Risks, Chances

It's a bit of a load off my chest, just getting that apartment out of the picture. I don't do much now. I stray between work, friends and Mum and Dad's, which is where I've ended up (for future reference I will use the phrase The Nest). It feels just a little bit safer. I'm just glad that for once I am spending a night at home, without anything that needs to be done except folding a few bags of clothes, unpacking a few boxes... I feel comfortable. I'm listening to really depressing acoustic songs and talking to new friends and old friends over the chat. It's OK. I feel OK.
Even though this day has lasted for what feels like forever.

Something's gone to my head, I'm taking chances and risks wherever I can. I step on the gas as much as I fucking can, and enjoy it, lean back and laugh. Even when the image of myself crashing grows the most vivid. I climb the highest jumping towers and throw myself into the lakes and oceans, even though it scares the shit out of me! When I'm in the passenger seat, I lean my head out the window and scream! I push the horn, just for fun! I rip up every wound, just to make sure it's gonna leave a scar, tomorrow I'm tattooing myself again, I have no idea what I'm gonna choose to do!

I want all my life to be like this. Everything is so breathtakingly beautiful. And everything that takes my mind away from heavier things is well.

All is well.
POET in the GLASS JAR

Mood Swing (Even Within This Very Post)

Something's gotta be wrong with me today. Everything right now seems just GREAT! In two days, we'll be rid of the apartment. I'm waiting for a reply from the publisher to see my book in print one day, maybe within the year. I'm back into writing, and I picture the ending of the third novel within not too far a time ahead. I've applied for a school that seems interesting, and that I think would entertain me in the long run. I'm living back home, I have good friends, the sun is shining and yesterday I bathed in the ocean, for the first time of the year!
Yeah, alright. Not everything is this shiny and sunny. I have a neverending wound on my finger that will leave a 2 cm ugly scar (because I'm sadistic and can't let it heal in peace). I still have strange mood swings. I'm in between of everything, I don't have a full time job, I just work hour for hour, day by day, as it comes. I can never plan anything, if I do I barely get time off from work, I have to say "I MUST be free these dates" or I have to stay behind, even though I don't even work that much! It's so weird. At least now I aint got rent to pay, so that's good.
I feel like buying a bike and a canoe and just leave this very moment. I'll fill the backpack with a radio that can air Bandit Rock Channel and a whole case full of Coke, and just go.
See you there?
Wherever there might be,
POET in the GLASS JAR

Ode To Writing

I went for it now, finally. My writing. It has been obsessive in periods, totally apathic in other periods. Each November has been filled with angst, only to top it off with total triumph and pizza by the end of it. I have written when I've been depressed, when I've been drunk, when I've been high. I have written when I couldn't put in words what needed to come out, when I had nothing to say, and when I had too much to say. I have written until my fingers ached, my head and heart were heavy, my imagination swirling away. I have written in word wars. Among people. On trains, cafés, benches. I have typed, I have used charcoal, I have used pens and pencils, even crayons. When I ran out of paper, I wrote on handkerchiefs and coffee filters. Half my novels were written on loose sheets, on the back of envelopes or in the book-book; some even got lost in the laundry room, uncountable others never got written at all.

This is for you, the written word, I salute you.

And in your honor I decided to finally move my writing ahead. To something similar to professional. To something that I one day will be able to hold in my hands, as a finished product. As a result. Something concrete, holding all the abstract in the world.

Today, I accepted a publication offer for my first novel.
A new adventure begins.
POET in the GLASS JAR

Midsummer's, April, And Peace

Just found out that Dead By April are doing a gig thing in Trollhättan (a few miles from here) on July the 28th. No question about it, I'm going! I've been looking around for good tour dates and venues for these guys for ages. Only just found it, thanks to Jessie. Can't wait, even if it'll just be a few songs.
Other than that, yesterday was Midsummer's Eve, everyone was celebrating it heavily. I was sober for once and got home at around 4AM where I finally could stumble into bed. Only after eating some well-earned night meal, of course. I was happily surprised on one occasion, where we all were singing and Vic had his guitar out and stuff, and I requested Jason M'raz, didn't really think about it other than that. But suddenly found myself the only one singing in the room, and the others listening. Wow. One short moment but so definitely worth it. Maybe I'm not as afraid of the stage as I've been thinking? Also got the suggestion (again) to apply for Swedish Idol. Ha, ha. Not that I want to undermine myself or so, but my voice just isn't good enough for that, nor are my competitive nerves. I'll see the jury and faint.
Today is Midsummer's Day. Me and Jessie are turning around the tables and celebrating today as well. Our goal, we decided a few days back, was to make the summer of 2009 even better than that of our legendary summer, that of 2006. "Wow", Jessie said, "That might be quite difficult to beat." But we are definitely trying.
Living back home feels better than I expected. Feels great actually. My mum is her usual charming self which means she doesn't really acknowledge me at all, but Dad is being great. Either way everyone is always out anyway, at work or some place else. It leaves me some space. I really need it. Got my furniture and stuff here on Thursday, still living in cardboard boxes and seemingly unable to find the charcoal for my sheesha, but slowly my room is turning into just that, my room. The net is real slow but it allows for me to blog, keep the street team site up and check my usual sites, as well as keep MSN going. Really my lifesaver. Next week I'll be getting my own internet, so I won't have to sit on Mum and Dad's laptop all the time. I also gotta set up my stationary PC somewhere, I still have to transfer a lot of stuff from it to the external hard drive. Will probably get it over and done with in a jiffy and then unpack it again. I have my darling own laptop by now and it's going to be well used.
Can feel the difference already by living here. Not much to do other than unpack and write, and listen to music. Already got two more chapters down for the novel. Not perhaps that much, but a huge step for me, who has almost been scared of the novels for a long time lately. It's better this way I think. Very peaceful, quiet and inspiring here. A real safeport.
Speaking of.
POET in the GLASS JAR
Happily Street Teaming Again

