Wow. I open my other, rarely used email account (in fact the one for this site), and there it is. Someone who I don't personally know has stumbled here on Blogger, appreciates my writing, and invites me to write for their journalistic forum. Crazy enough, it's hell late and I'm just really happily surprised to get such praise from someone who doesn't tell me my stuff is "good" because they are friends with me, I accepted the invite. And alas your dear poet has now turned to journalism.
I beg your pardon. My view of journalism.
Which is:
I write whatever I want, whenever I want, however I want. May it be poetry material, may it be random ranting (I am good at that!) or some more serious criticism towards the world and all that inhabits it; whatever I feel like writing there, I will write there.
Also, I will keep that part of writing separate from what I write in here, for now. My favorite place to vent, all time.
If you're curious, you can now find my first "journalistic post", which in truth is like any of my here called Spontaneous Thoughts, "Iris & Memory" at Allvoices.com where you search for my username, which is simply poetinthejar. I would link it directly to you unless I got an internal error every time I tried. Be patient!
The world is waiting for you.
POET in the GLASS JAR
Tuesday, May 19
Monday, May 18
Fluttering Twitter
Alas, my dear fellas, I have taken the long dreaded step towards Twitter and made an account there. Mostly in order to follow Poets of the Fall's updates, but also to have a look at you old fellas, and allow you to have a somewhat look into myself. Although I did doubt there could be any value in updates this short, and not, for example, updates on a blog or a site; it's been sort of fun so far, and I guess we'll simply see how it'll pan out.
So! Peeps, follow me at my fluttering Twitter account, and meet you all there.
PS. Do not ask about the username. Eh... DS.
POET in the GLASS JAR
So! Peeps, follow me at my fluttering Twitter account, and meet you all there.
PS. Do not ask about the username. Eh... DS.
POET in the GLASS JAR
Friday, May 8
Photoshoot!
Ok, so straying here. Already it is Friday, but every day so far has felt like a Sunday. Alas! The wonders of vacation! We are about to head out on a little walk, going to Prague tomorrow and then to Bratislava for a forum meeting on Sunday. The actual Sunday, that is. As for now, I am mostly interested in what happens tonight... dressing up to do a photoshoot at a playground near here. Might be fun!
Merry go round, and around, and around...
GREETZ,
POET in the TRAVELLING JAR
Merry go round, and around, and around...
GREETZ,
POET in the TRAVELLING JAR
Wednesday, May 6
In The Fog?
I'll be off for the next approximate 10 days, unless I happen to stray here when I'm gone. Finally getting out of here, even if just for a while. Just not having to go to work for once would be all the break I needed. Now I get to see just a little more of the world again, along with seeing a long time friend, my dearest Last Drop. If you very acutely find that you need me, look in the fog surrounding the bottle of absinthe or in the nearest Czech tattoo studio.
CHEERS,
Poet in the Travelsy Jar
PS. Bit worried about Ryan. Step by step, buddy. DS.
CHEERS,
Poet in the Travelsy Jar
PS. Bit worried about Ryan. Step by step, buddy. DS.
From The Storm
We all have different dreams
Why don't you see?
That your vision of ideal
isn't perfect to me
Let me see the world
and feel
Let me take my time
I'll never be tame
but I just might come out
to eat from your hand
every once in a while
I'll be wild in my dreams
You'll be calm in yours
Maybe sometime we'll collide
And make something beautiful
from the storm
Why don't you see?
That your vision of ideal
isn't perfect to me
Let me see the world
and feel
Let me take my time
I'll never be tame
but I just might come out
to eat from your hand
every once in a while
I'll be wild in my dreams
You'll be calm in yours
Maybe sometime we'll collide
And make something beautiful
from the storm
Monday, May 4
You Nervous Wreck, You Clumsy Doll
The following is an example of the voices in my head, when I feel another down coming over me.
"Not now... not again... think happy thoughts!"
"Happy? Do you really think there's such a thing as happy?"
"If I think happy, I'll feel happy."
"Bullshit. You can't make yourself feel anything. You can't honestly believe that's gonna help you. You're beyond help my dear, take another pink happy pill and imagine there's some good in the world, and that there's some good in you, it doesn't matter like shit anyway; it's just one big illusion."
"I think you are an illusion."
"No one gives a shit what you think. Your every thought is worthless. Of all people in the entire world, why would anyone care more for you?"
"I don't think for the world, I don't write for the world; I write for myself, I gotta get it out of my system. And just maybe someday someone will see it. Will see me."
"No one will see you. You're invisible. And whatever crap words you put on paper might outlive your pathetic short life, but what will that matter, they will be forgotten just as you; and then there'll be nothing left. No one will remember you. You won't matter. You'll be invisible after you die, just as you were invisible all awhile you lived."
"I'm not invisible."
"No one sees you."
"I'm not invisible."
"You have no friends."
"I do!"
"You don't."
"I do..."
"You don't. How could you? No one puts up with you, you nervous wreck, you clumsy doll; you are just taking people's time, no wonder they won't call you or text you, no wonder they sleep with you and dump you. You scare them away, though that would be to flatter you, to make you something more than you ever were..."
"I'm not invisible..."
"Everything you do is a waste, no one notices you, no one thanks you, you are in people's way, you believe you were actually meant for something. Pathetic! There is no meaning to anything, especially nothing that you do, you only dream and imagine it in your head, get real! You're too dreamy, you could live forever inside your poems and words, you're probably gonna die with a one-liner rolling off your tongue, yet none of that is meaningful, it's a waste of time. You wasted time with every breath you took, wasted love with every beat of your ridiculous heart, wasted tears instead of doing something, instead of accomplishing something."
"I have accomplished things."
"Only in your head. That's what they are, and all they'll ever be. Things inside your head. You're pathetic, you're nothing, you're no one. Happy thoughts! How silly. Nothing can save you. Your grand plans, they're nothing but ashes. You're worthless, good for nothing, no one ever wanted you, even when you had the chance you blew it away, you can't even grasp luck if it walzed right in front of you. Admit it, you belong with sadness, you belong with melancholy, you tell yourself you're too damn intelligent for your own good. Bullshit! Were you ever intelligent? You just focus on the wrong things, you do the wrong things at the wrong times, meet the wrong people. You are wrong, you're a nothing, no one will notice you when you finally die, it's gonna be a relief for the people left to be rid of you so you won't try and make them feel, or stop and see, you're wasting their time. Let them live their lives and be happy and you just settle for what you got, paranoia and misery, someone's gotta do that part too..."
The voices die away.
Only silence left.
Fuck.
POET in the Delicate Glass JAR
"Not now... not again... think happy thoughts!"
"Happy? Do you really think there's such a thing as happy?"
"If I think happy, I'll feel happy."
