jinx and spell
I'm ruins, with a drowning heart
I'm no one you know
Just a shadow, one that fell
Poison me, with drugs of choice
I still won't recognize your voice
This is not a state of living
You should know
You left me here
This is me, a broken shell
A misdirected jinx and spell
In ruins, with a dying heart
I'm someone you knew
I'm your shadow
That fell
Have it your preferred way
Serve me on a silver platter
I'm dead already, waiting
Heads or tails, I'm falling
Take me, do what you please
Rape me now, or leave me be
It'll make no difference,
Not to me
Heads or tails, I'm failing
Failing to pretend
And nothing matters
I'm dead already, fading
This is me, a broken shell
A misdirected jinx and spell
I'm ruins, with a drowning heart
I'm no one you know
Just a shadow, one that fell
Heads or tails, you came too late
To modify your old mistakes
Send me down your silver ladder
I'm dead already, kneeling
Heads or tails, I'm failing
Failing to mend
My wounds are not sealing
My wounds are not healing
This is me, a broken shell
A misdirected jinx and spell
I'm ruins, with a drowning heart
I'm no one you know
Just a shadow, one that fell
Poison me, with drugs of choice
I still won't recognize your voice
This is not a state of living
You should know
You left me here
This is me, a broken shell
A misdirected jinx and spell
In ruins, with a dying heart
I'm someone you knew
I'm your shadow
That fell
Paid For Pain
0.18AM it is, and I'm determined to finish off this writing session before I hit the bunk. I'm nocturnal anyway, as you already know. James Blunt is singing in my earphones that he's gonna get sugarcoated tonight. I wouldn't mind lying on the floor there as well with some nice substances making my head all airy. I wouldn't mind being relieved of pain.
When will we be paid for our pain? Rocco asked the question, here's my now 0.34AM attempt to answer it.
Reply: Will we ever? Who will reward us for setting ourselves on fire? We do it because the pain makes us feel present. I rip the skin off my lips as my mind drifts, and every time I'm drawn back into reality with a bang. My quivering, broken lips tell me I am a quivering, broken person. They tell me that I am still here, that I am alive. I wish I could say it made me feel at ease. I wish that the needle shot through the surface of my palms reassured me, and told me it was worth to cling to it, that it was worth to fight.
But it doesn't.
Johnny Cash sang:
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
That's me, and that's Rocco. Maybe we aren't your conventional ones. We don't bring out razorblades. We haven't yet made any serious attempts to take our lives. Of course, that is because we fear to die. And while we fear to die, we do what we can to feel that we're alive; to feel that we are more than simply mannequins, dancing to please the rest of the world. We bite our fingertips, rip the skin on our lips... force needles through our palms. I drown myself in misery, drown myself in alcohol, only to wake up from dreaming of demons and ghouls. Dreaming of blood, death. Dreaming of everything that scares me. Sometimes, what I dream comes true. I dream of meeting an ambulance with sirens on in the opposite lane, at a certain spot on the road to work. The next day, I meet that ambulance, at that spot.
But you're not here to listen to my superstitions, are you? You are not here to listen to me say I'm semi-psychic. Because it sounds ridiculous. Because we are sane and rational people, because I just argued a perfectly logical argument with myself and my inner voices.
But I'm an artist, and a poet, and a writer. An addict, to many things. And I never once said I was rational.
POET in the PONDERING JAR
PS. To my Blue Dragon I send my deepest love tonight. DS.
When will we be paid for our pain? Rocco asked the question, here's my now 0.34AM attempt to answer it.
Reply: Will we ever? Who will reward us for setting ourselves on fire? We do it because the pain makes us feel present. I rip the skin off my lips as my mind drifts, and every time I'm drawn back into reality with a bang. My quivering, broken lips tell me I am a quivering, broken person. They tell me that I am still here, that I am alive. I wish I could say it made me feel at ease. I wish that the needle shot through the surface of my palms reassured me, and told me it was worth to cling to it, that it was worth to fight.
But it doesn't.
Johnny Cash sang:
I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
That's me, and that's Rocco. Maybe we aren't your conventional ones. We don't bring out razorblades. We haven't yet made any serious attempts to take our lives. Of course, that is because we fear to die. And while we fear to die, we do what we can to feel that we're alive; to feel that we are more than simply mannequins, dancing to please the rest of the world. We bite our fingertips, rip the skin on our lips... force needles through our palms. I drown myself in misery, drown myself in alcohol, only to wake up from dreaming of demons and ghouls. Dreaming of blood, death. Dreaming of everything that scares me. Sometimes, what I dream comes true. I dream of meeting an ambulance with sirens on in the opposite lane, at a certain spot on the road to work. The next day, I meet that ambulance, at that spot.
But you're not here to listen to my superstitions, are you? You are not here to listen to me say I'm semi-psychic. Because it sounds ridiculous. Because we are sane and rational people, because I just argued a perfectly logical argument with myself and my inner voices.
But I'm an artist, and a poet, and a writer. An addict, to many things. And I never once said I was rational.
POET in the PONDERING JAR
PS. To my Blue Dragon I send my deepest love tonight. DS.
Saturday, December 26
Demon, White Moth
I dreamt of a demon
Sweeping down on me
In my sleep
I dreamt he took every piece
Of safety, of calm,
That I'd managed to keep
I dreamt of his ghoul eyes
Of his foul smile
And long white claws,
Built by ashes
I dreamt of a demon
Turning into water
Piling up in waves,
And in cascades
I dreamt I ran
I dreamt that I soaked through
And I couldn't get to you
He followed me
I dreamt I ran
He followed me
I dreamt I ran
And he almost caught me
I dreamt I almost died
I dreamt of a demon
Vast and changing like the sea
A demon that could try,
But could never catch me
I dreamt of a white moth
Glowing and glittering in an orb
That seized me by the fingers
And flew off with a swirl
I dreamt I looked down
At the demon below
Leaving him behind
But he had already shocked me awake
He had made me stir, and shake
I dreamt of a demon,
Sweeping down on me
And he left me with my anxiety
Sweeping down on me
In my sleep
I dreamt he took every piece
Of safety, of calm,
That I'd managed to keep
I dreamt of his ghoul eyes
Of his foul smile
And long white claws,
Built by ashes
I dreamt of a demon
Turning into water
Piling up in waves,
And in cascades
I dreamt I ran
I dreamt that I soaked through
And I couldn't get to you
He followed me
I dreamt I ran
He followed me
I dreamt I ran
And he almost caught me
I dreamt I almost died
I dreamt of a demon
Vast and changing like the sea
A demon that could try,
But could never catch me
I dreamt of a white moth
Glowing and glittering in an orb
That seized me by the fingers
And flew off with a swirl
I dreamt I looked down
At the demon below
Leaving him behind
But he had already shocked me awake
He had made me stir, and shake
I dreamt of a demon,
Sweeping down on me
And he left me with my anxiety
Tuesday, December 22
Old Habit
I dream of fires and of death. Of lips sealing, of angry words. I dream of losing you, over and over, as if I didn't face that truth enough. I think of you always. I've thought to myself a million times what an idiot you are, but I simply won't convince myself. Because you never really were idiotic, were you? And isn't that what makes it all so much worse?
I'm trying to find substitutes for you, I pretend that they are good enough. I pretend that they'll do. To everyone else, I pretend that I'm fine, that I'm okay. Even when I have the chance to tell the truth... I don't. Why?
I don't know. Maybe you could tell me.
I don't want this. I don't want to long for you. I don't want this burning sting in my heart when I spot you in a photo, when I remember a song, when I remember your words. When I have to realize that you're not here.
My sis don't think it mattered at all because we never lived together. But maybe that was for the better anyway - or it would have been a ton of times worse when you left me.
I don't understand. I have tried. I have tried to accept it. I've tried to believe your words that you one day simply didn't love me anymore. But I can't. It just rings falsely in my ears. And all I do is wonder where you are, how you're doing, if you're alright.
I've begun an old habit of mine again. I take out that needle, and blaze it with a lighter until it glistens black and silvery against my eyes. I take that needle and stick it through the palms of my hands, ripping the skin up in flakes as I go. What's left is an uneven surface, skinless, pierced by a thousand holes. I have made myself that rag doll that I draw.
Much like once I did.
I miss everything.
I miss you.
I didn't sign up for this shit.
POET IN THE JAR
I'm trying to find substitutes for you, I pretend that they are good enough. I pretend that they'll do. To everyone else, I pretend that I'm fine, that I'm okay. Even when I have the chance to tell the truth... I don't. Why?
I don't know. Maybe you could tell me.
I don't want this. I don't want to long for you. I don't want this burning sting in my heart when I spot you in a photo, when I remember a song, when I remember your words. When I have to realize that you're not here.
My sis don't think it mattered at all because we never lived together. But maybe that was for the better anyway - or it would have been a ton of times worse when you left me.
I don't understand. I have tried. I have tried to accept it. I've tried to believe your words that you one day simply didn't love me anymore. But I can't. It just rings falsely in my ears. And all I do is wonder where you are, how you're doing, if you're alright.
I've begun an old habit of mine again. I take out that needle, and blaze it with a lighter until it glistens black and silvery against my eyes. I take that needle and stick it through the palms of my hands, ripping the skin up in flakes as I go. What's left is an uneven surface, skinless, pierced by a thousand holes. I have made myself that rag doll that I draw.
Much like once I did.
I miss everything.
I miss you.
I didn't sign up for this shit.
POET IN THE JAR
Monday, December 21
Rag Doll
Rag doll,
This is a needle,
Shiny and sharp.
When I pierce you with it,
You will bleed.
Do you know what blood is,
Rag doll?
Will you faint?
Rag doll,
You're wounded,
My voodoo doll.
A burst stitches smile,
You will need.
Do you feel the cotton there,
Rag doll?
As it wells out of your mouth?
Rag doll,
I'll patch you up again,
Until I'm out of yarn.
I'll rip your seams apart.
Do you know what hell is,
Rag doll?
As it repeats itself?
You're mine, dear Rag Doll,
You're mine to keep.
Stay and spin, and then to play,
With all my shiny razorblades.
You'll last for one more ripping,
And then I'll do the stitching
This is a needle,
Shiny and sharp.
When I pierce you with it,
You will bleed.
Do you know what blood is,
Rag doll?
Will you faint?
Rag doll,
You're wounded,
My voodoo doll.
A burst stitches smile,
You will need.
Do you feel the cotton there,
Rag doll?
As it wells out of your mouth?
Rag doll,
I'll patch you up again,
Until I'm out of yarn.
I'll rip your seams apart.
Do you know what hell is,
Rag doll?
As it repeats itself?
You're mine, dear Rag Doll,
You're mine to keep.
Stay and spin, and then to play,
With all my shiny razorblades.
You'll last for one more ripping,
And then I'll do the stitching
Saturday, December 19
Wolf Coming
Sister, I'd be here for you
When you're down
When you've been wronged
When your agony fills you
And the fairytale is gone
I'd be here for you
If you didn't lie
Sister, I'd cover you
When you're angry
When you cry
When you forget how to breathe
And you don't know why
I'd be here for you
If you didn't lie
Sister, your world is unreal
You weave it in your mind
When the world is unlike
What you had imagined
You falter, tumble, you fall
Sister, I know sometimes
You sleep only four hours at night
And sometimes you've worked all day
Without a single bite
But don't take that out on me
You don't get to drown me
Sister, I'd be here for you
If you hadn't already used my trust
If I hadn't already given you
More than I own
Sister, I'd be here for you
But from now on you're alone
From now on you're alone
When you're down
When you've been wronged
When your agony fills you
And the fairytale is gone
I'd be here for you
If you didn't lie
Sister, I'd cover you
When you're angry
When you cry
When you forget how to breathe
And you don't know why
I'd be here for you
If you didn't lie
Sister, your world is unreal
You weave it in your mind
When the world is unlike
What you had imagined
You falter, tumble, you fall
Sister, I know sometimes
You sleep only four hours at night
And sometimes you've worked all day
Without a single bite
But don't take that out on me
You don't get to drown me
Sister, I'd be here for you
If you hadn't already used my trust
If I hadn't already given you
More than I own
Sister, I'd be here for you
But from now on you're alone
From now on you're alone
Friday, December 18
Thursday, December 17
Freedom Cocaine
Who have I become?
A stranger in the mirror
Ready to go fetch the scissor pair
Ripping a wound here and there
Shooting ink through here and there
My cocaine is different from yours
It's the pain that is my obsession
I've become so keen to feel alive
That I'm closing on the border
Where I give it up and die
I remember older, other times
When I didn't have these thoughts
When my heart was a treasure chest
Or so I have been told
I confided in my empty sheets
Of paper that I threw away
And slept in my empty sheets
By the end of every lonely day
Why did this return to me?
Just when I thought I was living
That I was breathing
It's all still here, under my skin
I wish I'd never let you in
You can never make up for it
Your ghouls still chase after me
And I can't wait to leave here
I can't wait to be set free
But do you really call it freedom
When all I do is run away
And wherever I run
You'll always catch up with me
You'll never leave me be
A stranger in the mirror
Ready to go fetch the scissor pair
Ripping a wound here and there
Shooting ink through here and there
My cocaine is different from yours
It's the pain that is my obsession
I've become so keen to feel alive
That I'm closing on the border
Where I give it up and die
I remember older, other times
When I didn't have these thoughts
When my heart was a treasure chest
Or so I have been told
I confided in my empty sheets
Of paper that I threw away
And slept in my empty sheets
By the end of every lonely day
Why did this return to me?
Just when I thought I was living
That I was breathing
It's all still here, under my skin
I wish I'd never let you in
You can never make up for it
Your ghouls still chase after me
And I can't wait to leave here
I can't wait to be set free
But do you really call it freedom
When all I do is run away
And wherever I run
You'll always catch up with me
You'll never leave me be
Wednesday, December 16
For The Ferry
A penny for your thoughts
Or will you give them for free?
Will you share your dreams
With someone like me?
There's a magical wallet
You can open only if you own it
And I open mine, with force
Only specks of dust inside
No rubies, no fortunes
I have plenty of dreams and imagination
Of high flying hopes and desires
But not any wrinkled bills
To pay for your thoughts
Do you have two coins for the ferry?
To place upon your eyes?
I'll close them for you
Place there my last pennies
They're of better use to you
How come you have to pay in death
When you spend all your life
At a cost too high?
But don't worry
No matter how dried up it gets
I'll always save you two bronze pennies
To pay for the ferry
I've got your retirement covered
Or will you give them for free?