Packsack

I'm having one of my down days. One of my weird days. When stuff turn against me one second, I'm invisible and the world is meaningless in the next, and everything is hysterically funny in the third. If just I didn't have these peculiar mood swings things'd be fine. It feels quite okay to be moving back home again. It'll at least be the countryside, which is the one place in the world I can actually sleep (and tend to oversleep), and take it easy, and just be calm. I was supposed to be in town to pack and stuff today, I went there, packed half a box, then left. There's something simply so ominous and unpleasant about standing in a half-ready apartment, stuff all over, and just not knowing where to start.
Well, least now I went out and bought some more cardboard boxes (had too much of a saint's conscious to rob the grocery store of their old unused ones), so I should fit the rest of my stuff in there. As always I'm amazed by how much stuff you can gather. And then I keep throwing everything out! Yeah. My dream of living in a packsack isn't quite yet coming through, although I'm still hoping for it to (I'm gonna buy a minivan and tour Europe some day).
Someday, somehow...
Spoke to Elle today, felt nice to renew that old friendship. I bet she's gonna help out in making this summer the best ever - and as Sylvi kindly pointed out, possibly the best YEAR ever. Right now my biggest YAY goes to the fact that the last rent is paid on the flat, so from now on, all money I make this summer, is entirely mine. Minus a few, pretty much harmless bills.
Nothing like rent.
That hopefully means I can save up to go to Canada and work there next year...
CHEERIOS,
POET in the JAR

Lika Osynlig

Jag vill trycka gasen i botten
och köra mot rött ljus
Jag vill försvinna så att alla undrar
var jag håller hus

Jag vill lämna denna gråa håla
bakom mig
Men bakom masken är jag lika grå
Så säg mig

Hej, är jag lika osynlig som dig?
Är jag lika färglös som dig?
Är du lika jävla rädd som mig?
Hej, hej

Jag vill gasa på och lämna denna stad
och detta land
Det måste finnas något marginellt
bättre någonstans

Jag vill lämna allt jag har men ta med mig
allt jag fått
Utan minnena du gav mig hade det nog
aldrig gått

Hej, är jag lika osynlig som dig?
Är jag lika ansiktslös som dig?
Är du lika jävla rädd som mig?
Hej, hej

Låt oss stämpla ut en till minut
Och vandra hem för dagen
Ignorera allt och sticka ut
Och ta en stund i taget
Kanske att man blir mer livfull då
Eller skriver några rader
Kanske att man får tillbaka lite

färg

Hej, är du lika osynlig som mig?
Är du lika glädjelös som mig?
Är du lika jävla rädd som mig?
Säg det till mig

______________________________

Since it's not exactly like me to write stuff in Swedish, like, since ages back in time when my poetic vein first sprung to life; I'm gonna do what I've done earlier and translate it for you. At least roughly. This song came to me when I was driving, late at night, as the best pieces always do. It kind of got to me after that. Hope you guys'll find it interesting as well, even after you've read it in the not-so-sufficent English version, ha ha (I never said I was a professional translator, at least not of poetic thingamabobs. I always translated too freely, my English tutor at the uni used to say). I plan to record it in a jiffy soon as the whole moving business is over and done with. Imagine it. Me on the countryside, my guitar, recording this song. Can't wait.