"Bullshit. You can't make yourself feel anything. You can't honestly believe that's gonna help you. You're beyond help my dear, take another pink happy pill and imagine there's some good in the world, and that there's some good in you, it doesn't matter like shit anyway; it's just one big illusion."
"I think you are an illusion."
"No one gives a shit what you think. Your every thought is worthless. Of all people in the entire world, why would anyone care more for you?"
"I don't think for the world, I don't write for the world; I write for myself, I gotta get it out of my system. And just maybe someday someone will see it. Will see me."
"No one will see you. You're invisible. And whatever crap words you put on paper might outlive your pathetic short life, but what will that matter, they will be forgotten just as you; and then there'll be nothing left. No one will remember you. You won't matter. You'll be invisible after you die, just as you were invisible all awhile you lived."
"I'm not invisible."
"No one sees you."
"I'm not invisible."
"You have no friends."
"I do!"
"You don't."
"I do..."
"You don't. How could you? No one puts up with you, you nervous wreck, you clumsy doll; you are just taking people's time, no wonder they won't call you or text you, no wonder they sleep with you and dump you. You scare them away, though that would be to flatter you, to make you something more than you ever were..."
"I'm not invisible..."
"Everything you do is a waste, no one notices you, no one thanks you, you are in people's way, you believe you were actually meant for something. Pathetic! There is no meaning to anything, especially nothing that you do, you only dream and imagine it in your head, get real! You're too dreamy, you could live forever inside your poems and words, you're probably gonna die with a one-liner rolling off your tongue, yet none of that is meaningful, it's a waste of time. You wasted time with every breath you took, wasted love with every beat of your ridiculous heart, wasted tears instead of doing something, instead of accomplishing something."
"I have accomplished things."
"Only in your head. That's what they are, and all they'll ever be. Things inside your head. You're pathetic, you're nothing, you're no one. Happy thoughts! How silly. Nothing can save you. Your grand plans, they're nothing but ashes. You're worthless, good for nothing, no one ever wanted you, even when you had the chance you blew it away, you can't even grasp luck if it walzed right in front of you. Admit it, you belong with sadness, you belong with melancholy, you tell yourself you're too damn intelligent for your own good. Bullshit! Were you ever intelligent? You just focus on the wrong things, you do the wrong things at the wrong times, meet the wrong people. You are wrong, you're a nothing, no one will notice you when you finally die, it's gonna be a relief for the people left to be rid of you so you won't try and make them feel, or stop and see, you're wasting their time. Let them live their lives and be happy and you just settle for what you got, paranoia and misery, someone's gotta do that part too..."
The voices die away.
Only silence left.
Fuck.
POET in the Delicate Glass JAR
Thursday, April 30
A Raven And The World
I decided on my next tattoo. It spoke to me. Out of nowhere, just sprung up from nothing, and I just drew it in and knew... that's the one. A lot of redrawing of it still remains, and a certain symbol in it is to be traded for another, but in all, I know. Not long from now, my arm will hold a raven with a cross, and it's going to mean the world.
POET in the BLOODY JAR
POET in the BLOODY JAR
Old Fool
Soundtrack: Wasteland (live acoustic) - 10 years
Why am I so scared? When I get this close to something real, to something that would hold. I paint scenarios in my head, where everything good will crash down on me, where nothing ever lasts. I'm afraid that I'll end up lonely, even more afraid that I'll find myself caught; even if I had chosen to be myself. I get anxious when people meet, fall, marry, give birth... every day that passes reminds me of the cycles in life, that we all just go through certain stages before we are supposedly entering the time to die.
You shouldn't listen to me. You shouldn't read this. I might sometimes be of the belief that I am alone in this glass jar, the only one in the world to see things clearly; that everything fades; but it's a lie. It's an intricate lie that has weaved itself all over my life, but that shouldn't affect you; don't let it affect you. All I have is empty words, words I try to bring meaning, but that only carries what I tell them to, what I imagine that they do.
Don't listen to me. I tell myself this is the truth. Because this is the truth that I live with, this is what I am told by the voices in my head, the voices in my mind. But it doesn't apply to you, please, don't listen...
I'm just an old fool ranting about burdens and worries, ranting forever in gloomy words, without ever being happy. I wonder if I am meant to be happy. It's like every time I have the chance to be, I mess it up for myself, or it is messed up for me... and I know half the issue is in my own fucking head, and I can't fucking help it.
Hell knows I tried.
POET in the GLASS JAR
Why am I so scared? When I get this close to something real, to something that would hold. I paint scenarios in my head, where everything good will crash down on me, where nothing ever lasts. I'm afraid that I'll end up lonely, even more afraid that I'll find myself caught; even if I had chosen to be myself. I get anxious when people meet, fall, marry, give birth... every day that passes reminds me of the cycles in life, that we all just go through certain stages before we are supposedly entering the time to die.
You shouldn't listen to me. You shouldn't read this. I might sometimes be of the belief that I am alone in this glass jar, the only one in the world to see things clearly; that everything fades; but it's a lie. It's an intricate lie that has weaved itself all over my life, but that shouldn't affect you; don't let it affect you. All I have is empty words, words I try to bring meaning, but that only carries what I tell them to, what I imagine that they do.
Don't listen to me. I tell myself this is the truth. Because this is the truth that I live with, this is what I am told by the voices in my head, the voices in my mind. But it doesn't apply to you, please, don't listen...
I'm just an old fool ranting about burdens and worries, ranting forever in gloomy words, without ever being happy. I wonder if I am meant to be happy. It's like every time I have the chance to be, I mess it up for myself, or it is messed up for me... and I know half the issue is in my own fucking head, and I can't fucking help it.
Hell knows I tried.
POET in the GLASS JAR
Tuesday, April 28
Imagination As Fuel?
I think that's what makes us writers. Some kind of weird mixture between paranoia, darkness and mystery, and a hell lot of imagination. Our problem, see? We live everything out to the point that we believe it gets real. We play games every day in our heads. Because we imagine things sprouting to life around us. Be that monsters, feelings, sentences. Anything.
And it fuels us to go down and write.
Isn't it funny?
I guess it's good cause it gets the creativity out. Ha, ha.
POET in the GLASS JAR
And it fuels us to go down and write.
Isn't it funny?
I guess it's good cause it gets the creativity out. Ha, ha.
POET in the GLASS JAR
Sunday, April 26
Stranded
Hold on
I'm weaker than you
Why am I here?
You cut off the rope
I'm an outcast
At last
Who told you I wanted to be stranded
Who told you I wanted to sail
I can't see myself rowing back
I lost my course and my trail
Hold on
I'm weaker than you
Why are you here?
I cut off the rope
You're an outcast
At last
I led you on to leaving me here
I should never have pushed you that far
I know you didn't want to walk
You didn't want to wander with me
Hold on
You're weaker than me
Why are you here?