Will you share your dreams
With someone like me?
There's a magical wallet
You can open only if you own it
And I open mine, with force
Only specks of dust inside
No rubies, no fortunes
I have plenty of dreams and imagination
Of high flying hopes and desires
But not any wrinkled bills
To pay for your thoughts
Do you have two coins for the ferry?
To place upon your eyes?
I'll close them for you
Place there my last pennies
They're of better use to you
How come you have to pay in death
When you spend all your life
At a cost too high?
But don't worry
No matter how dried up it gets
I'll always save you two bronze pennies
To pay for the ferry
I've got your retirement covered
Little Darling Doll
Darling doll
I put you to sleep
I mean for you a calm
You usually don't see
I sing you a lullaby
Of things you can't hear
You're deaf, little doll
I'm singing to shut ears
Darling doll
I close your eyes
The darkness is the same to you
You're blind, little doll
You can't see
But I close your eyes still
Away from me
Darling doll
I sedate you
So you won't feel it
When it stings
You're numb, little doll
I press the last air out of the shot
And I sing
Little darling doll,
Who can't hear or see or feel
And who can't tell if the monsters are real
I sing to you a farewell song
Your suffering is over
I bid you farewell, little darling doll
You who were my innocence
I put you to sleep
I mean for you a calm
You usually don't see
I sing you a lullaby
Of things you can't hear
You're deaf, little doll
I'm singing to shut ears
Darling doll
I close your eyes
The darkness is the same to you
You're blind, little doll
You can't see
But I close your eyes still
Away from me
Darling doll
I sedate you
So you won't feel it
When it stings
You're numb, little doll
I press the last air out of the shot
And I sing
Little darling doll,
Who can't hear or see or feel
And who can't tell if the monsters are real
I sing to you a farewell song
Your suffering is over
I bid you farewell, little darling doll
You who were my innocence
Monday, December 14
Another Shot
Before getting to the business of finishing off Alev's gift, thought I'd write some stuff off of me.
I didn't get the internship spot, but the studio manager was very kind and wished me luck with upcoming applications. It dragged me down a bit, but I was cheered up when Dragon called me and let me know she'd talked to that person she knew who had contacts with a publisher. They'd take a look at the site (which for you who don't know is here: http://www.angelictrilogy.webs.com) and get in touch with me during the week. We'll see what they say, before they do I won't elaborate further on it.
Other than that Zelda and Bagge are adjusting well. Bagge has found his favorite spot to sleep, inside a cardboard box that wasn't even supposed to be standing here, but I guess I'll leave it be just a little while more just for his sake... Zelda on the other hand went for the comfy armchair. I'm not a bit surprised. It makes things a tad more meaningful to have some little beings to care for when I get home, and it's not just my lonely apartment meeting my eyes.
After finishing this gift I'll sit down and type up some novelling. 80K is not impossible, despite the almost entire week that I spent not writing. No problems, people. Who has stuff to do during Christmas anyway?
POET in the JAR
I didn't get the internship spot, but the studio manager was very kind and wished me luck with upcoming applications. It dragged me down a bit, but I was cheered up when Dragon called me and let me know she'd talked to that person she knew who had contacts with a publisher. They'd take a look at the site (which for you who don't know is here: http://www.angelictrilogy.webs.com) and get in touch with me during the week. We'll see what they say, before they do I won't elaborate further on it.
Other than that Zelda and Bagge are adjusting well. Bagge has found his favorite spot to sleep, inside a cardboard box that wasn't even supposed to be standing here, but I guess I'll leave it be just a little while more just for his sake... Zelda on the other hand went for the comfy armchair. I'm not a bit surprised. It makes things a tad more meaningful to have some little beings to care for when I get home, and it's not just my lonely apartment meeting my eyes.
After finishing this gift I'll sit down and type up some novelling. 80K is not impossible, despite the almost entire week that I spent not writing. No problems, people. Who has stuff to do during Christmas anyway?
POET in the JAR
Sunday, December 13
Inquisitor
Last night I had a very odd dream
Very odd dream, indeed
Using my spells to cut through the undead
And successfully, as it seemed
Count to the sixth vertebra on the back
Or you won't make a very good stalker attack
Protect the top floor from the enemies
And keep all the rest unaware
You're an inquisitor now
Along with the inspectors
And your finger is a wand
Am I not right?
And you only work your shifts at night
And no worries, that suitcase
Was just your sister's,
So no one has stolen yours!
First night's the worst night,
Look after the ward
And send all of the others down the stairs
Or make up a spell that goes BAN!
But that doesn't work
You should stick to inquisitor guidelines.
Low ceiling kitchen but not low enough
You can pass, just not as easily
As the cooks
You're no rookie
Most people don't live through the first shift
Why you'd want this career, well
Beats me!
But at least we got rid of the enemy.
Very odd dream, indeed
Using my spells to cut through the undead
And successfully, as it seemed
Count to the sixth vertebra on the back
Or you won't make a very good stalker attack
Protect the top floor from the enemies
And keep all the rest unaware
You're an inquisitor now
Along with the inspectors
And your finger is a wand
Am I not right?
And you only work your shifts at night
And no worries, that suitcase
Was just your sister's,
So no one has stolen yours!
First night's the worst night,
Look after the ward
And send all of the others down the stairs
Or make up a spell that goes BAN!
But that doesn't work
You should stick to inquisitor guidelines.
Low ceiling kitchen but not low enough
You can pass, just not as easily
As the cooks
You're no rookie
Most people don't live through the first shift
Why you'd want this career, well
Beats me!
But at least we got rid of the enemy.
Thursday, December 10
Flashes
Yesterday I had another breakdown
Another seizure in this small town
This place seems gray
And full of ashes
Have I betrayed my fireworks
My glimpses and flashes?
Yesterday I was attacked again
Another downfall, I was struck again
It's still so empty here
Echoing down my walls
Do you find your apartment now
Empty at all?
Yesterday I had a glimpse of you
And you took me over, in your absence
Only because I let it all go
The first time since you left
That I didn't pretend
For once I did nothing but simply being
And immediately it's you I'm seeing
You haunt me like a ghost,
Just by not being here
Call me a fool
But I miss you
And sometimes I wish you were around to see the flashes
Sometimes in my life there are flashes of light
Fireworks, that get me through the day
And I'll surpass this and survive
No matter how small or faded
The flashes I'll remember
The flashes always stay
POET in the JAR
Another seizure in this small town
This place seems gray
And full of ashes
Have I betrayed my fireworks
My glimpses and flashes?
Yesterday I was attacked again
Another downfall, I was struck again
It's still so empty here
Echoing down my walls
Do you find your apartment now
Empty at all?
Yesterday I had a glimpse of you
And you took me over, in your absence
Only because I let it all go
The first time since you left
That I didn't pretend
For once I did nothing but simply being
And immediately it's you I'm seeing
You haunt me like a ghost,
Just by not being here
Call me a fool
But I miss you
And sometimes I wish you were around to see the flashes
Sometimes in my life there are flashes of light
Fireworks, that get me through the day
And I'll surpass this and survive
No matter how small or faded
The flashes I'll remember
The flashes always stay
POET in the JAR
Sunday, December 6
Memorable
Came home and dinner was on the table, that didn't happen since we all lived together back in the old apartment. Dragon had cooked for me and her and it was delicious. Then some watching of Wall-E while falling asleep on the bed/couch/random place to sit in my little flat. Nice rounding off a Sunday night.
Yesterday was memorable although most of it I don't remember... but I guess that was precisely what I needed. I feel slightly more at ease with humanity afterwards, anyway! And I really have a bunch of amazing friends. I'm so, so thankful for having you. I couldn't have dreamed of this only a few years ago, and I owe it all to you.
I love you.
On a side note this week is a busy week. I get my kittens on Tuesday and expect to spend the following days trying to make them adjust to their new home. I have put writing aside for the moment and I miss it terribly, but there simply doesn't seem to be the time or the energy to. I'll keep up a daily session at least and still aim for the 80 magical K's to be reached at the end of the month.
Until then - keep living. Keep breathing. Just one day at a time and before we know it we'll be 40 and reunited at a fancy dinner party.
POET in the JAR
Yesterday was memorable although most of it I don't remember... but I guess that was precisely what I needed. I feel slightly more at ease with humanity afterwards, anyway! And I really have a bunch of amazing friends. I'm so, so thankful for having you. I couldn't have dreamed of this only a few years ago, and I owe it all to you.
I love you.
On a side note this week is a busy week. I get my kittens on Tuesday and expect to spend the following days trying to make them adjust to their new home. I have put writing aside for the moment and I miss it terribly, but there simply doesn't seem to be the time or the energy to. I'll keep up a daily session at least and still aim for the 80 magical K's to be reached at the end of the month.
Until then - keep living. Keep breathing. Just one day at a time and before we know it we'll be 40 and reunited at a fancy dinner party.
POET in the JAR
Saturday, December 5
Castles
High time for another late night rant, it's 1.14 AM and I'm getting up early tomorrow for the morning shift. That way I'll have some time to clear this place for the party and to clean myself up, haha! Got some gifts from the family today; very nice ones. Wall-E on DVD (special edition), gift card for 500 crowns at a game store (holy!); and the entire, too expensive for me outfit that I tried out once for this year's New Year's. So Jessie, that means I'll wear what I was dreaming I'd be wearing.
Anyway, did some shopping for my little kittens today. Was supposed to buy things such as food and water bowls but came home with a cat castle that now stands mounted and ready by the foot of my bed. Looks cozy! It's only missing its inhabitants. They'll be arriving on Tuesday and I don't think any waiting felt so long... I really need the company.
Now for another outburst of honesty as I've promised. Rockstar came over this Tuesday and dropped off my stuff and picked up his. However many things I wanted to yell at him or however badly I wanted to get on my knees and beg him to take me back, I didn't. It became some sort of awkward talk about different things. It just made me miss him more. I miss not having him to talk to in my life. With everything that needs consideration, my first thought is that I'd want to discuss it with him first. And now I can't.
He had new hair. A new coat. Looked... different. He looked wonderful, but distanced. Like he really wanted this out of the way. Like we didn't actually have any link between eachother anymore. That's probably right. I can't feel it. It hurts me to know that I can't.
I skipped my appointment with the therapist today, even though I'd been wanting to go there all week. Just felt like a wreck when I got up. I wish I had a castle too, where I could crawl up inside in the dark and never leave, and never talk to anyone, and just wait until he came back to me. Wait until he came to save me, even if he never came. I still need him so badly... I wish I could see it all as a closure, but I can't. It just tore everything up again. And I was just beginning to mend.
I need this negative trend to turn...
POET in the SAD and MOURNING JAR
Anyway, did some shopping for my little kittens today. Was supposed to buy things such as food and water bowls but came home with a cat castle that now stands mounted and ready by the foot of my bed. Looks cozy! It's only missing its inhabitants. They'll be arriving on Tuesday and I don't think any waiting felt so long... I really need the company.
Now for another outburst of honesty as I've promised. Rockstar came over this Tuesday and dropped off my stuff and picked up his. However many things I wanted to yell at him or however badly I wanted to get on my knees and beg him to take me back, I didn't. It became some sort of awkward talk about different things. It just made me miss him more. I miss not having him to talk to in my life. With everything that needs consideration, my first thought is that I'd want to discuss it with him first. And now I can't.
He had new hair. A new coat. Looked... different. He looked wonderful, but distanced. Like he really wanted this out of the way. Like we didn't actually have any link between eachother anymore. That's probably right. I can't feel it. It hurts me to know that I can't.
I skipped my appointment with the therapist today, even though I'd been wanting to go there all week. Just felt like a wreck when I got up. I wish I had a castle too, where I could crawl up inside in the dark and never leave, and never talk to anyone, and just wait until he came back to me. Wait until he came to save me, even if he never came. I still need him so badly... I wish I could see it all as a closure, but I can't. It just tore everything up again. And I was just beginning to mend.
I need this negative trend to turn...
POET in the SAD and MOURNING JAR
Tuesday, December 1
Marbles & China Dolls
Did you think you knew obsession?
Well, you didn't
You didn't
Did you think you saw my passion?
It was hidden
It was hidden
I don't belong here
In this sad sphere
I want to break the glass and roam
I'm not your marbles
Or your china dolls
I want to break speed limit and run
I'll chase you, I'll chase you
I'll take you, I'll take you
With me into our grave
Did you think you knew confession?
Think again,
Think again
Did you think you felt my tension?
Where you went,
Oh where you went
I don't belong here
In this sad sphere
I want to break the glass and roam
I'm not your marbles
Or your china dolls
I want to break speed limit and run
I'll chase you, I'll chase you
I'll take you, I'll take you
With me into our grave
Well, you didn't
You didn't
Did you think you saw my passion?
It was hidden
It was hidden
I don't belong here
In this sad sphere
I want to break the glass and roam
I'm not your marbles
Or your china dolls
I want to break speed limit and run
I'll chase you, I'll chase you
I'll take you, I'll take you
With me into our grave
Did you think you knew confession?
Think again,
Think again
Did you think you felt my tension?
Where you went,
Oh where you went
I don't belong here
In this sad sphere
I want to break the glass and roam
I'm not your marbles
Or your china dolls
I want to break speed limit and run
I'll chase you, I'll chase you
I'll take you, I'll take you
With me into our grave
Driftwood
It never got to you, did it
Any of the words I wrote
Waiting for you
Hating you
You never read them
Did you
Don't explain
You're a stranger now
You don't get a second chance
To break things off
You should have thought of that
The first time
The ending time
I don't want to drop another guitar
Loudly on the floor
And hear it clinging distantly
Remember you used to play it
I plastered it with stickers
Of my bands
To make it mine
But it still feels like yours
When I look at it
It sounds like yours
Every time
I don't recognize you
Who is that in your coat?
You gave it up?
You stayed afloat?
Why aren't you dying
Why didn't you stop
Why didn't you feel me
Through the link
It never got to you, did it
The songs I wrote
For the missing
Any of the words I wrote
Waiting for you
Hating you
You never read them
Did you
Don't explain
You're a stranger now
You don't get a second chance
To break things off
You should have thought of that
The first time
The ending time
I don't want to drop another guitar
Loudly on the floor
And hear it clinging distantly
Remember you used to play it
I plastered it with stickers
Of my bands
To make it mine
But it still feels like yours
When I look at it
It sounds like yours
Every time
I don't recognize you
Who is that in your coat?
You gave it up?
You stayed afloat?