(I want to step on the gas
and speed towards red light
I want to disappear so that everyone wonders
where I'm at

I want to leave this grey hole
behind me
But behind the mask I'm just as grey
So say to me

Hey, am I just as invisible as you?
Am I just as colorless as you?
Are you just as fucking scared as me?
Hey, hey

I want to speed away and leave this town
And this country
There has to be something marginally
better somewhere

I want to leave all that I have but bring
all that I've received
Without the memories you gave me it probably never
would have worked

Hey, am I just as invisible as you?
Am I just as faceless as you?
Are you just as fucking scared as me?
Hey, hey

Let's chart out another minute
And wander home for the day
Ignore everything and stand out
And take a moment at a time
Maybe you become more lively then
Or write down a few lines
Maybe you retrieve some

color

Hey, are you just as invisible as me?
Are you just as joyless as me?
Are you just as fucking scared as me?
Say that to me)
POET in the GLASS JAR

Build My Wings On The Way Down

And when you kiss me in my neck

How can you know that I'm smiling?

Trust. What is it, really? Another clichéd word to help us stay naive, to help us avoid the idea of selfishness. Somewhere, we're still children, and want to believe in the fairytale, in the perfect endings.

But was there ever a word such as perfect? Am I the only one who keeps getting hit by something that degrades it, as soon as I get even close to the sense of that word...? Maybe the only thing for us to do is to stagger on the border between disaster and utopia, never coming close to either end, no matter how we paint the image of that world in our minds and hearts.

I want to be naive, want to believe. I want to smile because of nothing but a rainbow in the sky, the thought of a castle and a unicorn. I want to be who I used to be, who never bowed to angst, but made my own joy.

Have I based too much of myself on others? All awhile I strived not to, all awhile I tried to stay independent. Yet a word that is spoken or left unuttered can be the difference that makes me fall, can be the blow that strikes me to the ground or elevates me towards the sky.

Have I forgotten the face of my father, as Roland would have put it; have I forgotten what made me survive through the days; do I no longer know what my aims were, what made me lose myself in time?

I want to think I still have it in me, I can still do it. That sometimes you have to take the leap first and build your wings on the way down. That sometimes all you need to get by is find what makes you lose your grasp of time, and entwirl yourself in that, holding on to the moment.

To the long second that is our present.

POET in the GLASS JAR

Crossreferenced from allvoices.com

Your World Of Lies

You left me too many times
for me to give you another chance
And you left me with too many scars
for me to join you in another dance

Yet that's exactly what this is
Dancing around the truth
You'll always dodge my tries
And build your world of lies

You don't know the meaning
of a childish illusion and trance
And you never knew just what
a rainbow hope could enhance

Yet that's exactly what this is
Spellbound by the truth
You'll always dodge my tries
And build your world of lies

I'm naïve to still hope for you
Stubborn and stupid not to let go
Even when wrapped in someone else's arms

I did my best to forget about you
Obviously I affected you so
Even when wrapped in someone else's arms

Closing my eyes, I dream of you
Dreaming was all we ever knew

Yet that's exactly what this is
Dreaming about the truth
You'll always dodge my tries
And build your world of lies

I'll live in my childish illusion
'Til there's something real to salute

~ POET in the GLASS JAR ~

Burn And Break

How come every time I hope
It's a crusted shell
that cracks?

How come
I counterpoint myself
To stop right in my tracks?

I'm still running
You fell behind
And I'm no longer your helping hand
I have a bleeding heart now, to defend

You'd think that every time I'd learn
Edging on what aches

But I was never one to burn
And break

I'm still running
You fell behind
And I'm no longer your helping hand
I have a bleeding heart now, to defend

Before you I never ran
And took every arrow, proud
And every whisper was quiet
And never loud

You fell behind
I ran out of heart
Ran out of time

I'm still running
You fell behind
And I'm no longer your helping hand
I have a bleeding heart now

to defend

_____________________________

Thought a lot about what to name this piece of lyrics, finally settled for the Burn And Break part of it, since none of the chorus seemed to convey the meaning of the song properly. D'you guys have any other ideas? Feel free to share.
POET in the JAR

I Want To Die Beautifully

I read your words
I read them again
I'd forgotten how powerful they were

And what they once meant

I blocked out everything you said
And every word you weighed on your tongue
Carefully, before spilling

I don't think I ever guarded anything so well

I made you a secret
All the hopes I held for you
And locked it away

Did I let my guard fall?

Unexpectedly
Like you first came to me
I stumbled across you again

And remembered

Failing promises and lies
We never knew them as we told them
They're all our dying whispers now
Fading as we hold them

I heard your words
Listened again
Spoke again

And I let my guard down

Let you pierce me through
Again
I want to die beautifully
... again

_____________________________________

This poetic thing has makings to become a song, but I need to set the melody straight first, I'll tag it as both while deciding. Wow-wee, are we making progress? All the song titles I randomly came up with a while ago are springing to life out of nowhere. Hoping it goes on this way.
PS. I have a lot of things on my mind, but nothing I really feel like sharing at the moment. Just know that things are heavy and your dear Poet is an unlucky soul, in many ways. DS.
THE Dear POET Who Is In Many Ways An Unlucky Soul IN THE JAR