I cut off the rope
I'm an outcast
At last
I left you a note in a bottle
and swept it away in the sea
But the note I slipped you was empty
It only held value to me
Don't open the glass bottle
Unless you know what you'll see
Forever I'll be the outcast
Forever I'm lonely and free
Hold on
I'm weaker than you
Why am I here?
You cut off the rope
I'm an outcast
At last
You'll never see me
Will you?
I'm weaker than you
Why am I here?
You cut off the rope
I'm an outcast
At last
Who told you I wanted to be stranded
Who told you I wanted to sail
I can't see myself rowing back
I lost my course and my trail
Hold on
I'm weaker than you
Why are you here?
I cut off the rope
You're an outcast
At last
I led you on to leaving me here
I should never have pushed you that far
I know you didn't want to walk
You didn't want to wander with me
Hold on
You're weaker than me
Why are you here?
I cut off the rope
I'm an outcast
At last
I left you a note in a bottle
and swept it away in the sea
But the note I slipped you was empty
It only held value to me
Don't open the glass bottle
Unless you know what you'll see
Forever I'll be the outcast
Forever I'm lonely and free
Hold on
I'm weaker than you
Why am I here?
You cut off the rope
I'm an outcast
At last
You'll never see me
Will you?
Thursday, April 23
Not Even Nostalgia
You could tell me to die away from here
You could ask me to fade
To do you a favor
To your name
Det fläckar ditt rykte att ha känt mig
I tell myself I don't listen to your words
And that accusations mean nothing
I can stab myself in the back
So that you won't get stained
So you'll dry from my bloody rain
Det tynger ditt hjärta att veta om mig
You could do us all a favor
And get rid of me as it is
I'm no longer of any use to you
I'm not even nostalgia
like I used to
This is what it comes down to
Du skulle dö av att ha ihjäl mig
Just maybe I could bring you down when I fall
And just maybe find out
were you worth it, at all?
See if I didn't go willingly
You'd never get hold of me
Jag vet att vi kommer att dö tillsammans
Men det är bättre än att leva
utan dig
________________________________
I know many of you aren't language interested at all, and I definitely don't know why the hell half this thing just came out in Swedish, so I thought if I'm gonna publish the thing, I'm gonna have to roughly translate those lines for you. Pay attention now, ladies and gents!
First line:
"Det fläckar ditt rykte att ha känt mig"
= "It stains your reputation, to have known me"
Second line:
"Det tynger ditt hjärta att veta om mig"
= "It weighs your heart down to know about me"
Third line:
"Du skulle dö av att ha ihjäl mig"
= "You would die from killing me"
Things are getting really exciting!
Fourth, and the final lines:
"Jag vet att vi kommer att dö tillsammans
Men det är bättre än att leva
utan dig"
= "I know we're going to die together
But it's better than living
without you"
Yeah, something like that, anyway. Hope that made the poem make any more sense to you. I will try not to blurt out hybrids like this one in the future. But you never know...
POET in the BLOODY JAR
You could ask me to fade
To do you a favor
To your name
Det fläckar ditt rykte att ha känt mig
I tell myself I don't listen to your words
And that accusations mean nothing
I can stab myself in the back
So that you won't get stained
So you'll dry from my bloody rain
Det tynger ditt hjärta att veta om mig
You could do us all a favor
And get rid of me as it is
I'm no longer of any use to you
I'm not even nostalgia
like I used to
This is what it comes down to
Du skulle dö av att ha ihjäl mig
Just maybe I could bring you down when I fall
And just maybe find out
were you worth it, at all?
See if I didn't go willingly
You'd never get hold of me
Jag vet att vi kommer att dö tillsammans
Men det är bättre än att leva
utan dig
________________________________
I know many of you aren't language interested at all, and I definitely don't know why the hell half this thing just came out in Swedish, so I thought if I'm gonna publish the thing, I'm gonna have to roughly translate those lines for you. Pay attention now, ladies and gents!
First line:
"Det fläckar ditt rykte att ha känt mig"
= "It stains your reputation, to have known me"
Second line:
"Det tynger ditt hjärta att veta om mig"
= "It weighs your heart down to know about me"
Third line:
"Du skulle dö av att ha ihjäl mig"
= "You would die from killing me"
Things are getting really exciting!
Fourth, and the final lines:
"Jag vet att vi kommer att dö tillsammans
Men det är bättre än att leva
utan dig"
= "I know we're going to die together
But it's better than living
without you"
Yeah, something like that, anyway. Hope that made the poem make any more sense to you. I will try not to blurt out hybrids like this one in the future. But you never know...
POET in the BLOODY JAR
Tuesday, April 21
Floods & Rains
You say I don't tell you anything
That I'm the quiet kind
Whenever I don't reveal every detail,
etched on my mind
I say you've got to ask me the questions,
I'm not telepathic,
ask me what you want to know
Maybe if you ever told me you were curious
Maybe if you ever showed some interest
Maybe if sometimes you cared
It'd be easier to tell you my pains
Tell you of my floods and rains
But now you never ask the questions,
And I never tell you a thing
This thing is supposed to run both ways
After all I'm someone you should know
I'm your daughter
And you should be seeing me
You should see me at all
That I'm the quiet kind
Whenever I don't reveal every detail,
etched on my mind
I say you've got to ask me the questions,
I'm not telepathic,
ask me what you want to know
Maybe if you ever told me you were curious
Maybe if you ever showed some interest
Maybe if sometimes you cared
It'd be easier to tell you my pains
Tell you of my floods and rains
But now you never ask the questions,
And I never tell you a thing
This thing is supposed to run both ways
After all I'm someone you should know
I'm your daughter
And you should be seeing me
You should see me at all
Monday, April 20
Picking Up Pieces
Now I'm there. After the longest and darkest time. I'm right here, where you once stood, when you were ahead of me, when you judged what was best. And by then I was dumbstruck. By then I didn't understand you. By then I was the one to believe I had gotten crushed by you, the one who had been left in the blue, once more to be trampled on... I looked everywhere for something I done wrong, for something I had done to make you be drifting on your way. Maybe I looked too hard. Maybe you can't really say any of us did anything wrong. And we didn't either, did we? All that disappeared were promises, promises so empty that they dissolved already when we spoke them, all that I lost was my ability to believe in words.
Someone else took the place I stepped away from, with time. Someone else stands there now, wounded and torn, confused, looking for what went wrong, looking for what could have been different. And I took over the place you used to hover. Where you looked back over your shoulder at me, crumbling, falling to pieces. And there's a part of you still left here, a part of the role you took on to play that I never got to see, that you never let show.
I close my eyes, breathe it in. Think.
When you left me, I broke. I was blank. I made theories in my mind. I made up stories. It was easier to fill my head up than to just stop and feel the emptiness. The blank space, after you. And in the end... I settled for one theory, seeming more likely than any other would, at least then, at least at the time.