Why aren't you dying
Why didn't you stop
Why didn't you feel me
Through the link
It never got to you, did it
The songs I wrote
For the missing
Sunday, November 29
Ivy & Ophelia
It's not too late.
I can still find you.
I can still save you.
Ivy, dear
You quiet kind
Retreating into yourself
Away from the pain
Find your solice in the wind
Dance away to somewhere else
Ivy, dear
You were never the poisonous one
You were innocent and true
But he would never see that in you
I led you to your hell
And myself to rain
Ivy, dear
Ophelia, dear
I'm chasing your shadow
Your echo in a frame
You'll be different
Although I know you're pained
I'll come to you on time
Make sure that you'll be saved
Ophelia, dear
You're my Ivy
I'll get to you on time
I already know
Why you're etched on my mind
It's not too late.
I can still find you.
I can still save you.
You're not like Ivy,
Ophelia dear
I won't let you be
Even if it takes it all from me
I can still find you.
I can still save you.
Ivy, dear
You quiet kind
Retreating into yourself
Away from the pain
Find your solice in the wind
Dance away to somewhere else
Ivy, dear
You were never the poisonous one
You were innocent and true
But he would never see that in you
I led you to your hell
And myself to rain
Ivy, dear
Ophelia, dear
I'm chasing your shadow
Your echo in a frame
You'll be different
Although I know you're pained
I'll come to you on time
Make sure that you'll be saved
Ophelia, dear
You're my Ivy
I'll get to you on time
I already know
Why you're etched on my mind
It's not too late.
I can still find you.
I can still save you.
You're not like Ivy,
Ophelia dear
I won't let you be
Even if it takes it all from me
Friday, November 27
Irreplaceable
For Ayan's sake I'm gonna keep y'all updated what's going on with my life so that you're not wondering. Yep. I'm two days behind in Nanowrimo but I do not despair. I'll write like hell after babysitting tomorrow and on Sunday and hopefully pull it off, by the looks of it the very last second, but it doesn't really matter. I'm gonna keep writing even in December as well.
Kay, other than that, yesterday was a wonderful, wicked concert with Takida that totally rocked and was the most fun night in a while, all my problems disappeared for a couple hours and didn't hit me again until in the car on the way home. It's strange though how calming it is to sleep next to Jessie and to just talk about our lives and remember stuff. I don't know what I'd do without you, hon.
I thought I had a therapy appointment yesterday, but apparently that was next Friday, and to be honest I'm almost looking forward to it. I have something pretty disturbing to discuss with her, at least it feels that way for me, and it has to do with my sis and shit. I discovered that some things that would normally upset me just passes me by and I feel nothing at all; while other things gives me bursts of emotion that I just can't stop.
Like anger.
I feel angry, all the time. When I picture Rockstar in my mind, first it gives me a twinge around my heart, and then I feel the anger bubbling through me. If I saw him right now by accident and without being ready I can't promise I wouldn't walk straight up to him and hit him. I am so angry at him that I don't know what to do or where to go. And the worst thing is that I hate myself for it, because in the end I just fucking miss him, and it makes me feel fucking vulnerable.
When I started writing on this blog on what will soon be three years time backwards in the past, I set out with one promise, I would keep this blog honest. And I stick to that vow today, and I will share with you something that has weighed on me but that doesn't seem to trouble anyone else.
Someone I used to be very good friends with said to me a few days ago that everyone can be replaced. I was saying that I wasn't looking for someone to replace Rockstar with, because no one can do that, ever. Maybe one day there'll be someone new to fill a new and exciting role, but to take his place? Just thinking the thought is insulting. I said this to said friend. I don't think said friend understood. What bothers me is the following - if everyone can be replaced, then no one is special. No one means anything to anyone to begin with. And it's just a fucked up and meaningless mess just as the voices in my head have been telling me since I was born.
That's another thing I should discuss with the therapist. The voices.
Anyway. I have fought this view of the world and of everyone in it since ages in order to believe things can still be okay. That someone can still matter. That people can still love, that there can be epic, magic things around us. I've fought to stay naive. I'm not naive anymore. I've become very cautious and cynic. But it's a world view I don't want to forget. I don't want to believe that a relationship you share with someone can just end and that's it, and no big deal, and you just pick yourself up and move on after.
I can't do it.
It hurts too much. It hurts me, every day. If he is just someone that I can replace - why haven't I already? Why is it still empty? And why won't he fucking leave me alone?
You accept the fact that the world is meaningless, if you want, that no one is irreplaceable. I'll see you in ten years time and see if you changed your mind. Meanwhile you let me deal with my own pain and my own memories in my way.
As though they were special.
As though it meant something.
I have to believe it.
POET IN THE JAR
Kay, other than that, yesterday was a wonderful, wicked concert with Takida that totally rocked and was the most fun night in a while, all my problems disappeared for a couple hours and didn't hit me again until in the car on the way home. It's strange though how calming it is to sleep next to Jessie and to just talk about our lives and remember stuff. I don't know what I'd do without you, hon.
I thought I had a therapy appointment yesterday, but apparently that was next Friday, and to be honest I'm almost looking forward to it. I have something pretty disturbing to discuss with her, at least it feels that way for me, and it has to do with my sis and shit. I discovered that some things that would normally upset me just passes me by and I feel nothing at all; while other things gives me bursts of emotion that I just can't stop.
Like anger.
I feel angry, all the time. When I picture Rockstar in my mind, first it gives me a twinge around my heart, and then I feel the anger bubbling through me. If I saw him right now by accident and without being ready I can't promise I wouldn't walk straight up to him and hit him. I am so angry at him that I don't know what to do or where to go. And the worst thing is that I hate myself for it, because in the end I just fucking miss him, and it makes me feel fucking vulnerable.
When I started writing on this blog on what will soon be three years time backwards in the past, I set out with one promise, I would keep this blog honest. And I stick to that vow today, and I will share with you something that has weighed on me but that doesn't seem to trouble anyone else.
Someone I used to be very good friends with said to me a few days ago that everyone can be replaced. I was saying that I wasn't looking for someone to replace Rockstar with, because no one can do that, ever. Maybe one day there'll be someone new to fill a new and exciting role, but to take his place? Just thinking the thought is insulting. I said this to said friend. I don't think said friend understood. What bothers me is the following - if everyone can be replaced, then no one is special. No one means anything to anyone to begin with. And it's just a fucked up and meaningless mess just as the voices in my head have been telling me since I was born.
That's another thing I should discuss with the therapist. The voices.
Anyway. I have fought this view of the world and of everyone in it since ages in order to believe things can still be okay. That someone can still matter. That people can still love, that there can be epic, magic things around us. I've fought to stay naive. I'm not naive anymore. I've become very cautious and cynic. But it's a world view I don't want to forget. I don't want to believe that a relationship you share with someone can just end and that's it, and no big deal, and you just pick yourself up and move on after.
I can't do it.
It hurts too much. It hurts me, every day. If he is just someone that I can replace - why haven't I already? Why is it still empty? And why won't he fucking leave me alone?
You accept the fact that the world is meaningless, if you want, that no one is irreplaceable. I'll see you in ten years time and see if you changed your mind. Meanwhile you let me deal with my own pain and my own memories in my way.
As though they were special.
As though it meant something.
I have to believe it.
POET IN THE JAR
Wednesday, November 25
Ship O'hoy
Hey there, here's a treat
Sugarcoated, dark and sweet
Swallow! Get it up again
Die, the poison's gotten in
Hey there, here's my red banner
Follow it by any manner
Chase! And then lose track again
Fall, the decoy's at your end
Hey there, here's a pointer
Ivy passes, time to join her
Run! Then paralyze again
Fear, the Reaper has been sent
Hey there, here's a smoke
Candycane in lethal cloak
Choke! Then come to life again
Breathe, your monster's in the den
Hey there, allow me to trick you
Fool you with my simple toys
Until you, Blue Eyes, walk my plank
And fall off screaming
"Ship O'hoy!"
Sugarcoated, dark and sweet
Swallow! Get it up again
Die, the poison's gotten in
Hey there, here's my red banner
Follow it by any manner
Chase! And then lose track again
Fall, the decoy's at your end
Hey there, here's a pointer
Ivy passes, time to join her
Run! Then paralyze again
Fear, the Reaper has been sent
Hey there, here's a smoke
Candycane in lethal cloak
Choke! Then come to life again
Breathe, your monster's in the den
Hey there, allow me to trick you
Fool you with my simple toys
Until you, Blue Eyes, walk my plank
And fall off screaming
"Ship O'hoy!"
Tuesday, November 24
Rebels 4-Ever
I wonder why we're capable of dreaming. If maybe it's just painful to do it. Maybe we should just settle in for what we got at hand and ignore the rest. But we never do. We're never satisfied. In our minds and hearts we're always someplace else, somewhere better.
Is this what's real? Or are the dream worlds that we create the real ones, and this is just a fictional dimension? Can I know that I'm feeling pain? Why do I? Why don't we all just drug ourselves until we feel nothing more, until we don't have to think.
The fact that it's possible to create entire universes that we've never been in, make up people that never existed... does that mean we have a good imagination? Or do we just channel something that is printed into us already, and describe places and people we once somehow knew?
I can't go for the fact that all glimpses of imaginary places are makebelieve. Some have to make some kind of sense. They have to come from somewhere. Maybe we're more complicated now than we used to be. Now we get messages streamed into our subconscious every waking hour of the day. We've seen images move on screens since we were small, and unable to sort it. Maybe everything we create holds fragments of things that have been stored inside our brains for later use. Or maybe among them there are some debris and scattered evidence of something that we couldn't possibly have known, or seen, anywhere.
It just doesn't seem possible otherwise. I wonder how otherwise the dark man that appears in the introductory chapter of my novel turns out to be a character I didn't invent until 70 pages later. Does that just happen by itself? I'm amazed how the details are coming out. I thought the writers with all the little threads tying together in the end had to sit for hours and plot how to make it all add up, drawing little schedules and whatever.
And what about drawing?
I drew a painting that was supposed to depict what I felt, inside. It became a very strange painting. It had one eye in the middle surrounded by sharp knives and thunder. The eye was red and the rest grey, and here and there ink blotches made on purpose in coal black. And underneath there were bloody letters that read "Rebels 4-ever" after one of my wristbands. It's very weird to look at but when I drew it I just knew that it stood for what I felt. It was the inner parts of me at that moment. Hmmm. How does that come through? How does a feeling and a mood automatically turn into symbolism and color when it's channeled to paper?
I don't understand creativity at all, and especially not the kind that drives me crazy, and makes me weird, but I'm in love with it, nevertheless. Without I'd have no reason to hang around here. That's what it feels like, anyway, although I know you guys would miss me awfully, ha, ha.
POET in the PONDERING JAR
Philsopher
Poet
Heart
Is this what's real? Or are the dream worlds that we create the real ones, and this is just a fictional dimension? Can I know that I'm feeling pain? Why do I? Why don't we all just drug ourselves until we feel nothing more, until we don't have to think.
The fact that it's possible to create entire universes that we've never been in, make up people that never existed... does that mean we have a good imagination? Or do we just channel something that is printed into us already, and describe places and people we once somehow knew?
I can't go for the fact that all glimpses of imaginary places are makebelieve. Some have to make some kind of sense. They have to come from somewhere. Maybe we're more complicated now than we used to be. Now we get messages streamed into our subconscious every waking hour of the day. We've seen images move on screens since we were small, and unable to sort it. Maybe everything we create holds fragments of things that have been stored inside our brains for later use. Or maybe among them there are some debris and scattered evidence of something that we couldn't possibly have known, or seen, anywhere.
It just doesn't seem possible otherwise. I wonder how otherwise the dark man that appears in the introductory chapter of my novel turns out to be a character I didn't invent until 70 pages later. Does that just happen by itself? I'm amazed how the details are coming out. I thought the writers with all the little threads tying together in the end had to sit for hours and plot how to make it all add up, drawing little schedules and whatever.
And what about drawing?
I drew a painting that was supposed to depict what I felt, inside. It became a very strange painting. It had one eye in the middle surrounded by sharp knives and thunder. The eye was red and the rest grey, and here and there ink blotches made on purpose in coal black. And underneath there were bloody letters that read "Rebels 4-ever" after one of my wristbands. It's very weird to look at but when I drew it I just knew that it stood for what I felt. It was the inner parts of me at that moment. Hmmm. How does that come through? How does a feeling and a mood automatically turn into symbolism and color when it's channeled to paper?
I don't understand creativity at all, and especially not the kind that drives me crazy, and makes me weird, but I'm in love with it, nevertheless. Without I'd have no reason to hang around here. That's what it feels like, anyway, although I know you guys would miss me awfully, ha, ha.
POET in the PONDERING JAR
Philsopher
Poet
Heart
Monday, November 23
Any Longer
I have to take another breath
To steel myself
I have to take another step
To reel myself
Back in
I'm straying back
To all those places
That are no good for me
I'm fading to black
Through all your mazes
Open your eyes and see
Look at me, I'm real
Look at me, I'm here
You can't ignore me
Any longer
Look at me, I feel
Look at me, I fear
You can't deny me
Any longer
I'm straying back
To all those moments
I remember there were
You're giving back
All those moments
Resigning for good
Look at me, I'm real
Look at me, I'm here
You can't ignore me
Any longer
Look at me, I feel
Look at me, I fear
You can't deny me
Any longer
___________________
Wish you could hear how this one goes, it's a bit different. But it's what's in my head, and I always say - go with different. Returning soon for another post.
POET IN THE JAR
To steel myself
I have to take another step
To reel myself
Back in
I'm straying back
To all those places
That are no good for me
I'm fading to black
Through all your mazes
Open your eyes and see
Look at me, I'm real
Look at me, I'm here
You can't ignore me
Any longer
Look at me, I feel
Look at me, I fear
You can't deny me
Any longer
I'm straying back
To all those moments
I remember there were
You're giving back
All those moments
Resigning for good
Look at me, I'm real
Look at me, I'm here
You can't ignore me
Any longer
Look at me, I feel
Look at me, I fear
You can't deny me
Any longer
___________________
Wish you could hear how this one goes, it's a bit different. But it's what's in my head, and I always say - go with different. Returning soon for another post.
POET IN THE JAR
Coma
It stabs me again
Through the hole in my chest
It pierces me through
The hole and the rift
Still left after you
I'm in a coma
Waking only from pain
The only way to know
I'm still real
That I'm sane
It knocks me out again
I'm down on my knees
I won't beg to be set free
I'll swallow and take it
I'll suffer, I'm me
It drives me through again
Stake through my heart
I realize you're not here
I'll learn to live, eventually
But where do I start?
Through the hole in my chest
It pierces me through
The hole and the rift
Still left after you
I'm in a coma
Waking only from pain
The only way to know
I'm still real
That I'm sane
It knocks me out again
I'm down on my knees
I won't beg to be set free
I'll swallow and take it
I'll suffer, I'm me
It drives me through again
Stake through my heart
I realize you're not here
I'll learn to live, eventually
But where do I start?
Sunday, November 22
Unspoken
My link to you is broken.
It grows weaker by the day.
I can't read what you are feeling.
I don't know where you will stay.
I think you broke your link to me,
On purpose broke the chains.
You thought I'd take control of you,
Wash all the free away.
But the link I didn't make on purpose.
I didn't make it just by will.
It only appears when someone matters.
When someone's close enough to kill.
When the last of the chain falls,
And I no longer feel you at all,
I know that I'll be broken.
Say that I'm irrational.
Call me insubstantial.
But I'm all of your words,
Unspoken.
It grows weaker by the day.
I can't read what you are feeling.
I don't know where you will stay.
I think you broke your link to me,
On purpose broke the chains.
You thought I'd take control of you,
Wash all the free away.
But the link I didn't make on purpose.
I didn't make it just by will.
It only appears when someone matters.
When someone's close enough to kill.
When the last of the chain falls,
And I no longer feel you at all,
I know that I'll be broken.
Say that I'm irrational.
Call me insubstantial.
But I'm all of your words,
Unspoken.
Friday, November 20
Epic
There is such a thing as epic love. It becomes epic when it ends. When we fight our inner and outer demons for another glimpse. For another whisper. For another touch. When the whole world is painted with darkness, there will always be the epic stories.
I'll be an old lady in sixty years. I'll have married and have great grandchildren and have traveled the world. I'll be a writer, long out of date, but who never stopped. And when my grown up children and grandchildren come to my lap and sit on it and look into my old and starry eyes, while I look back into their equally blue eyes that they all inherited from me - I'll tell them a story. When they ask me if there's such a thing as true love, as epic love, as the cinema movie kind of love - I will answer this:
Yes.
There is.
It is the most powerful thing you can imagine.
And the most painful, all at once.
Great grandchildren, I will tell you a story.
Before I met your great grandfather, a long time ago, when I was a young and slightly foolish little girl - like you are now - I was a different person. Can you imagine me as a young girl? Well, I was young once. And I know that there is such a thing as epic passion - and epic, dangerous and challenging love. I know, because once upon a time, I saw it with my own eyes. I felt it, with my own fingers.
Now, don't tell your grandfather I told you this, but there was someone before his time. Someone stronger and in many ways wiser, but also many times more dangerous.
"Gran!"
It's true.
Your grandfather is the kind that is good for you. And it's much, much harder to love someone that is good. It is one of life's mysteries, but it's the way things are.
"Don't you love Grandpa?"
Grandpa still takes care of the lawn. Is that love?
"Gran!"
Listen, now. Before Grandpa, the world was a different place, and the people were different people. It was not a time perhaps of joy. Of happiness. But it was a time of open-mindedness, and for my part, it meant many new places to go and many new faces to see. It was difficult not to be swept away. Everything was a big adventure, and life had only just begun.
I was an independent woman, in many ways. I was openly bisexual, dears.
"That's not a big deal, Gran!"
But it was back then. I wrote books. Mostly very dark adventure books. Some might even scare you. There was a dark and unexplored side of me that sometimes took over, and lent my fingers to that pen. Remember what I usually say about the word flow.
"The word flow tells the stories, the writer only guides them to paper."
Yes, exactly. And your old grandmother here, she was a real explorer. She had friends all over the world that she would travel to, and travel with. I felt like I had seen the entire world, but it only made me eager to see the rest. And girls, I still haven't seen all there is to see. But I didn't know that then. I was very young.
"Were you young and stupid, Grandma?"
I wouldn't say I was altogether stupid. I wasn't quite as young as you are now. I had seen a little of life, enough to make me very careful where to place my feet. But I was not wise. And I'm still not, mind you. Only a fool thinks he's wise.
And only fools rush in.
"Did you?"
I tried not to, but it was hard to resist the power. There was a force pulling me in that I couldn't resist. Still today it can strike me at any time. It hasn't lost its power. I will never forget how it felt to have it control everything in my life.
It started out innocent, like it almost always does. I looked carefully where to tread. I kept watch over the ever changing path. But I was trapped. Wham! The jaws of the trap clenching me, holding me still and wounding me. For life.
"What happened, Gran?"
Late one night, we were in a nearby city, losing ourselves in the moment. It was your aunt Jessie, dears, and your aunt Mary, and me. It had been a spur of the moment to go, for once leaving the grey town where we lived. For once forgetting our every day lives and spending a few hours in light-headedness and dances. And in lust. I remember that he could tell what I was wearing that night, even months later. He always remembered. He had a photographic memory when it came to these things.
"Who?!"
Didn't I tell you? He who came before your great grandfather. He who was the epic passion. The epic love. He who would let his fingers follow the paths of my polynesian tattoo, dears, and who would later let his life surpass my own. The dangerous one, girls. The only one I really loved.
Now you want to know how I can tell that, don't you, girls? How can I know? Well, it's an easy test that my mother taught me, and that her mother taught her, and that I've always applied for every important person crossing the path of my life. It determines everything. It tells your conscious how to act. It is the Bible for non-believers.
"What's the test?"
Do you want to take it?
"Yeah!"
Alright, if you really think you're ready...
"We're ready, we're ready!"
Alright then. First of all, you close your eyes. Close them so hard you can't see anything but darkness. No peeking! Keep them closed, and think of someone important. Someone you think you love. Do you have a clear, visual image of that someone in your mind now? Can you see that face among all that darkness? Good. Now imagine this. Imagine that from this very second, you will never see this person again. Never. You will never hear their voice. Never look into their eyes. Never say goodbye. They will be gone, this minute, with the wind.
To this you will have a reaction. A feeling. Embrace the feeling. Remember it. Remember what it tells you. Now open your eyes.
"Gran... how does this make any difference?"
You will understand that when you're both older.
"No fair!"
That is how it works. It only works for pain. You are lucky. You've had no pain. Not yet.
In my case, it enables me to know. I know that what I felt for this someone, that came before your Grandpa, was love. Epic love. It becomes epic when it ends. I know this, because sixty years away, separated in time and in space, picturing his face and his voice makes it sting in my heart. It is the wound he left bleeding in me, that will not seal. It tells me that it's possible. It's possible to find real love. But not everyone are lucky enough to keep it. I was not. I was wounded.
"Grandma... tell us about him."
His name was John. He accidentally took me for a musician. It wasn't all that wrong. I wrote songs back then, many, many songs. Or to say it right, I wrote lyrics. John played guitar. In an enchanting way. He is still the most talented guitarist that I've ever listened to. But he never believed me, of course. He was modest, to a start. Someday, I would like to hear him play again. But by now maybe his fingers are caught by rheumatism and I can only hear him play inside my head. Like the only way I still see him.
I don't see him as an 84-year-old, as he would have been by now. I don't see myself that way, when I think of him. I see us both where we were at the time. In our early twenties. I'll always remember him that way. That's even the way that I miss him, today.
"You still miss him?"
Every day, and every night.
"It's been such a long time."
I know. It almost scares me. I can't go to sleep at night before saying out loud that I miss him, hoping in some way, somewhere, he would hear me. He'd find his way back to me, as if he had simply lost me. We'd just start where everything ended, and pick it up from there. It would be as if he never left.
He is in my dreams. He talks to me there. I say I find him foolish for missing out on what we had. He says he knows he is foolish. We laugh about it, in my dreams, and then we have breakfast together in the kitchen. The one he used to have, of course. Because in my dreams we are always young. Always frozen where we were.
And every morning, he wakes me up. Really early. He knows that it annoys me. He does it anyway. He wakes me up from my dreams quite roughly, I must say, making me sit up and gasp for air, as if it had been a nightmare driving me towards my wake. And every morning, I realize again that feeling I have when I do the test. I realize he is not here. He is still not here. And every time it makes my heart sting.
"Grandma... is that really him?"
I don't know, dears. Do you think it is?
"Maybe?"
Well, of this I am not sure. He could be a ghost from my memories. He could be here, and it could really be him, in some strange and unexplainable way. Maybe, in his end, he remembers too. Maybe in his dreams I let him sleep way too long. I know it would annoy him. But in the end - I can't know. What I feel is the only truth, and it is all I can be sure of.
"It must have lasted for a lifetime, Gran."
Rest assure, kids, that the greatest things in life are the most fleeting. All in all, everything happened in less than one year, and still it was all that it took to change your old grandmother's entire life. Life has a curious way of interfering with your business. It always has to come looking for a way to hit you from a new direction, only to see what will happen when it does. We can't always explain it. We only sense that it's there.
Your John and me were pretty obvious, from the beginning. It was difficult to keep away. Invisible chains grew, that kept us both in a tight clench. I don't know which of us was the most trapped. All I knew was that it filled me with the rush of freedom. It gave me hope that there was still some good in this world. By then I didn't believe he was dangerous. The opposite. I believed that I'd be safe around him, that he would somehow keep me away from harm. That would be why he rocked me to sleep at night in his arms. That would be why coming to where he lived made me feel at home. Me, kids, who never felt like I belonged anywhere. Not even here, with your Grandpa.
"Granny... how was the whole thing... epic?"
Well, you see, apart from that he's still here, or I imagine that he is; even though he said once he'd leave me, and even though closing my eyes and remembering him makes my heart weigh like a big boulder, that is not all. Maybe this is just your old grandmother's vivid imagination, but I believe there is some sense to it all. That it if not else holds some grain of truth.
See, I remember the time with John as if in snapshots. Clear videos if you will. Scenes from a grand movie. I remember when I ran to him through the falling rain, and it made me short of breath, but I wouldn't stop. I can replay it inside my head. And then I know it's epic.
I remember when my mother and me were finishing up in the apartment I lived in with my sister and with your aunt Mary. I remember that we fought and that I cried. I remember that in that moment, John came up the stairs, and I hadn't seen him in days. That's how I know it was epic.
I remember his blue eyes, blue and grey, almost as your eyes. I remember them looking at me as if it was just yesterday. I can picture them so easily in my mind, after all these years, when everyone else from my past have been forgotten.
And as I said before, it becomes epic when it ends.
"Why did it end, Gran?"
I asked him the same. He tried to answer in many ways. I think he was trying to make up for his guilt by trying to put words on what he felt. Or rather, what he didn't feel. You see, this is where he really turned dangerous, and where the passion I'd held for him really turned cinematic. Epic, as it ended.
We tried to speak. We spoke past eachother. No one wanted to hear what the other had to say. It didn't take long before all attempts died out. I deleted all my ways to get in contact with him, because I knew I would never hold. I would break. And I wouldn't survive it one more time.
Time passed, kids. A lot of time. Days at first, in a haze. Then weeks, months. Years. He had desired to leave me and lead a lonely existence, but it didn't last. He haunted me. He still does. I wish I had a way to haunt him back, just to let him know I'm still here, but I know no such ways. I wonder, many times, if his life turned out for the better. Maybe he has his own grandchildren on his lap now, telling this story, or maybe some other story that mattered more in his eyes. But to me this is the only story. This is what I know of him, and how I will remember him.
He believed leaving me would make my life easier. That I would be free. But the chains that he saw as imprisoning were to me a ladder to freedom. There was no way I could reach there without them. I believe he may have told the truth when he said he didn't love me. Not anymore. But I tend to go for one of many other theories when I'm in denial of the first. Maybe he was scared. He had been left before. Maybe he was fleeing from the pain that I never knew until he himself inflicted it on me.
I saw his face when I faced danger. It made me seek it out. And to this day it still does. I wish I was vital enough to still cliff dive and jump motorcycles, because that brought me closer to him. When he left, I died; and I had to nearly kill myself to know that I was still alive.
Great grandchildren, there's a hole through my chest, that your Grandpa, your parents or just about anyone in the whole world could ever fully fill. Not even you, although you are most entertaining. This is the hole made by epic love.
A love that became epic as it ended.
I'll be an old lady in sixty years. I'll have married and have great grandchildren and have traveled the world. I'll be a writer, long out of date, but who never stopped. And when my grown up children and grandchildren come to my lap and sit on it and look into my old and starry eyes, while I look back into their equally blue eyes that they all inherited from me - I'll tell them a story. When they ask me if there's such a thing as true love, as epic love, as the cinema movie kind of love - I will answer this:
Yes.
There is.
It is the most powerful thing you can imagine.
And the most painful, all at once.
Great grandchildren, I will tell you a story.
Before I met your great grandfather, a long time ago, when I was a young and slightly foolish little girl - like you are now - I was a different person. Can you imagine me as a young girl? Well, I was young once. And I know that there is such a thing as epic passion - and epic, dangerous and challenging love. I know, because once upon a time, I saw it with my own eyes. I felt it, with my own fingers.
Now, don't tell your grandfather I told you this, but there was someone before his time. Someone stronger and in many ways wiser, but also many times more dangerous.
"Gran!"
It's true.
Your grandfather is the kind that is good for you. And it's much, much harder to love someone that is good. It is one of life's mysteries, but it's the way things are.
"Don't you love Grandpa?"
Grandpa still takes care of the lawn. Is that love?
"Gran!"
Listen, now. Before Grandpa, the world was a different place, and the people were different people. It was not a time perhaps of joy. Of happiness. But it was a time of open-mindedness, and for my part, it meant many new places to go and many new faces to see. It was difficult not to be swept away. Everything was a big adventure, and life had only just begun.
I was an independent woman, in many ways. I was openly bisexual, dears.
"That's not a big deal, Gran!"
But it was back then. I wrote books. Mostly very dark adventure books. Some might even scare you. There was a dark and unexplored side of me that sometimes took over, and lent my fingers to that pen. Remember what I usually say about the word flow.
"The word flow tells the stories, the writer only guides them to paper."
Yes, exactly. And your old grandmother here, she was a real explorer. She had friends all over the world that she would travel to, and travel with. I felt like I had seen the entire world, but it only made me eager to see the rest. And girls, I still haven't seen all there is to see. But I didn't know that then. I was very young.
"Were you young and stupid, Grandma?"