I told myself you left me here because I'd fallen for you. Because you knew how hard I would hit the ground, and you weren't going to be around to pick up the pieces when I did.
But now... just now... just here, where there's a piece of you still around, I wonder to myself. I wonder over another theory. Something that seems completely obvious from this new point of view, but something I didn't even ponder in the days, back where it all seemed so difficult, when I was still in shock.
Maybe that wasn't the reason. Maybe, the real reason you left was because you'd fallen yourself, and you knew you wouldn't be around to pick yourself up when you did.
And I only wandered here afterwards, finding a small piece.
I don't know why I find comfort in this thought. It should make me even more crushed, knowing you don't feel anything anymore, knowing you left me cause I reminded you of what couldn't be. Knowing... you're over me by now. Or you wouldn't be speaking to me, again.
The recurring feeling just makes me think, and think, and think. I'm standing where you used to stand, someone else is crawling where I used to crawl. Someone who will sooner or later get up on his knees, and stand, too. Maybe you went on to running. Maybe it'll end with you soaring. And then I'll take over your running, and then in the end, we'll both have wings again, even if it's not at the same time, or in the same sky, or even in the same... universe.
I doubt any of my theories are right. I doubt any of my feelings make up for what can't be set straight by my thoughts. But I feel them anyway.
I ponder, anyway.
FJAERIL in the JAR
Someone else took the place I stepped away from, with time. Someone else stands there now, wounded and torn, confused, looking for what went wrong, looking for what could have been different. And I took over the place you used to hover. Where you looked back over your shoulder at me, crumbling, falling to pieces. And there's a part of you still left here, a part of the role you took on to play that I never got to see, that you never let show.
I close my eyes, breathe it in. Think.
When you left me, I broke. I was blank. I made theories in my mind. I made up stories. It was easier to fill my head up than to just stop and feel the emptiness. The blank space, after you. And in the end... I settled for one theory, seeming more likely than any other would, at least then, at least at the time.
I told myself you left me here because I'd fallen for you. Because you knew how hard I would hit the ground, and you weren't going to be around to pick up the pieces when I did.
But now... just now... just here, where there's a piece of you still around, I wonder to myself. I wonder over another theory. Something that seems completely obvious from this new point of view, but something I didn't even ponder in the days, back where it all seemed so difficult, when I was still in shock.
Maybe that wasn't the reason. Maybe, the real reason you left was because you'd fallen yourself, and you knew you wouldn't be around to pick yourself up when you did.
And I only wandered here afterwards, finding a small piece.
I don't know why I find comfort in this thought. It should make me even more crushed, knowing you don't feel anything anymore, knowing you left me cause I reminded you of what couldn't be. Knowing... you're over me by now. Or you wouldn't be speaking to me, again.
The recurring feeling just makes me think, and think, and think. I'm standing where you used to stand, someone else is crawling where I used to crawl. Someone who will sooner or later get up on his knees, and stand, too. Maybe you went on to running. Maybe it'll end with you soaring. And then I'll take over your running, and then in the end, we'll both have wings again, even if it's not at the same time, or in the same sky, or even in the same... universe.
I doubt any of my theories are right. I doubt any of my feelings make up for what can't be set straight by my thoughts. But I feel them anyway.
I ponder, anyway.
FJAERIL in the JAR
Saturday, April 18
Paranoia, Naivete & Dead Animals On The Road
I'm tired, a tad hungover, and paranoid, all seeming to be my normal state of mind. State of heart. Twice, maybe three times this morning I was again close to driving off the road alternatively hitting cars in the meeting traffic. Seemed like alarmingly often I happened to cross over to the wrong lane. Had to mentally slap myself and get back to focus on the road. I seriously believe my license should be taken from me; there is a danger in letting unfocused daydreamers drive around in high traffic, where you need all the focus you can get. My blurred head seems to get to me wherever I am, whatever I'm doing. I drift off, the world disappears, I'm in my dream world again.
I thought the other day, it's so much easier that way. Living in a universe you create for yourself, where you see what you want to see, where you can be what you want to be. There you can ignore the job you go to every day and that you hate, the exams you're avoiding, the heart breaks, the memories. And you choose what memories to reside in, what to dwell in. Some good ones, to love and embrace. But most of them are bad.
And why do you do it? Keep dwelling in a fantasy world where the memories you've selected for yourself aren't even fuel to keep you going in real life? I don't know, maybe I'm just too much of a dreamer, maybe too much of an artist. I know I think too much, and that it's half of my problem, half of what keeps me in this weirded out mood. Sis wanted me to go on antidepressants. I'm dead scared it'll leave me feeling nothing, without emotion, being just an empty shell. It's maybe an irrational fear but I just don't see how my solution lies in pills. In the end all medication does is ease the symptoms of the problem, not removing the cause of it.
Mum told me to misbehave instead. I'm doing a wonderful job. People should hire me for doing it really. Hell, wish I could make my living doing all those things that I already do, writing, creating, anything. Cause I'm already doing it, pay or no pay.
But I guess that's a dream and a fantasy too.
I'm tired of seeing things that aren't there. I imagine there are monsters on the road. I see them there. They're all dead, and shouldn't really be intimidating since they're just bodies, but every time they appear, they disappear again in the next second. Half the reason why I can't stay focused with my eyes on the bloody road is that I'm looking at the bloody, fucking monsters. What else can I call them? They're monsters of my mind, of my head, they aren't real, they aren't there.
I remember when watching Donnie Darko, the shrink says about him that he experiences day time hallucinations, and that it's common for people with schizophrenia. Hah. Maybe that would explain half the bit? Or maybe I'm just plain fucked up, cause I'm a writer.
I said to someone the other day they shouldn't want to stray near me. I'm an alcoholic wreck, who loves to misbehave in life, who see stuff that aren't there, I'm a mess. I constantly make bad decisions, make bad judgments, believe in the wrong people, fall for the wrong words. I'm glad that I seemingly have lost a few of my biggest sins, but there are still enough of them hovering around to weigh guiltily on my shoulders. I drink. I don't really want to, but I do. There's always a good excuse to have a beer, or a shot, or a cocktail. It's weekend, it's someone's birthday, there's a good show on TV, there's a long night of studying ahead... Anything is good enough a reason. Drinking keeps me away from the bad mood, temporarily, that is until paranoia and anxiety strikes, in the middle of the night, and I can't sleep. I'm insomniac.