I wouldn't say I was altogether stupid. I wasn't quite as young as you are now. I had seen a little of life, enough to make me very careful where to place my feet. But I was not wise. And I'm still not, mind you. Only a fool thinks he's wise.
And only fools rush in.
"Did you?"
I tried not to, but it was hard to resist the power. There was a force pulling me in that I couldn't resist. Still today it can strike me at any time. It hasn't lost its power. I will never forget how it felt to have it control everything in my life.
It started out innocent, like it almost always does. I looked carefully where to tread. I kept watch over the ever changing path. But I was trapped. Wham! The jaws of the trap clenching me, holding me still and wounding me. For life.
"What happened, Gran?"
Late one night, we were in a nearby city, losing ourselves in the moment. It was your aunt Jessie, dears, and your aunt Mary, and me. It had been a spur of the moment to go, for once leaving the grey town where we lived. For once forgetting our every day lives and spending a few hours in light-headedness and dances. And in lust. I remember that he could tell what I was wearing that night, even months later. He always remembered. He had a photographic memory when it came to these things.
"Who?!"
Didn't I tell you? He who came before your great grandfather. He who was the epic passion. The epic love. He who would let his fingers follow the paths of my polynesian tattoo, dears, and who would later let his life surpass my own. The dangerous one, girls. The only one I really loved.
Now you want to know how I can tell that, don't you, girls? How can I know? Well, it's an easy test that my mother taught me, and that her mother taught her, and that I've always applied for every important person crossing the path of my life. It determines everything. It tells your conscious how to act. It is the Bible for non-believers.
"What's the test?"
Do you want to take it?
"Yeah!"
Alright, if you really think you're ready...
"We're ready, we're ready!"
Alright then. First of all, you close your eyes. Close them so hard you can't see anything but darkness. No peeking! Keep them closed, and think of someone important. Someone you think you love. Do you have a clear, visual image of that someone in your mind now? Can you see that face among all that darkness? Good. Now imagine this. Imagine that from this very second, you will never see this person again. Never. You will never hear their voice. Never look into their eyes. Never say goodbye. They will be gone, this minute, with the wind.
To this you will have a reaction. A feeling. Embrace the feeling. Remember it. Remember what it tells you. Now open your eyes.
"Gran... how does this make any difference?"
You will understand that when you're both older.
"No fair!"
That is how it works. It only works for pain. You are lucky. You've had no pain. Not yet.
In my case, it enables me to know. I know that what I felt for this someone, that came before your Grandpa, was love. Epic love. It becomes epic when it ends. I know this, because sixty years away, separated in time and in space, picturing his face and his voice makes it sting in my heart. It is the wound he left bleeding in me, that will not seal. It tells me that it's possible. It's possible to find real love. But not everyone are lucky enough to keep it. I was not. I was wounded.
"Grandma... tell us about him."
His name was John. He accidentally took me for a musician. It wasn't all that wrong. I wrote songs back then, many, many songs. Or to say it right, I wrote lyrics. John played guitar. In an enchanting way. He is still the most talented guitarist that I've ever listened to. But he never believed me, of course. He was modest, to a start. Someday, I would like to hear him play again. But by now maybe his fingers are caught by rheumatism and I can only hear him play inside my head. Like the only way I still see him.
I don't see him as an 84-year-old, as he would have been by now. I don't see myself that way, when I think of him. I see us both where we were at the time. In our early twenties. I'll always remember him that way. That's even the way that I miss him, today.
"You still miss him?"
Every day, and every night.
"It's been such a long time."
I know. It almost scares me. I can't go to sleep at night before saying out loud that I miss him, hoping in some way, somewhere, he would hear me. He'd find his way back to me, as if he had simply lost me. We'd just start where everything ended, and pick it up from there. It would be as if he never left.
He is in my dreams. He talks to me there. I say I find him foolish for missing out on what we had. He says he knows he is foolish. We laugh about it, in my dreams, and then we have breakfast together in the kitchen. The one he used to have, of course. Because in my dreams we are always young. Always frozen where we were.
And every morning, he wakes me up. Really early. He knows that it annoys me. He does it anyway. He wakes me up from my dreams quite roughly, I must say, making me sit up and gasp for air, as if it had been a nightmare driving me towards my wake. And every morning, I realize again that feeling I have when I do the test. I realize he is not here. He is still not here. And every time it makes my heart sting.
"Grandma... is that really him?"
I don't know, dears. Do you think it is?
"Maybe?"
Well, of this I am not sure. He could be a ghost from my memories. He could be here, and it could really be him, in some strange and unexplainable way. Maybe, in his end, he remembers too. Maybe in his dreams I let him sleep way too long. I know it would annoy him. But in the end - I can't know. What I feel is the only truth, and it is all I can be sure of.
"It must have lasted for a lifetime, Gran."
Rest assure, kids, that the greatest things in life are the most fleeting. All in all, everything happened in less than one year, and still it was all that it took to change your old grandmother's entire life. Life has a curious way of interfering with your business. It always has to come looking for a way to hit you from a new direction, only to see what will happen when it does. We can't always explain it. We only sense that it's there.
Your John and me were pretty obvious, from the beginning. It was difficult to keep away. Invisible chains grew, that kept us both in a tight clench. I don't know which of us was the most trapped. All I knew was that it filled me with the rush of freedom. It gave me hope that there was still some good in this world. By then I didn't believe he was dangerous. The opposite. I believed that I'd be safe around him, that he would somehow keep me away from harm. That would be why he rocked me to sleep at night in his arms. That would be why coming to where he lived made me feel at home. Me, kids, who never felt like I belonged anywhere. Not even here, with your Grandpa.
"Granny... how was the whole thing... epic?"
Well, you see, apart from that he's still here, or I imagine that he is; even though he said once he'd leave me, and even though closing my eyes and remembering him makes my heart weigh like a big boulder, that is not all. Maybe this is just your old grandmother's vivid imagination, but I believe there is some sense to it all. That it if not else holds some grain of truth.
See, I remember the time with John as if in snapshots. Clear videos if you will. Scenes from a grand movie. I remember when I ran to him through the falling rain, and it made me short of breath, but I wouldn't stop. I can replay it inside my head. And then I know it's epic.
I remember when my mother and me were finishing up in the apartment I lived in with my sister and with your aunt Mary. I remember that we fought and that I cried. I remember that in that moment, John came up the stairs, and I hadn't seen him in days. That's how I know it was epic.
I remember his blue eyes, blue and grey, almost as your eyes. I remember them looking at me as if it was just yesterday. I can picture them so easily in my mind, after all these years, when everyone else from my past have been forgotten.
And as I said before, it becomes epic when it ends.
"Why did it end, Gran?"
I asked him the same. He tried to answer in many ways. I think he was trying to make up for his guilt by trying to put words on what he felt. Or rather, what he didn't feel. You see, this is where he really turned dangerous, and where the passion I'd held for him really turned cinematic. Epic, as it ended.
We tried to speak. We spoke past eachother. No one wanted to hear what the other had to say. It didn't take long before all attempts died out. I deleted all my ways to get in contact with him, because I knew I would never hold. I would break. And I wouldn't survive it one more time.
Time passed, kids. A lot of time. Days at first, in a haze. Then weeks, months. Years. He had desired to leave me and lead a lonely existence, but it didn't last. He haunted me. He still does. I wish I had a way to haunt him back, just to let him know I'm still here, but I know no such ways. I wonder, many times, if his life turned out for the better. Maybe he has his own grandchildren on his lap now, telling this story, or maybe some other story that mattered more in his eyes. But to me this is the only story. This is what I know of him, and how I will remember him.
He believed leaving me would make my life easier. That I would be free. But the chains that he saw as imprisoning were to me a ladder to freedom. There was no way I could reach there without them. I believe he may have told the truth when he said he didn't love me. Not anymore. But I tend to go for one of many other theories when I'm in denial of the first. Maybe he was scared. He had been left before. Maybe he was fleeing from the pain that I never knew until he himself inflicted it on me.
I saw his face when I faced danger. It made me seek it out. And to this day it still does. I wish I was vital enough to still cliff dive and jump motorcycles, because that brought me closer to him. When he left, I died; and I had to nearly kill myself to know that I was still alive.
Great grandchildren, there's a hole through my chest, that your Grandpa, your parents or just about anyone in the whole world could ever fully fill. Not even you, although you are most entertaining. This is the hole made by epic love.
A love that became epic as it ended.
Wolf Hour
You don't understand.
This is not me.
This is the replica
you want me to be.
I take off my necklace. It isn't me. I take off my pretty dress. I stained it. I take off my tights. My bra. It has pressed on the half-finished tattoo. That is me. I pull my t-shirt over my head. This is me. I stop. I gasp for breath. You hit me again, with your absence. It's so strong it hurts me. It kills me. This is me.
You can't protect me.
Not from everything.
Sooner or later there will be something
ripping us apart.
I stagger into bed. Not to sleep. That is me. I type. That is me. I channel my anger in my words. That is me. I take off my smile and jokes. That isn't me. I take off my mask and my joy. That isn't me. I listen to songs with heavy beats. That isn't me. I need it. I need it to divert my attention.
You don't understand.
I'm not conventional.
It won't pass.
It will never pass.
As if it was just yesterday, I remember. I want to forget. Be alone. That is me. But I can't. You press on my mind, constantly. You leave me no rest. You. Drain. Me. That isn't me.
I wanted to haunt your dreams.
I wanted revenge.
I wanted you to bleed.
But it didn't happen,
or so it seems.
You're haunting mine,
You're in my sleep.
I'm insomniac. That is me. I'll never rest. That is me. I'm a ghost. That is me.
That is who you've made me to be.
Leave me.
Like you promised.
Don't fuck things up.
Don't tear me.
Not again.
I can't take it.
I can't live with it.
I can't have you so fucking close when you're supposed to be completely absent.
I can't have your face as my first thought in the morning.
I can't wake up in one more wolf hour, without breath, realizing you're not here.
You're still not here.
Take it back.
Undo what you did.
Or you'll kill me.
You'll kill me.
This is not me.
This is the replica
you want me to be.
I take off my necklace. It isn't me. I take off my pretty dress. I stained it. I take off my tights. My bra. It has pressed on the half-finished tattoo. That is me. I pull my t-shirt over my head. This is me. I stop. I gasp for breath. You hit me again, with your absence. It's so strong it hurts me. It kills me. This is me.
You can't protect me.
Not from everything.
Sooner or later there will be something
ripping us apart.
I stagger into bed. Not to sleep. That is me. I type. That is me. I channel my anger in my words. That is me. I take off my smile and jokes. That isn't me. I take off my mask and my joy. That isn't me. I listen to songs with heavy beats. That isn't me. I need it. I need it to divert my attention.
You don't understand.
I'm not conventional.
It won't pass.
It will never pass.
As if it was just yesterday, I remember. I want to forget. Be alone. That is me. But I can't. You press on my mind, constantly. You leave me no rest. You. Drain. Me. That isn't me.
I wanted to haunt your dreams.
I wanted revenge.
I wanted you to bleed.
But it didn't happen,
or so it seems.
You're haunting mine,
You're in my sleep.
I'm insomniac. That is me. I'll never rest. That is me. I'm a ghost. That is me.
That is who you've made me to be.
Leave me.
Like you promised.
Don't fuck things up.
Don't tear me.
Not again.
I can't take it.
I can't live with it.
I can't have you so fucking close when you're supposed to be completely absent.
I can't have your face as my first thought in the morning.
I can't wake up in one more wolf hour, without breath, realizing you're not here.
You're still not here.
Take it back.
Undo what you did.
Or you'll kill me.
You'll kill me.
Thursday, November 19
Run, Little Girl
Run, little girl
Run from the monsters
And their claws
You can't handle them yet
Flee, hide, disappear
Don't let them catch you
Don't let them know you're here
Run, little girl
Keep your innocence
And your flaws
You're not perfect yet
No one will ever be
But ideals will chase you
What monsters they are
Chase you like they chased me
Run, little girl
To your cradle
To what's safe
To your illusion
Stay who you are
Run from it all
Run from us all
From everyone telling you otherwise
Run from the monsters
And their claws
You can't handle them yet
Flee, hide, disappear
Don't let them catch you
Don't let them know you're here
Run, little girl
Keep your innocence
And your flaws
You're not perfect yet
No one will ever be
But ideals will chase you
What monsters they are
Chase you like they chased me
Run, little girl
To your cradle
To what's safe
To your illusion
Stay who you are
Run from it all
Run from us all
From everyone telling you otherwise
Wednesday, November 18
Nocturnal World
We are the sleepless ones.
Those who stay awake until late at night only because we fear tomorrow.
Because we believe there are things we are missing while we sleep.
We are the insomniacs.
Those who wake up in the early mornings during the wolf hours, unable to fall back into slumber. For hours we agonize and torture ourselves, finally drowsing off back into a shallow state of anxious dreaming.
We are the restless ones.
Seeking eachother’s outcast words of sorrow and comfort to get us through the night.
Seeking eachother’s lonely company to get us through the day.
We are the dreamers.
Always longing for another place.
We dream the most while wide awake.
We are the sleepless.
The insomniacs.
The restless.
And the dreamers.
You’re welcome to get lost
in our Nocturnal World.
And you're welcome to despise us.
But we're the ones who will change the world.
Those who stay awake until late at night only because we fear tomorrow.
Because we believe there are things we are missing while we sleep.
We are the insomniacs.
Those who wake up in the early mornings during the wolf hours, unable to fall back into slumber. For hours we agonize and torture ourselves, finally drowsing off back into a shallow state of anxious dreaming.
We are the restless ones.
Seeking eachother’s outcast words of sorrow and comfort to get us through the night.
Seeking eachother’s lonely company to get us through the day.
We are the dreamers.
Always longing for another place.
We dream the most while wide awake.
We are the sleepless.
The insomniacs.
The restless.
And the dreamers.
You’re welcome to get lost
in our Nocturnal World.
And you're welcome to despise us.
But we're the ones who will change the world.
Tuesday, November 17
In Your Dreams
I want to haunt you in your dreams.
The way I looked when we first met.
I want to taunt you,
tease you,
hurt you
I want to stalk you in your dreams.
Remember that falling curl of hair.
Bleached to blonde by the sun.
And the blue eyes
that would pierce you through.
Remember it was painful too.
I want to follow you into your dreams.
And know what you desire.
I want to hold you,
know you,
search you
I want to paint inside your dreams.
Remember how I held your hand.
As if it was just obvious.
And the new songs
that I'd play with you.
Remember it was hurtful too.
I want to haunt you in your dreams.
I want to bleed within your sight.
I want to be the nightmare
Through your night.
I want to stalk you, in your dreams.
Remember that whispering voice.
First to say that you were loved.
And the laughter
that I'd see in you.
Remember it was destructive too.
I want to haunt you in your dreams.
I want to be in your mirage sleep.
I want to be missed and killed by you,
If that's all I get to keep.
The way I looked when we first met.
I want to taunt you,
tease you,
hurt you
I want to stalk you in your dreams.
Remember that falling curl of hair.
Bleached to blonde by the sun.
And the blue eyes
that would pierce you through.
Remember it was painful too.
I want to follow you into your dreams.
And know what you desire.
I want to hold you,
know you,
search you
I want to paint inside your dreams.
Remember how I held your hand.
As if it was just obvious.
And the new songs
that I'd play with you.
Remember it was hurtful too.
I want to haunt you in your dreams.
I want to bleed within your sight.
I want to be the nightmare
Through your night.
I want to stalk you, in your dreams.
Remember that whispering voice.
First to say that you were loved.
And the laughter
that I'd see in you.
Remember it was destructive too.
I want to haunt you in your dreams.
I want to be in your mirage sleep.
I want to be missed and killed by you,
If that's all I get to keep.
Monday, November 16
Lullaby, December
I embrace you, December
Your darkness is my all
It's only in your winter nights
The blinding stars fall
I embrace you, December,
I'll always remember
When it's tempting to die,
You remind me again
Why I stay alive
I welcome December
You hold all my truth
All that I grieved
All of my youth
I embrace you, December,
I'll always remember
When it's tempting to die,
You remind me again
Why I stay alive
I bow to December
Your melancholy is mine
Aligned with your sadness
Is the healing with time
I embrace you, December
Lullaby, December
Wag me into sleep
Whisper your promise
That you're mine to keep
I embrace you, December,
I'll always remember
When it's tempting to die,
You remind me again
Why I stay alive
You hold all essential
I envy your grace
Remember me for another year
I'll long for you, December, to be here
I embrace you, December,
I'll always remember
When it's tempting to die,
You remind me again
Why I stay alive
_______________________________
A tribute to my December girls <3
Your darkness is my all
It's only in your winter nights
The blinding stars fall
I embrace you, December,
I'll always remember
When it's tempting to die,
You remind me again
Why I stay alive
I welcome December
You hold all my truth
All that I grieved
All of my youth
I embrace you, December,
I'll always remember
When it's tempting to die,
You remind me again
Why I stay alive
I bow to December
Your melancholy is mine
Aligned with your sadness
Is the healing with time
I embrace you, December
Lullaby, December
Wag me into sleep
Whisper your promise
That you're mine to keep
I embrace you, December,
I'll always remember
When it's tempting to die,
You remind me again
Why I stay alive
You hold all essential
I envy your grace
Remember me for another year
I'll long for you, December, to be here
I embrace you, December,
I'll always remember
When it's tempting to die,
You remind me again
Why I stay alive
_______________________________
A tribute to my December girls <3
Sunday, November 15
Razorblades
Put it down, be careful
The razorblades were just replaced
Just a shallow cut's enough
To start bleeding
Don't do it here, be careful
There's nothing safe about this place
Remember who has to find you
Could you live with knowing?
Watch your step, be careful
The pool of blood is slippery
You don't want to die here
With blood on your hands
Put it down, be careful
The razorblades were just replaced
Remember who has to find you
Could you live with knowing?
Oh, that's right
You soon won't live any longer
The razorblades were just replaced
Just a shallow cut's enough
To start bleeding
Don't do it here, be careful
There's nothing safe about this place
Remember who has to find you
Could you live with knowing?
Watch your step, be careful
The pool of blood is slippery
You don't want to die here
With blood on your hands
Put it down, be careful
The razorblades were just replaced
Remember who has to find you
Could you live with knowing?
Oh, that's right
You soon won't live any longer
Something Inbetween
When did I become so restless?
So sleepless
Unable to focus
When did I become this wreck?
I don't recognize myself
I'm not who I used to be
I'm not strong
I'm not weak
I'm something inbetween
Why didn't the world stop?
With my loss
It should have frozen
The way I became paralyzed
I don't recognize myself
I'm not who I used to be
I'm not strong
I'm not weak
I'm something inbetween
When did you change?
To someone I didn't know
How could it slip my attention?
How could I watch you go?
I don't recognize you
You're not who you used to be
You're not strong
You're not weak
You're something inbetween
So sleepless
Unable to focus
When did I become this wreck?
I don't recognize myself
I'm not who I used to be
I'm not strong
I'm not weak
I'm something inbetween
Why didn't the world stop?
With my loss
It should have frozen
The way I became paralyzed
I don't recognize myself
I'm not who I used to be
I'm not strong
I'm not weak
I'm something inbetween
When did you change?
To someone I didn't know
How could it slip my attention?
How could I watch you go?
I don't recognize you
You're not who you used to be
You're not strong
You're not weak
You're something inbetween
Saturday, November 14
Midway Mark
Tomorrow we're supposed to reach 25K, I'm just around 800 words away from that. Giving up writing for the day though. I'm dead tired and can't really motivate myself to another word. I'll see if I can get some more work done tomorrow cause I might very well be off tattooing all day.
Other than that, just some random thoughts speeding in my head. Thought I'd sit down with some gaming now and try to divert my thoughts. I can't focus. Oh, and I should probably hop the shower.
See you later peeps,
POET in the JAR
Other than that, just some random thoughts speeding in my head. Thought I'd sit down with some gaming now and try to divert my thoughts. I can't focus. Oh, and I should probably hop the shower.
See you later peeps,
POET in the JAR
Eraser
There is a way to forget,
they say.
A way to erase what was.
All that pains you to remember.
There is a way to repress,
I know.
Block out all the painful.
Washed away by rain.
Take all my bad memories,
if they're of any use to you.
But you're never getting
my good ones too.
Those I prefer to keep
To think of and fall asleep
Even if it tears me
All of it's gone
I'd rather have it all again
Than forget
I'd rather love what used to be
Than hate what is
But I can't choose, can I
You already made the decision
for me
they say.
A way to erase what was.
All that pains you to remember.
There is a way to repress,
I know.
Block out all the painful.
Washed away by rain.
Take all my bad memories,
if they're of any use to you.
But you're never getting
my good ones too.
Those I prefer to keep
To think of and fall asleep
Even if it tears me
All of it's gone
I'd rather have it all again
Than forget
I'd rather love what used to be
Than hate what is
But I can't choose, can I
You already made the decision
for me
Friday, November 13
Angel Of Rust
If you didn't know hard I'd take it
You were never even close
to understanding me
That's who I am,
I need courage to trust
I'm brokenhearted,
and outsmarted
I'm an angel of rust
You think you're heroic
Saving me from yourself
But all along it was you
Who needed help
Don't be a hero
Admit you were wrong
Admit your betrayal
I'll cheer it all and hail
That's who I am,
I need courage to trust
I'm brokenhearted,
and outsmarted
I'm an angel of rust
You think you're angelic
Saving yourself from me
All awhile I was a savior
More than you'll ever be
Mark me as a zero
In your book of songs
Admit it, you failed
I'll cheer us both and hail
That's who I am,
I need courage to trust
I'm brokenhearted,
and outsmarted
I'm an angel of rust
So the answer is yes,
I should get to blame you
I should get to drain you
And lead all my pain to you
Don't be a hero
Admit you were wrong
Admit you were lying
All along
That's who I am,
I need courage to trust
I'm brokenhearted,
and outsmarted
I'm an angel of rust
I do what I must
You were never even close
to understanding me
That's who I am,
I need courage to trust
I'm brokenhearted,
and outsmarted
I'm an angel of rust
You think you're heroic
Saving me from yourself
But all along it was you
Who needed help
Don't be a hero
Admit you were wrong
Admit your betrayal
I'll cheer it all and hail
That's who I am,
I need courage to trust
I'm brokenhearted,
and outsmarted
I'm an angel of rust
You think you're angelic
Saving yourself from me
All awhile I was a savior
More than you'll ever be
Mark me as a zero
In your book of songs
Admit it, you failed
I'll cheer us both and hail
That's who I am,
I need courage to trust
I'm brokenhearted,
and outsmarted
I'm an angel of rust
So the answer is yes,
I should get to blame you
I should get to drain you
And lead all my pain to you
Don't be a hero
Admit you were wrong
Admit you were lying
All along
That's who I am,
I need courage to trust
I'm brokenhearted,
and outsmarted
I'm an angel of rust
I do what I must
Wednesday, November 11
Deities
I wonder if there's really such a thing as Karma. Seems at the moment as if life is extremely unfair. I wonder if we weren't done already, paying for our sins? What else is there that we need to suffer for? Building false hopes and then snatching them away is more than bad karma, it's cruel.
Maybe Karma is something we make up in the lack of believing in God. For me who is an agnostic, Karma becomes a close second when we're talking about possible deities. As God, Karma can be brutal, rewarding some for their wrongs, punishing others for doing everything right. As God, Karma is unpredictable, and we can never tell before-hand what Karma had in mind when handing us another card in life.
Difference is, I guess, that there is no Karma bible.
I wonder if I should just resign myself to the idea that nothing happens for a reason. That all of us are simply in this world by pure chance. That there is no meaning in anything. Humans meet humans, and inevitably you have trouble; because there were never such a thing as human perfection. Not even close. And with the greatest experience you can have in your life - love - comes the greatest pain, always walking side by side, with no exception.
I'm so tired. I'm tired from knowing there's no use in trying. I'm tired from things being so different. From not being able to fall asleep because the one person I ever loved isn't here to wag me to sleep anymore. I'm tired from knowing that person leads a better life without me. As if I was a burden. I'm tired from nothing working out. I'm tired from crying in the bathroom out of no apparent reason. Tired from seeing myself in the mirror and knowing why no one would love me. Tired from working where I don't belong. Tired from knowing there's a whole year before I'll be able to get out of this fucking town. Tired from cooking for myself in the kitchen and not having someone tell me how it tastes. Tired from taking pills just to make the simplest things work, and yet they don't. Tired from the darkness. From knowing there will be months and months of darkness ahead before spring is here again. Tired from not having anything to look forward to. Tired from pretending I'm angry and bitter. Tired from talking. Tired from seeing people. Tired from being alone. Tired from seeking my refuge in pain and writing.
I want to smash things! I want to drop things off my balcony and see them slash against the asphalt beneath. I want to throw everything that's old and not working out the goddamn window. I want the windows to break, I want the walls to tear down, I want all my things to be goddamn broken, maybe then they'd show what I really feel.
That I'm a broken soul. We're all broken souls. There is no comfort. There is no grand solution. And I have no idea why we keep trying to cope when the option of giving up is so fucking tempting.
POET in the ANGRY and SAD JAR
Maybe Karma is something we make up in the lack of believing in God. For me who is an agnostic, Karma becomes a close second when we're talking about possible deities. As God, Karma can be brutal, rewarding some for their wrongs, punishing others for doing everything right. As God, Karma is unpredictable, and we can never tell before-hand what Karma had in mind when handing us another card in life.
Difference is, I guess, that there is no Karma bible.
I wonder if I should just resign myself to the idea that nothing happens for a reason. That all of us are simply in this world by pure chance. That there is no meaning in anything. Humans meet humans, and inevitably you have trouble; because there were never such a thing as human perfection. Not even close. And with the greatest experience you can have in your life - love - comes the greatest pain, always walking side by side, with no exception.
I'm so tired. I'm tired from knowing there's no use in trying. I'm tired from things being so different. From not being able to fall asleep because the one person I ever loved isn't here to wag me to sleep anymore. I'm tired from knowing that person leads a better life without me. As if I was a burden. I'm tired from nothing working out. I'm tired from crying in the bathroom out of no apparent reason. Tired from seeing myself in the mirror and knowing why no one would love me. Tired from working where I don't belong. Tired from knowing there's a whole year before I'll be able to get out of this fucking town. Tired from cooking for myself in the kitchen and not having someone tell me how it tastes. Tired from taking pills just to make the simplest things work, and yet they don't. Tired from the darkness. From knowing there will be months and months of darkness ahead before spring is here again. Tired from not having anything to look forward to. Tired from pretending I'm angry and bitter. Tired from talking. Tired from seeing people. Tired from being alone. Tired from seeking my refuge in pain and writing.
I want to smash things! I want to drop things off my balcony and see them slash against the asphalt beneath. I want to throw everything that's old and not working out the goddamn window. I want the windows to break, I want the walls to tear down, I want all my things to be goddamn broken, maybe then they'd show what I really feel.
That I'm a broken soul. We're all broken souls. There is no comfort. There is no grand solution. And I have no idea why we keep trying to cope when the option of giving up is so fucking tempting.
POET in the ANGRY and SAD JAR
Sunday, November 8
Idiot
If I could change you
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
In some ways
It'd be easier if you'd died
In some ways, I guess,
Some days
Give me someone to blame
And someone to hate
Hating you while loving you
Doesn't satisfy the same
If I could change you
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
Some mornings
I feel like dying
It'd been easier if
I'd found you lying
Stop your reasons
You can't save me,
It's much too late
Aren't you relieved?
If I could change you
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
Don't pretend you miss me
That you're a friend who cares
Since I left the picture
Your life is better there
Go on, live it, don't look back
Idiot...
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
In some ways
It'd be easier if you'd died
In some ways, I guess,
Some days
Give me someone to blame
And someone to hate
Hating you while loving you
Doesn't satisfy the same
If I could change you
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
Some mornings
I feel like dying
It'd been easier if
I'd found you lying
Stop your reasons
You can't save me,
It's much too late
Aren't you relieved?
If I could change you
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
Don't pretend you miss me
That you're a friend who cares
Since I left the picture
Your life is better there
Go on, live it, don't look back
Idiot...
Saturday, November 7
You Do The Math
You say it'll be over.
You say it'll pass.
You've forgotten all we had together,
all our laughs.
You tell me to forget the pain.
That you can't be the one to blame.
You've forgotten what we were together,
You do the math.
You say there is no empty hole
By your side where I used to be
At least not empty in the way
something's missing to me.
You wanted us to stay friends,
You had no more love to give.
You're losing both in the end,
and I'm fighting just to live.
You have no idea how much you hurt me.
You have no idea what you did to me.
Before you tell me my pain will pass,
Remember you used to love me once,
You do the math.
You say it'll pass.
You've forgotten all we had together,
all our laughs.