I have more sins. I'm nowhere near a flawless person. I eat sugar. I feed on sugar. Without my daily dose of chocolate I don't function. I don't eat properly. I order takeout, maybe cook once a week. I sleep with my contacts still in my eyes. I stay up to 3 AM in the night time, just because it's more calming to be awake then than in the day. I sleep away every free day I should study on. I skip exams. I rather see friends than do anything even near household chores. I'm lazy. I dose myself with zombie movies and silly killing games. I skip breakfast. I pretend to smile, pretend to care. I complain about my money situation, try to save some, end up buying new hair dye instead. I talk too much when I'm nervous. I got tics in my left eye when I'm tired, and I constantly am tired, since I never sleep the way I should. I have voices in my head. I'm constantly depressed, except for when I'm in the sun, doing nothing. I got a busted knee after my dad that aches whenever I stand up for more than 2 minutes. I'm always late, everywhere I go, cause I just need to hear that song one more time... I take long meaningless drives without a purpose when I get restless, and I'm always restless. Restless but lazy! I listen to people that I shouldn't trust. Probably my biggest sin of all is when I insist to give people second chances, insist they can change, that bad things won't happen again.
My naivete is my biggest sin, and my biggest treasure.
ALL FOR NOW, says
The POET in the JAR
I thought the other day, it's so much easier that way. Living in a universe you create for yourself, where you see what you want to see, where you can be what you want to be. There you can ignore the job you go to every day and that you hate, the exams you're avoiding, the heart breaks, the memories. And you choose what memories to reside in, what to dwell in. Some good ones, to love and embrace. But most of them are bad.
And why do you do it? Keep dwelling in a fantasy world where the memories you've selected for yourself aren't even fuel to keep you going in real life? I don't know, maybe I'm just too much of a dreamer, maybe too much of an artist. I know I think too much, and that it's half of my problem, half of what keeps me in this weirded out mood. Sis wanted me to go on antidepressants. I'm dead scared it'll leave me feeling nothing, without emotion, being just an empty shell. It's maybe an irrational fear but I just don't see how my solution lies in pills. In the end all medication does is ease the symptoms of the problem, not removing the cause of it.
Mum told me to misbehave instead. I'm doing a wonderful job. People should hire me for doing it really. Hell, wish I could make my living doing all those things that I already do, writing, creating, anything. Cause I'm already doing it, pay or no pay.
But I guess that's a dream and a fantasy too.
I'm tired of seeing things that aren't there. I imagine there are monsters on the road. I see them there. They're all dead, and shouldn't really be intimidating since they're just bodies, but every time they appear, they disappear again in the next second. Half the reason why I can't stay focused with my eyes on the bloody road is that I'm looking at the bloody, fucking monsters. What else can I call them? They're monsters of my mind, of my head, they aren't real, they aren't there.
I remember when watching Donnie Darko, the shrink says about him that he experiences day time hallucinations, and that it's common for people with schizophrenia. Hah. Maybe that would explain half the bit? Or maybe I'm just plain fucked up, cause I'm a writer.
I said to someone the other day they shouldn't want to stray near me. I'm an alcoholic wreck, who loves to misbehave in life, who see stuff that aren't there, I'm a mess. I constantly make bad decisions, make bad judgments, believe in the wrong people, fall for the wrong words. I'm glad that I seemingly have lost a few of my biggest sins, but there are still enough of them hovering around to weigh guiltily on my shoulders. I drink. I don't really want to, but I do. There's always a good excuse to have a beer, or a shot, or a cocktail. It's weekend, it's someone's birthday, there's a good show on TV, there's a long night of studying ahead... Anything is good enough a reason. Drinking keeps me away from the bad mood, temporarily, that is until paranoia and anxiety strikes, in the middle of the night, and I can't sleep. I'm insomniac.
I have more sins. I'm nowhere near a flawless person. I eat sugar. I feed on sugar. Without my daily dose of chocolate I don't function. I don't eat properly. I order takeout, maybe cook once a week. I sleep with my contacts still in my eyes. I stay up to 3 AM in the night time, just because it's more calming to be awake then than in the day. I sleep away every free day I should study on. I skip exams. I rather see friends than do anything even near household chores. I'm lazy. I dose myself with zombie movies and silly killing games. I skip breakfast. I pretend to smile, pretend to care. I complain about my money situation, try to save some, end up buying new hair dye instead. I talk too much when I'm nervous. I got tics in my left eye when I'm tired, and I constantly am tired, since I never sleep the way I should. I have voices in my head. I'm constantly depressed, except for when I'm in the sun, doing nothing. I got a busted knee after my dad that aches whenever I stand up for more than 2 minutes. I'm always late, everywhere I go, cause I just need to hear that song one more time... I take long meaningless drives without a purpose when I get restless, and I'm always restless. Restless but lazy! I listen to people that I shouldn't trust. Probably my biggest sin of all is when I insist to give people second chances, insist they can change, that bad things won't happen again.
My naivete is my biggest sin, and my biggest treasure.
ALL FOR NOW, says
The POET in the JAR
Friday, April 17
Duplicate Key (Audio Video)
Okay peeps, so here's another attempt to sing you a bit. For those of you who have said my songs don't always have an upright structure, I'm hoping this will alter your opinions. It's slightly drunk and I still got a cold but I find it an at least decent sample of my singing. Otherwise, I blame everything on Al who okeyed it for publishing.
Enjoy,
POET in the JAR
PS. The lyrics have been previously posted as you probably already know and have read. DS.
Enjoy,
POET in the JAR
PS. The lyrics have been previously posted as you probably already know and have read. DS.
Misbehavior,Theatres & Hunches
Mum adviced me to misbehave myself. To listen to that mental wall that seems to have placed itself in my head, and take the hint. Ignore everything, get drunk with friends, be in the sun, stay up late, do whatever. Misbehave. I think that's not only the best advice anyone ever gave me, especially coming from my Mum; I also think I am more good at it than I would ever want to consciously admit.
I'm thinking a lot these days. Merely half the ponders come out of my head, dressed in rhymes and rhythm in songs and poems, dressed in ink when I draw. The rest is still in here, stirring, whirling around. And I came to realize something. For every time we ourselves have been deeply wounded by someone, we ourselves, in our turn, have deeply wounded someone else, accidentally or non-accidentally. Ain't that it? It's all not much but a circle, going round, round; and in the end... life is just a big theatre, love is a play set there, and during all the different acts, we play every different role of the cast.
Call it that we grow. Call it that we evolve. Maybe that we make some bad decisions, maybe that some decisions seem to be made for us, without us being able to affect it. Sometimes when we can't help it. Like someone close to me recently said, "Believe me, I don't want to feel this way". Do we ever? Aren't we always trying to win over our emotions by being rational, by trying to block things out, by trying to prove we don't care... even if we do get wounded. Even if we do hurt.
Sis said she'd teach me how to be ice cold. But if I was ice cold, it wouldn't be me. I can't help it that I'm an artist's soul. That even if there never was a promise, I still react when the bubble bursts, the bubble that I built myself in my head. Because I imagine. I take things out in advance, and imagine I know what's going to happen. And I don't. Not when I'm picturing it consciously. Only my hunches are right, and hell knows I should have learnt to listen to my hunches a long time ago.