You tell me to forget the pain.
That you can't be the one to blame.
You've forgotten what we were together,
You do the math.
You say there is no empty hole
By your side where I used to be
At least not empty in the way
something's missing to me.
You wanted us to stay friends,
You had no more love to give.
You're losing both in the end,
and I'm fighting just to live.
You have no idea how much you hurt me.
You have no idea what you did to me.
Before you tell me my pain will pass,
Remember you used to love me once,
You do the math.
World of Cade and Ophelia
Sorry to rant so much about novelling, guys; but as I usually say it's my best friend, someone who doesn't leave you for no good reason. Someone who's always there to have my back when I fall. And this time I'm falling hard. Feels weird, this world, when I'm the one going to a therapist and spilling my life while others can just pick up their stuff and move on. Can't believe they take me seriously. But they do. I think I had issues with myself and the world I didn't even know about...
I prefer losing myself into the slightly magical world of Cade and Ophelia. Even though it's an urban story, and it's not precisely the adventure genre anymore; it has a slightly... surreal... touch about it that enchants me. Maybe it's the falling rain and the rusted railings. Maybe it's the changing photograph and Cade's growing insanity. Maybe it's the quest to find the girl when it should be impossible. Well, it's something alright. And even though Cade and Ophelia have never met, they just feel right. I symphatize with them a way I haven't done before, without myself being the character; and this time he's mostly just himself. Unlike Woven, who is mostly me. Either way he has a lot of my thoughts in him, naturally.
As I've become obsessed with writing and with this novel I've begun to plot the story in my head, even when I'm not near my notebook or my laptop. Earlier tonight I had to write something down on the back of a receipt in my wallet because it showed up so inconveniently. Luckily, I always carry a pen, mind you. And I think the basic moves in the story are now known to me, although I'm debating the ending slightly to myself.
What the problem really is, is getting the characters through the middle of the book scene by scene, and ending up in the, well, end. The way there is long and rough and has a lot of gaps that need to be crossed.
Slightly optimistic about it though. Slightly.
Won't be online again until probably late Sunday night or even Monday (gasp! lucky I wrote so much so far!), so see you then.
POET in the JAR
I prefer losing myself into the slightly magical world of Cade and Ophelia. Even though it's an urban story, and it's not precisely the adventure genre anymore; it has a slightly... surreal... touch about it that enchants me. Maybe it's the falling rain and the rusted railings. Maybe it's the changing photograph and Cade's growing insanity. Maybe it's the quest to find the girl when it should be impossible. Well, it's something alright. And even though Cade and Ophelia have never met, they just feel right. I symphatize with them a way I haven't done before, without myself being the character; and this time he's mostly just himself. Unlike Woven, who is mostly me. Either way he has a lot of my thoughts in him, naturally.
As I've become obsessed with writing and with this novel I've begun to plot the story in my head, even when I'm not near my notebook or my laptop. Earlier tonight I had to write something down on the back of a receipt in my wallet because it showed up so inconveniently. Luckily, I always carry a pen, mind you. And I think the basic moves in the story are now known to me, although I'm debating the ending slightly to myself.
What the problem really is, is getting the characters through the middle of the book scene by scene, and ending up in the, well, end. The way there is long and rough and has a lot of gaps that need to be crossed.
Slightly optimistic about it though. Slightly.
Won't be online again until probably late Sunday night or even Monday (gasp! lucky I wrote so much so far!), so see you then.
POET in the JAR
Wednesday, November 4
Stealing Intelligence
It's dangerous to allow me to be really enthusiastic about something. Especially when it comes to writing. Especially when it comes to Nanowrimo. During November, I'm a detached asocial writer going to sleep when dawn strikes the sky. This year, strangely; more than ever.
Cade Sebastian is stealing my intelligence. He comes up with things I would never have figured out. He ties it all together, by himself. Ophelia named herself, after the HMS Ophelia that is sailed by the industrial steampunk band Abney Park. I was worrying I wouldn't quite use up all the 50K before the story was over, but as it looks, I should worry 50K won't cut it. One fifth into the story and Cade Sebastian is visiting the economy office. Plot needs to quickly advance forward against the highly anticipated ending that I for once have a vague idea what it's going to be.
Unless Cade is changing it without me knowing. I think he's quite capable of doing that.
I don't even much like the guy. He has the annoying habit having to do with light switches. He works in the city archives under Defence Acts and Records. And he likes it! He avoids his working place. He's set up his own, temporary working place two floors down in the middle of the archive because it's "practical". His drink of choice is bourbon on the rocks. Sometimes without the rocks. He doesn't like mirrors because they force him to face himself. He's an off-on smoker that can't decide whether he likes the nicotine or not. And although he's a perfectionist when it comes to archiving, he's a total and complete slob in his apartment, which he rents with the furniture included! The sofa that he always sleeps on instead of his bed is mouldy and makes him stiff in his back and neck but he won't budge.
And the worst part is he keeps outsmarting me! Gaah!
And I can assure you, it wasn't my idea to stay up til 5.40 AM writing. It was his. It was his, because he knew all along what was going to happen at the economy office, and I sat there dumbly, watching. It was his idea, and Nanowrimo's; because the feeling of hitting 10K is so extremely adrenaline-rewarding. And addictive! And now gents, we're talking 5 digit count!
I'm currently two and a half day ahead of daily count.
POET in the NANO-LAND TOE-ESCAPING JAR
PS. Actually I love the guy. Can't do much other than that when he's becoming such a strong character! DS.
Cade Sebastian is stealing my intelligence. He comes up with things I would never have figured out. He ties it all together, by himself. Ophelia named herself, after the HMS Ophelia that is sailed by the industrial steampunk band Abney Park. I was worrying I wouldn't quite use up all the 50K before the story was over, but as it looks, I should worry 50K won't cut it. One fifth into the story and Cade Sebastian is visiting the economy office. Plot needs to quickly advance forward against the highly anticipated ending that I for once have a vague idea what it's going to be.
Unless Cade is changing it without me knowing. I think he's quite capable of doing that.
I don't even much like the guy. He has the annoying habit having to do with light switches. He works in the city archives under Defence Acts and Records. And he likes it! He avoids his working place. He's set up his own, temporary working place two floors down in the middle of the archive because it's "practical". His drink of choice is bourbon on the rocks. Sometimes without the rocks. He doesn't like mirrors because they force him to face himself. He's an off-on smoker that can't decide whether he likes the nicotine or not. And although he's a perfectionist when it comes to archiving, he's a total and complete slob in his apartment, which he rents with the furniture included! The sofa that he always sleeps on instead of his bed is mouldy and makes him stiff in his back and neck but he won't budge.
And the worst part is he keeps outsmarting me! Gaah!
And I can assure you, it wasn't my idea to stay up til 5.40 AM writing. It was his. It was his, because he knew all along what was going to happen at the economy office, and I sat there dumbly, watching. It was his idea, and Nanowrimo's; because the feeling of hitting 10K is so extremely adrenaline-rewarding. And addictive! And now gents, we're talking 5 digit count!
I'm currently two and a half day ahead of daily count.
POET in the NANO-LAND TOE-ESCAPING JAR
PS. Actually I love the guy. Can't do much other than that when he's becoming such a strong character! DS.
Monday, November 2
Random Post-First-Day of Nano Thoughts
Never try protecting someone you love, because you think you'll spare them their pain. Be honest. Even if the truth hurts, it's always better to know than to wander around in doubt, even if sometimes you wish you'd never known.
The first day of Nano has passed. Strangely I have hit a word count equivalent to two and a half days. My count right now is 4,1K. I don't think I've ever, in the history of Nano, done such a day! Pretty impressed by myself, and I don't have to be as pressured while writing tomorrow. But the story is enticing me. I don't know why. I never thought any story besides my trilogy would ever catch my interest that way. I guess it's because it's not entirely realistic, and I even kept the genre Adventure, although I'm sure it'd fall under some other category; but I sure didn't find anyone suitable when I was looking.
I guess part of my insane energy is because I need something to occupy myself with. I can't allow myself to start thinking about my own life. It's easier to project everything on Sebastian. I'm gonna make his life fall apart. I'm gonna strengthen him. As with everything I write, part of him will be me.
Now I really should hit the sack, it's 2.21AM and there's another day coming tomorrow. I'm gonna flip some channels and avoid text as much as possible.
"Living well is the best revenge" - REM
Well, REM, I'm really trying. I'm trying really hard. Did I say I was trying?
POET in the GLASS JAR
The first day of Nano has passed. Strangely I have hit a word count equivalent to two and a half days. My count right now is 4,1K. I don't think I've ever, in the history of Nano, done such a day! Pretty impressed by myself, and I don't have to be as pressured while writing tomorrow. But the story is enticing me. I don't know why. I never thought any story besides my trilogy would ever catch my interest that way. I guess it's because it's not entirely realistic, and I even kept the genre Adventure, although I'm sure it'd fall under some other category; but I sure didn't find anyone suitable when I was looking.
I guess part of my insane energy is because I need something to occupy myself with. I can't allow myself to start thinking about my own life. It's easier to project everything on Sebastian. I'm gonna make his life fall apart. I'm gonna strengthen him. As with everything I write, part of him will be me.
Now I really should hit the sack, it's 2.21AM and there's another day coming tomorrow. I'm gonna flip some channels and avoid text as much as possible.
"Living well is the best revenge" - REM
Well, REM, I'm really trying. I'm trying really hard. Did I say I was trying?
POET in the GLASS JAR
Saturday, October 31
Hypnosis
There was never someone named John.
There was never any break.
It never felt right.
You were asleep the last seven months.
All that happened was a dream.
There was never someone named John.
There was never someone you loved.
There was never any end.
There was never any beginning.
You own your own name.
Your name is Clementine.
It was never different.
There was never someone named John.
There was never someone who loved you.
There was never someone special.
It was never real.
You were asleep the last seven months.
All that happened was a dream.
You're not wounded.
You're not hurt.
You own your own heart.
Your heart is Clementine's.
It never was different.
This is your new truth.
You will pretend all that I've said is true.
You may think I'm a fool
But I'm protecting you.
There was never someone named John.
There was nevery any "us".
Your name is Clementine.
Your heart is Clementine's,
And it never was different.
POET in the GLASS JAR
There was never any break.
It never felt right.
You were asleep the last seven months.
All that happened was a dream.
There was never someone named John.
There was never someone you loved.
There was never any end.
There was never any beginning.
You own your own name.
Your name is Clementine.
It was never different.
There was never someone named John.
There was never someone who loved you.
There was never someone special.
It was never real.
You were asleep the last seven months.
All that happened was a dream.
You're not wounded.
You're not hurt.
You own your own heart.
Your heart is Clementine's.
It never was different.
This is your new truth.
You will pretend all that I've said is true.
You may think I'm a fool
But I'm protecting you.
There was never someone named John.
There was nevery any "us".
Your name is Clementine.
Your heart is Clementine's,
And it never was different.
POET in the GLASS JAR
Monday, October 26
Luftslott
Jag är inte på fötter än,
Jag är inte perfekt
Det finns nog många saker
jag borde ha upptäckt
Jag försöker att känna
Har bara tomhet kvar
Den lilla flicka jag var
Var blev hon av?
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
eller inte vill?
Jag skrev ett brev till Karma
Varför fick jag det här?
Var det inte bättre om jag
dog, då och där?
Kunde du inte sparat mig
lite smärta, och mörker och så
Har jag inte tillräckligt
med ensamhet ändå?
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
eller inte vill?
Jag har fått höra att
Det läker nog med tiden
Så var försiktig och
ta ingenting för givet
Men jag är inte naiv,
jag valde dig att lita på
Du var den hörnsten som
jag byggde mina drömmar på
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man aldrig tar sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Tänk om jag inte räcker till
Om energin tar slut
Vart tar jag vägen då?
Har du inte lärt dig nu
att studsa upp på fötter?
Och att du aldrig riktigt
lämnar dina rötter?
Jag vill inte glömma
Jag vill inte tyna bort
Vill bara låtsas och drömma
Och bygga mina luftslott
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
Tänk för att jag inte vill
Jag är inte perfekt
Det finns nog många saker
jag borde ha upptäckt
Jag försöker att känna
Har bara tomhet kvar
Den lilla flicka jag var
Var blev hon av?
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
eller inte vill?
Jag skrev ett brev till Karma
Varför fick jag det här?
Var det inte bättre om jag
dog, då och där?
Kunde du inte sparat mig
lite smärta, och mörker och så
Har jag inte tillräckligt
med ensamhet ändå?
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
eller inte vill?
Jag har fått höra att
Det läker nog med tiden
Så var försiktig och
ta ingenting för givet
Men jag är inte naiv,
jag valde dig att lita på
Du var den hörnsten som
jag byggde mina drömmar på
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man aldrig tar sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Tänk om jag inte räcker till
Om energin tar slut
Vart tar jag vägen då?
Har du inte lärt dig nu
att studsa upp på fötter?
Och att du aldrig riktigt
lämnar dina rötter?
Jag vill inte glömma
Jag vill inte tyna bort
Vill bara låtsas och drömma
Och bygga mina luftslott
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
Tänk för att jag inte vill
Letter to Karma
Dear Karma,
You've got to be kidding me, right? This gotta be one of your absurd, really surreal little jokes; just to see how long I'll take it before I break, before you can go set everything right again, and everything can just go back to normal. Why do you have to play all the songs we used to listen to, that he used to play, that he used to tell me about? Why do you have to slap me in the face with memories that I don't want to forget? Why did you make me believe everything was alright and dandy, that as long as we had eachother it would work out, as long as I had him, and he was my most important cornerstone. Life without him didn't exist, I got too attached, what should I have done, you suggest? Should I have loved him less? Should I have tried being someone else? Should I have been walking around suspiciously and prepared myself to be left, as if that would be easier?
Would it have made any difference?
Everything, I see now, it's connected, the point of it all to play me a miserable joke. You should know, of all people, that I'm not really very strong. I'm not really very powerful. I've been able to move on every time by chance and endurance, by naivety. Did you really think that would last?
If this is a joke, then quit playing around, I get it now, okay, just make it stop.
I don't know what I'm supposed to be learning. Maybe not to love anyone. Maybe to not let someone that close. But why? I chose very carefully when trusting him, and I did what I could to safeguard myself, but eventually I really fell, and fell hard, what should I be learning?