Why is it so difficult? Just... if you have a hunch you shouldn't go somewhere, then don't? But I go anyway, convincing myself it's just a mental ghost trying to haunt me, trying to make things weirded out. The voices in my head. But almost always, when I get there, something happens, and I see the reason I had that hunch, I see the reason why I should have stayed away. And not let myself be hurt, not let myself be torn.
I've got a hunch this once as well, and I'm following it. I'm gonna start following what my guts tell me to. And even if it's one of my best friends. I just can't face that. Cause... it's a subconscious hunch. It's not a scenario that I wanted to happen, that I wanted to come true. I know what will happen if I go, because it flashed me by, and there's no use putting myself out there when I already glanced it by, already recognize it.
Dear Jess, we'll be making most of our weekend anyway in protest.
SWEETED POET in the JAR
Ps. Off to avoid an exam. Ds.
I'm thinking a lot these days. Merely half the ponders come out of my head, dressed in rhymes and rhythm in songs and poems, dressed in ink when I draw. The rest is still in here, stirring, whirling around. And I came to realize something. For every time we ourselves have been deeply wounded by someone, we ourselves, in our turn, have deeply wounded someone else, accidentally or non-accidentally. Ain't that it? It's all not much but a circle, going round, round; and in the end... life is just a big theatre, love is a play set there, and during all the different acts, we play every different role of the cast.
Call it that we grow. Call it that we evolve. Maybe that we make some bad decisions, maybe that some decisions seem to be made for us, without us being able to affect it. Sometimes when we can't help it. Like someone close to me recently said, "Believe me, I don't want to feel this way". Do we ever? Aren't we always trying to win over our emotions by being rational, by trying to block things out, by trying to prove we don't care... even if we do get wounded. Even if we do hurt.
Sis said she'd teach me how to be ice cold. But if I was ice cold, it wouldn't be me. I can't help it that I'm an artist's soul. That even if there never was a promise, I still react when the bubble bursts, the bubble that I built myself in my head. Because I imagine. I take things out in advance, and imagine I know what's going to happen. And I don't. Not when I'm picturing it consciously. Only my hunches are right, and hell knows I should have learnt to listen to my hunches a long time ago.
Why is it so difficult? Just... if you have a hunch you shouldn't go somewhere, then don't? But I go anyway, convincing myself it's just a mental ghost trying to haunt me, trying to make things weirded out. The voices in my head. But almost always, when I get there, something happens, and I see the reason I had that hunch, I see the reason why I should have stayed away. And not let myself be hurt, not let myself be torn.
I've got a hunch this once as well, and I'm following it. I'm gonna start following what my guts tell me to. And even if it's one of my best friends. I just can't face that. Cause... it's a subconscious hunch. It's not a scenario that I wanted to happen, that I wanted to come true. I know what will happen if I go, because it flashed me by, and there's no use putting myself out there when I already glanced it by, already recognize it.
Dear Jess, we'll be making most of our weekend anyway in protest.
SWEETED POET in the JAR
Ps. Off to avoid an exam. Ds.
Wednesday, April 15
Duplicate Key (You're Preaching Again)
You're preaching again
Of a world you imagine
Where all things go
by rules that you set
Where all things tick by the clock
I don't know what I believe in
I just know what I feel
Does that make me anymore real
than you?
You're preaching again
Here comes another advice
You never set foot here
Or wore my shoes, yet
You can't duplicate keys for this lock
I don't know what I believe in
I just know what I feel
Does that make me anymore real
than you?
You're preaching again
Stop the lecture, just listen
I just need your time
And not your ideals
Just imagine for once
that you know how it feels
I don't know what I believe in
I just know what I feel
Does that make me anymore real
than you?
Of a world you imagine
Where all things go
by rules that you set
Where all things tick by the clock
I don't know what I believe in
I just know what I feel
Does that make me anymore real
than you?
You're preaching again
Here comes another advice
You never set foot here
Or wore my shoes, yet
You can't duplicate keys for this lock
I don't know what I believe in
I just know what I feel
Does that make me anymore real
than you?
You're preaching again
Stop the lecture, just listen
I just need your time
And not your ideals
Just imagine for once
that you know how it feels
I don't know what I believe in
I just know what I feel
Does that make me anymore real
than you?
Wherever You Kick Out Your Trash
I've tried to be like you
To shield me off without feeling
Being cold, so that I'll live
It would help me live through it all
I've tried to go at it your way
Push emotion in front of me,
for a distant day
But I can't
You're gonna have to take me for what I am
Realize that I react to things
Even if I can't explain it
Even if I shouldn't
Discard me out your window,
wherever you kick out your trash
Just don't expect me to be thrilled about it
To shield me off without feeling
Being cold, so that I'll live
It would help me live through it all
I've tried to go at it your way
Push emotion in front of me,
for a distant day
But I can't
You're gonna have to take me for what I am
Realize that I react to things
Even if I can't explain it
Even if I shouldn't
Discard me out your window,
wherever you kick out your trash
Just don't expect me to be thrilled about it
Tears & Cries
I'm too broken to write you
Too torn to play another song
I'm tired now from driving
I drove home again alone
I'm nowhere near my lie
All I have is tears and cries
At least I'm no longer apathic
but I'm empty
I'm too shook up to hear you
Not sure if I want another word
But I want another smoke with you
Another endless hug
I'm nowhere near my lie
All I have is tears and cries
At least I'm no longer apathic
but I'm empty
Just let me know
if I should bother fighting
Too torn to play another song
I'm tired now from driving
I drove home again alone
I'm nowhere near my lie
All I have is tears and cries
At least I'm no longer apathic
but I'm empty
I'm too shook up to hear you
Not sure if I want another word
But I want another smoke with you
Another endless hug
I'm nowhere near my lie
All I have is tears and cries
At least I'm no longer apathic
but I'm empty
Just let me know
if I should bother fighting
Monday, April 13
Bad Habits And Blueprints
Here goes another bad habit,
another skin cell,
peeled off my lips
Who wants to caress someone broken
Someone with a broken heart
Here goes another bad habit,
it's how I lie
with my bleeding smile
Who believes my words aren't broken
My words are just a poet's tries
Here goes another bad habit,
another done-with-it,
another should-quit
Who wants to hold a failing promise
A promise that falters and dies
Here goes another blueprint,
another ideal
beckoning me
Who wants a broken copy
Who wants the broken me
I'm tired of pretending
And of this tired, cracking shell
I can see why you won't look at me
And there goes another skin cell
another skin cell,
peeled off my lips
Who wants to caress someone broken
Someone with a broken heart
Here goes another bad habit,
it's how I lie
with my bleeding smile
Who believes my words aren't broken
My words are just a poet's tries
Here goes another bad habit,
another done-with-it,
another should-quit
Who wants to hold a failing promise
A promise that falters and dies
Here goes another blueprint,
another ideal
beckoning me
Who wants a broken copy
Who wants the broken me
I'm tired of pretending
And of this tired, cracking shell
I can see why you won't look at me
And there goes another skin cell
Friday, April 10
Moment 22
Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22
I imagined I won the fight with you
Whatever game or contest it really was
An argument, in the emptiness
Waiting for you to say the first word
Even if it was meaningless
Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22
I dreamed I had a life with you
Whatever illusion that really was
A shiver, in the darkness
Waiting for you to retrieve me
Even if I couldn't be revived
Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22
I know I glorify you
Whatever we might have shared
A single wish, in nothingness
Both our souls broken and torn
Was it meaningless?
Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22
But I'll cling to my jaded thoughts
If they're all I have of you
They were all I ever knew
Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22
caused by you
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22
I imagined I won the fight with you
Whatever game or contest it really was
An argument, in the emptiness
Waiting for you to say the first word
Even if it was meaningless
Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22
I dreamed I had a life with you
Whatever illusion that really was
A shiver, in the darkness
Waiting for you to retrieve me
Even if I couldn't be revived
Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22
I know I glorify you
Whatever we might have shared
A single wish, in nothingness
Both our souls broken and torn
Was it meaningless?
Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22
But I'll cling to my jaded thoughts
If they're all I have of you
They were all I ever knew
Someone called it 22
Walking in circles, chasing tails
Rushing train cart
down the rails
Moment 22
caused by you
Thursday, April 9
Secret Of Me
I had to change my name again
My old one reminded of you
I got my old hair color,
staying the same
Though I wanted another dye
I wanted another try
It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me
Pressed shuffle on my music list
My old songs reminded of you
I got my old favorites,
staying the same
Though I wanted a new style
I wanted a new life
It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me
No one recognizes me anymore
And all awhile I never changed
True that I am the chameleon
But the skin that peels away
is the same
And another bunch of letters
is still my name
It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me
I can't identify with you
But I don't know who I am either
I got my old memories,
staying the same
Though I wanted other photos
I wanted other frames
It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me
My old one reminded of you
I got my old hair color,
staying the same
Though I wanted another dye
I wanted another try
It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me
Pressed shuffle on my music list
My old songs reminded of you
I got my old favorites,
staying the same
Though I wanted a new style
I wanted a new life
It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me
No one recognizes me anymore
And all awhile I never changed
True that I am the chameleon
But the skin that peels away
is the same
And another bunch of letters
is still my name
It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me
I can't identify with you
But I don't know who I am either
I got my old memories,
staying the same
Though I wanted other photos
I wanted other frames
It's easier changing what you can see
And keeping the rest a secret of me
Lonely Song Of You (Audio Video)
Okay peeps, this is what I got for now. Finally got around to doing a recording of this song, which has been ringing in my head for days now, and I really needed it out! Please excuse my somewhat sore throat and that I am not entirely up to pace throughout it (this is indeed, a very tired video). I thought at first to redo it but figured I'd probably never get around to that either.
Thanks for tuning in on me again,
POET in the GLASS JAR
Thanks for tuning in on me again,
POET in the GLASS JAR
Wednesday, April 8
Hourglass
Still sore from my bleeding eyes
Staring at this emptiness
At this nothing
I wish I had inner eyelids
to shield me with
It's overwhelming
They say love blinds you
And it's true
Afterwards
No first aid kit in my sight
I'd need another patch-up, please
Cold wounds
I wish I had someone here
to shield me
You're overwhelming
They say love blinds you
And it's true
Afterwards
The emptiness you left me with
Is here, around my every wall
They say hearts blind you
And they do
Afterwards
I'd rather hope for your passion again
Than knowing it's gone
I'm nothing but an hour glass
And time ticking on
They say love blinds you
And it's true
Afterwards
Staring at this emptiness
At this nothing
I wish I had inner eyelids
to shield me with
It's overwhelming
They say love blinds you
And it's true
Afterwards
No first aid kit in my sight
I'd need another patch-up, please
Cold wounds
I wish I had someone here
to shield me
You're overwhelming
They say love blinds you
And it's true
Afterwards
The emptiness you left me with
Is here, around my every wall
They say hearts blind you
And they do
Afterwards
I'd rather hope for your passion again
Than knowing it's gone
I'm nothing but an hour glass
And time ticking on
They say love blinds you
And it's true
Afterwards
Tuesday, April 7
Millisecond
I don't want to die. Actually, I'm scared of anything having to do with it. Even the five letter word itself. D, E, A, T, H. Just normal letters until they're grouped together, until they actually mean something. A memory, an empty space. Something that wasn't usually here. Something that used to be here, that has gone.
Maybe I'm just morbid. Maybe I watched too much of Tim Burton's, looked too many times at gothic girls, dreamt one too many nightmares. Maybe it's the writer's vein in me, pouring open at any given moment, subconsciously. And maybe I shouldn't be giving it the attention it craves for. Maybe if I ignored it it'd go away.
I keep imagining that I die. I picture who will go to my funeral. Who will find me. If it's an accident or not. Just the way I'd look when I left here. What my last thought would be. If I'd be alone. If I would be the only one to go. If there's anyone who would freeze and be totally stuck in their own lives without me. How it'd look if everyone comforted eachother.
Since my car was off the road a while ago, at least one compulsive little behavior of me has come to a stop. I know what it's like to drive off, how it sounds like, what goes through your head, how god damn scared you are, like a chill, placing a firm hand over your heart, in a manner of seconds. And it goes so fast, you never know what's coming, you never know what hit you. All you do is get scared
(Just a millisecond's thought of you.)
and then you've lost control. And you thought of letting go a thousand times before, you thought of letting that old steering wheel just spin, take you wherever it might, left, right, death, fright... and still when I was finally there, I panicked, it was too early. And I realized I couldn't do anything. I was already spinning out of control, and I hadn't gotten to decide it, hadn't gotten to choose it myself.
I don't want to die.
Can't I just let go of this?
Haven't had these dreams and imageries for a very, very long time.
FJAERIL in the POETIC JAR
Maybe I'm just morbid. Maybe I watched too much of Tim Burton's, looked too many times at gothic girls, dreamt one too many nightmares. Maybe it's the writer's vein in me, pouring open at any given moment, subconsciously. And maybe I shouldn't be giving it the attention it craves for. Maybe if I ignored it it'd go away.
I keep imagining that I die. I picture who will go to my funeral. Who will find me. If it's an accident or not. Just the way I'd look when I left here. What my last thought would be. If I'd be alone. If I would be the only one to go. If there's anyone who would freeze and be totally stuck in their own lives without me. How it'd look if everyone comforted eachother.