You seem to want to make sex the most pitiful thing for me, always connecting it to misery, to anticipating disaster. While I have friends who find sex important in a relationship I wish I'd never have to have it. Last relationship, the one I keep telling myself I am still in, was okay, it wasn't filled with angst, I started to view it almost normally. Then you go on in and mark it down as the last time we were together, before it all broke up, what kind of joke is that?
How can you serve me everything on a platter, after I'd been fighting and growing stronger by every disaster that hit me, how can you give it all to me then and makebelieve that I'm happy just to rip it all away again when I start to believe you?
You're fucking unbelievable, you know that?
I'm not even angry yet, like usually I'd always be; I'm just blank and tired and nothing feels fun anymore. Everything is twice the struggle as before - why? What did I do that was so bad, what did I do that I still have to pay for, what was it you think I haven't learnt enough from yet?
How do you suppose I'd ever trust anyone again? When someone who leaves me notes by my bed one day and leaves me the second is the truth I'm trying to face here.
I'm still like a huge question mark. Everything, the last 7-8 months, spinning over and over in my head. What went wrong? What did I do? What didn't I do? Cause there simply has to be a reason it ended, has to be something valid; how could I live with myself while knowing nothing happened for a reason and everything was meaningless?
Is that what you are trying to say? That nothing is meaningful? Fuck you, you know I been down those lines already, you know I already been thinking all those things, why the fuck would I wanna go there again? Can't you leave me be, haven't you done all your damage already? Just when I started to think again, to feel again, I was convinced that it'd be alright, we'd work it out, as long as we were together... and now I stand here with nothing. And no cornerstone.
Is that it? That I scared him away being depressed? What then do you want me to do, never show the truth to anyone I know, never to talk to him about things weighing on me, who else was I supposed to talk to? Did I put too much of my burden on him? Was it impossible for him to bear?
Well then I suppose you should be happy that I booked a therapist's appointment, I'm gonna spill all my heart out to a stranger, because you took my love away. Whenever I see him again, when I decide that long enough time has gone by without us speaking, I'll tell him, and we'll see. But what you gonna reward me for? I can bet already it won't help, it won't bring him back. You'll just say I didn't try hard enough, I only did this to get him back and not to help myself... but why couldn't I do both? Why couldn't I have him there while I tried helping myself, wouldn't I eventually learn the same thing?
I don't want to view all love as something painful, something dark that never turns out right; I want to be one of those believing love can withstand anything, that it wins even in death. But those words are just glorious while written, not in the everyday life, what we have to pull ourselves through daily and that we have to bear with. It's difficult, okay; it's fucking difficult enough as it is; are you getting some kick out of torturing me this way?
Do you really want me to go on some happy pills and then settle for that, and try to win back Rockstar while I do; while you know he's not going to change his mind?
I want to believe he would. I want to believe that just if I said the right words, if I just let him be by himself, if I just... fixed things... we'd be together again, we'd forget everything. I never felt this panic with someone else. Everyone is telling me to move on from it, but they're not the ones with the lumps in their throats, with their darkness in their hearts, with their panic pressing on their lungs. I'm desperate and I just want to forget everything, to have that go away, all the bad things...
Do you have any idea how close I came to calling him? Do you have any idea how difficult it was not to? I felt ready to die there and then, losing faith, losing all. I just wanted to hear his voice again, but in the end I was too scared.
Too scared that his voice would be the same, but unrecognizable; that he'd be saying things I wouldn't want to hear. That he'd tell me to fuck off and never call again, that he would let me know I was bothering him, that he'd once again say the words I just don't love you anymore.
I don't want to live this way anymore. Thursday couldn't come sooner and nor could November 20th, the day I vowed to myself we'd talk again.
POET in the BREAKING JAR
You've got to be kidding me, right? This gotta be one of your absurd, really surreal little jokes; just to see how long I'll take it before I break, before you can go set everything right again, and everything can just go back to normal. Why do you have to play all the songs we used to listen to, that he used to play, that he used to tell me about? Why do you have to slap me in the face with memories that I don't want to forget? Why did you make me believe everything was alright and dandy, that as long as we had eachother it would work out, as long as I had him, and he was my most important cornerstone. Life without him didn't exist, I got too attached, what should I have done, you suggest? Should I have loved him less? Should I have tried being someone else? Should I have been walking around suspiciously and prepared myself to be left, as if that would be easier?
Would it have made any difference?
Everything, I see now, it's connected, the point of it all to play me a miserable joke. You should know, of all people, that I'm not really very strong. I'm not really very powerful. I've been able to move on every time by chance and endurance, by naivety. Did you really think that would last?
If this is a joke, then quit playing around, I get it now, okay, just make it stop.
I don't know what I'm supposed to be learning. Maybe not to love anyone. Maybe to not let someone that close. But why? I chose very carefully when trusting him, and I did what I could to safeguard myself, but eventually I really fell, and fell hard, what should I be learning?
You seem to want to make sex the most pitiful thing for me, always connecting it to misery, to anticipating disaster. While I have friends who find sex important in a relationship I wish I'd never have to have it. Last relationship, the one I keep telling myself I am still in, was okay, it wasn't filled with angst, I started to view it almost normally. Then you go on in and mark it down as the last time we were together, before it all broke up, what kind of joke is that?
How can you serve me everything on a platter, after I'd been fighting and growing stronger by every disaster that hit me, how can you give it all to me then and makebelieve that I'm happy just to rip it all away again when I start to believe you?
You're fucking unbelievable, you know that?
I'm not even angry yet, like usually I'd always be; I'm just blank and tired and nothing feels fun anymore. Everything is twice the struggle as before - why? What did I do that was so bad, what did I do that I still have to pay for, what was it you think I haven't learnt enough from yet?
How do you suppose I'd ever trust anyone again? When someone who leaves me notes by my bed one day and leaves me the second is the truth I'm trying to face here.
I'm still like a huge question mark. Everything, the last 7-8 months, spinning over and over in my head. What went wrong? What did I do? What didn't I do? Cause there simply has to be a reason it ended, has to be something valid; how could I live with myself while knowing nothing happened for a reason and everything was meaningless?
Is that what you are trying to say? That nothing is meaningful? Fuck you, you know I been down those lines already, you know I already been thinking all those things, why the fuck would I wanna go there again? Can't you leave me be, haven't you done all your damage already? Just when I started to think again, to feel again, I was convinced that it'd be alright, we'd work it out, as long as we were together... and now I stand here with nothing. And no cornerstone.
Is that it? That I scared him away being depressed? What then do you want me to do, never show the truth to anyone I know, never to talk to him about things weighing on me, who else was I supposed to talk to? Did I put too much of my burden on him? Was it impossible for him to bear?
Well then I suppose you should be happy that I booked a therapist's appointment, I'm gonna spill all my heart out to a stranger, because you took my love away. Whenever I see him again, when I decide that long enough time has gone by without us speaking, I'll tell him, and we'll see. But what you gonna reward me for? I can bet already it won't help, it won't bring him back. You'll just say I didn't try hard enough, I only did this to get him back and not to help myself... but why couldn't I do both? Why couldn't I have him there while I tried helping myself, wouldn't I eventually learn the same thing?
I don't want to view all love as something painful, something dark that never turns out right; I want to be one of those believing love can withstand anything, that it wins even in death. But those words are just glorious while written, not in the everyday life, what we have to pull ourselves through daily and that we have to bear with. It's difficult, okay; it's fucking difficult enough as it is; are you getting some kick out of torturing me this way?
Do you really want me to go on some happy pills and then settle for that, and try to win back Rockstar while I do; while you know he's not going to change his mind?
I want to believe he would. I want to believe that just if I said the right words, if I just let him be by himself, if I just... fixed things... we'd be together again, we'd forget everything. I never felt this panic with someone else. Everyone is telling me to move on from it, but they're not the ones with the lumps in their throats, with their darkness in their hearts, with their panic pressing on their lungs. I'm desperate and I just want to forget everything, to have that go away, all the bad things...
Do you have any idea how close I came to calling him? Do you have any idea how difficult it was not to? I felt ready to die there and then, losing faith, losing all. I just wanted to hear his voice again, but in the end I was too scared.
Too scared that his voice would be the same, but unrecognizable; that he'd be saying things I wouldn't want to hear. That he'd tell me to fuck off and never call again, that he would let me know I was bothering him, that he'd once again say the words I just don't love you anymore.
I don't want to live this way anymore. Thursday couldn't come sooner and nor could November 20th, the day I vowed to myself we'd talk again.
POET in the BREAKING JAR
Sunday, October 25
Chocolate Muffins
As long as I don't think, it's okay. Think about you, that is. As long as I'm pondering life's eternal questions, taking care of the darkest parts of my life and ignoring the rest, as long as I stay the night at friends' houses and stay up all night talking. As long as I'm numb from booze, worn out by work, by chores. As long as I work on my site promotion, as long as I imagine I'm really Woven, as long as I imagine writing can take away everything.
As long as I pretend, it's okay.
Queen sang "the show must go on". I listened and wondered about Freddie Mercury's life. I remembered the time we were in the car together and talking about the same thing, and you told me things I never knew.
I remember that when I said I loved you - I meant it.
For all my life when I've said that, I've never, ever meant it, not in this way. Because you were special. We were. Or so I thought.
I remember us laughing, I remember where you were ticklish, I remember this song was really yours. I remember how you looked in your battered leather jacket, and your black shoes, like you were a gunslinger walking up that road to the house at Dad's 50th birthday party.
I remember how good you always smelled. How you found me a little weird when I wanted to smell you. I remember everything that was good about you, and your little habits that you had sometimes, like always choosing clothes for ages, trying to decide. I remember how well you took care of your dishes, how you always made my bed if I had to leave early for work. I remember when you left the recipe for chocolate muffins by my teddy bear, and I didn't notice it until you told me, and how we laughed about that... I remember we used to play Lego Batman and you would always play as Batman and I would always play as Robin and we'd laugh at the sound of his metal shoes
I remember when we took a drive in your Pontiac, your darling
I remember how we used to talk about our money problems and we'd always try to sort things out
I remember us hanging out with my sis and with Hef and that it was all so troubleless
I remember that you always noticed what I was wearing and you could say what I had on at almost any occasion
...except for that shirt dress that you hated and that you snuck away so that I wouldn't find it, you thought it looked like a tent and how I loved that very dress
I remember that I wanted to stop and look at the stars while walking home and you wanted to hurry up because you were freezing
I remember that even though you weren't into writing at all you spent hours trying to find me a new publisher when my old one turned out to be a scam
I remember that you made me a CD with your favorite Beatles songs and I loved every one and I remember how we were watching that movie about them and I fell asleep in it and we never finished watching
I remember how when I thought about you it made my stomach jolt a bit every time even when we had known eachother for months
I remember that I had to hold back not to say I loved you every time I saw you, maybe it was what scared you away
I remember that when calling you there always seemed to be animals on the road and it became a thing I associated with you
I remember you, I remember me, I remember us, I remember everything,
and nothing really matters does it
Nothing really matters to you
And as long as I don't think about all this I'm okay
But I can't stop remembering
I can't stop thinking
And I'm not okay at all
POET in the BLUNT JAR
As long as I pretend, it's okay.
Queen sang "the show must go on". I listened and wondered about Freddie Mercury's life. I remembered the time we were in the car together and talking about the same thing, and you told me things I never knew.
I remember that when I said I loved you - I meant it.
For all my life when I've said that, I've never, ever meant it, not in this way. Because you were special. We were. Or so I thought.
I remember us laughing, I remember where you were ticklish, I remember this song was really yours. I remember how you looked in your battered leather jacket, and your black shoes, like you were a gunslinger walking up that road to the house at Dad's 50th birthday party.
I remember how good you always smelled. How you found me a little weird when I wanted to smell you. I remember everything that was good about you, and your little habits that you had sometimes, like always choosing clothes for ages, trying to decide. I remember how well you took care of your dishes, how you always made my bed if I had to leave early for work. I remember when you left the recipe for chocolate muffins by my teddy bear, and I didn't notice it until you told me, and how we laughed about that... I remember we used to play Lego Batman and you would always play as Batman and I would always play as Robin and we'd laugh at the sound of his metal shoes
I remember when we took a drive in your Pontiac, your darling
I remember how we used to talk about our money problems and we'd always try to sort things out
I remember us hanging out with my sis and with Hef and that it was all so troubleless
I remember that you always noticed what I was wearing and you could say what I had on at almost any occasion
...except for that shirt dress that you hated and that you snuck away so that I wouldn't find it, you thought it looked like a tent and how I loved that very dress
I remember that I wanted to stop and look at the stars while walking home and you wanted to hurry up because you were freezing
I remember that even though you weren't into writing at all you spent hours trying to find me a new publisher when my old one turned out to be a scam
I remember that you made me a CD with your favorite Beatles songs and I loved every one and I remember how we were watching that movie about them and I fell asleep in it and we never finished watching
I remember how when I thought about you it made my stomach jolt a bit every time even when we had known eachother for months
I remember that I had to hold back not to say I loved you every time I saw you, maybe it was what scared you away
I remember that when calling you there always seemed to be animals on the road and it became a thing I associated with you
I remember you, I remember me, I remember us, I remember everything,
and nothing really matters does it
Nothing really matters to you
And as long as I don't think about all this I'm okay
But I can't stop remembering
I can't stop thinking
And I'm not okay at all
POET in the BLUNT JAR
Friday, October 23
Another Short Story
There's a short story contest in the newspaper today, and I thought I'd enter. Odds are I don't win the first prize (trip to New York for two) but hell knows, why not give it a shot? Maybe I'll end up with some cinema tickets. I'll have to write in Swedish but I think I can live with that for such a short story, anyways, not really intending to make it epic. I have been away from short story writing for a while and I'm sure it will at least entertain me for a while...
Approximately 2 pages of a very melancholic love story may begin.
3, 2, 1 - Write!
Approximately 2 pages of a very melancholic love story may begin.
3, 2, 1 - Write!
Wednesday, October 21
Fake Version (Of You)
Pick those strings
Like last time
I'll listen while you play
All my pain,
dying away
Stroke my neck
Like before
I'll sleep while you're on guard
Only calm,
in my heart
I own a fake version of you
Who comes out when it's dark
It's only a ghost
I know
How do I let go of you
When your things are still here
When your songs still play
And all that was glorious stings
Like last time
I'll listen while you play
All my pain,
dying away
Stroke my neck
Like before
I'll sleep while you're on guard
Only calm,
in my heart
I own a fake version of you
Who comes out when it's dark
It's only a ghost
I know
How do I let go of you
When your things are still here
When your songs still play
And all that was glorious stings
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)