Since my car was off the road a while ago, at least one compulsive little behavior of me has come to a stop. I know what it's like to drive off, how it sounds like, what goes through your head, how god damn scared you are, like a chill, placing a firm hand over your heart, in a manner of seconds. And it goes so fast, you never know what's coming, you never know what hit you. All you do is get scared
(Just a millisecond's thought of you.)
and then you've lost control. And you thought of letting go a thousand times before, you thought of letting that old steering wheel just spin, take you wherever it might, left, right, death, fright... and still when I was finally there, I panicked, it was too early. And I realized I couldn't do anything. I was already spinning out of control, and I hadn't gotten to decide it, hadn't gotten to choose it myself.
I don't want to die.
Can't I just let go of this?
Haven't had these dreams and imageries for a very, very long time.
FJAERIL in the POETIC JAR
Monday, April 6
Grow Our Thorns Elsewhere
Who will be the flower
clinging around your skull?
Thousands of thorns,
and they're stinging you
And I'll only ever be
Poisonous ivy
I'm more of the eight ball,
cryptical as hell
Everything you could guess
And a blind man could tell
But you don't need my advice
You live your life well
I have to grow my thorns elsewhere
Who will be the flower
clinging around your skull?
Thousands of thorns,
and they're stinging you
And I'll only ever be
Poisonous ivy
I'm more of a phone call,
on a noisy line
You would already know
what's on my mind
You're searching for reasons
I'm undefined
You have to grow your thorns elsewhere
Who will be the flower
clinging around your skull?
Thousands of thorns,
and they're stinging you
And I'll only ever be
Poisonous ivy
Better we stay this way
You're the skull and I'm the snake
None of us beautifully sleeping
None of us awake
We have to grow our thorns elsewhere
________________________________
I wrote this song inspired by a tattoo draft my sis found, as you might have guessed one of old school type. Almost all old school things came into these lyrics, except maybe an Ace of spades, Satan or a sailor girl? Either way this is the result, meant to be read metaphorically. But you most likely got that already. Somehow this one really seems to have a special meaning to me.
I'll be doing an audio video of my last posted song during the week, stay tuned for it.
FJAERIL in the JAR
clinging around your skull?
Thousands of thorns,
and they're stinging you
And I'll only ever be
Poisonous ivy
I'm more of the eight ball,
cryptical as hell
Everything you could guess
And a blind man could tell
But you don't need my advice
You live your life well
I have to grow my thorns elsewhere
Who will be the flower
clinging around your skull?
Thousands of thorns,
and they're stinging you
And I'll only ever be
Poisonous ivy
I'm more of a phone call,
on a noisy line
You would already know
what's on my mind
You're searching for reasons
I'm undefined
You have to grow your thorns elsewhere
Who will be the flower
clinging around your skull?
Thousands of thorns,
and they're stinging you
And I'll only ever be
Poisonous ivy
Better we stay this way
You're the skull and I'm the snake
None of us beautifully sleeping
None of us awake
We have to grow our thorns elsewhere
________________________________
I wrote this song inspired by a tattoo draft my sis found, as you might have guessed one of old school type. Almost all old school things came into these lyrics, except maybe an Ace of spades, Satan or a sailor girl? Either way this is the result, meant to be read metaphorically. But you most likely got that already. Somehow this one really seems to have a special meaning to me.
I'll be doing an audio video of my last posted song during the week, stay tuned for it.
FJAERIL in the JAR
Sunday, April 5
Not Even With My Car Keys In My Pocket
At first you were my companion
Taking me through all my times
Good times and the bad ones
Then you left for bigger things
And grew small instead
Half of you faded,
I was dead
I've got you close here again
Living the way we should
Even if this is far from what we wanted
or what we could
I've got you back, sister
I don't want to lose you again
Why can't we look in eachother's eyes?
Why can't we understand?
We whisper screaming past eachother
Convinced the other one never bothers
I took my jacket and ran out of this door
Out of this place
realizing
I had nowhere to go
Not even with my car keys, in my pocket
And you ran after me
And we cried
Both of our lives are dying
But hell knows we never stopped trying
Taking me through all my times
Good times and the bad ones
Then you left for bigger things
And grew small instead
Half of you faded,
I was dead
I've got you close here again
Living the way we should
Even if this is far from what we wanted
or what we could
I've got you back, sister
I don't want to lose you again
Why can't we look in eachother's eyes?
Why can't we understand?
We whisper screaming past eachother
Convinced the other one never bothers
I took my jacket and ran out of this door
Out of this place
realizing
I had nowhere to go
Not even with my car keys, in my pocket
And you ran after me
And we cried
Both of our lives are dying
But hell knows we never stopped trying
Saturday, April 4
Every Knot
Again I spilled all my heart to you
All of the darkness, all of the pieces
Everything that makes me
I see
Again I told you everything
Every knot that tied my throat
Everything that weighed on me
Ouch
Nothing holds any meaning to you
Nothing I say matters
All you want is what you find in my looks
In my voice
I'm not what you're looking for
I see
The only thing you'll ever reply
And I'll have spilt my heart out for you
for nothing
All of the darkness, all of the pieces
Everything that makes me
I see
Again I told you everything
Every knot that tied my throat
Everything that weighed on me
Ouch
Nothing holds any meaning to you
Nothing I say matters
All you want is what you find in my looks
In my voice
I'm not what you're looking for
I see
The only thing you'll ever reply
And I'll have spilt my heart out for you
for nothing
Friday, April 3
Lonely Song Of You
And so I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well
Our melody has died away from here
long ago, it's been a long while
And our memory is dying too
long ago, it has taken time
And so I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well
I fought for you, I fought over you
Trying to keep a grain of sanity
And nothing seemed to make sense
I lost most things in the storm
And it has taken time
So I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well
What did I ask of you?
What did you take from me?
I was robbed of a feeling that used to be my own
What were we, really?
It was insanity
And I cannot retrace my steps
if they'll lead me to you
And so I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well
This lonely song of you
that you will never hear
___________________________
A recording of this song will be up shortly.
FJAERIL in the JAR
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well
Our melody has died away from here
long ago, it's been a long while
And our memory is dying too
long ago, it has taken time
And so I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well
I fought for you, I fought over you
Trying to keep a grain of sanity
And nothing seemed to make sense
I lost most things in the storm
And it has taken time
So I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well
What did I ask of you?
What did you take from me?
I was robbed of a feeling that used to be my own
What were we, really?
It was insanity
And I cannot retrace my steps
if they'll lead me to you
And so I'm singing
this lonely song of you
that you will never hear
And so I'm clinging
on to the remnants of us
And I'm not doing well
With this straw
I'm not doing well
This lonely song of you
that you will never hear
___________________________
A recording of this song will be up shortly.
FJAERIL in the JAR
Thursday, April 2
Racing Heart, Obstructed Lung
What do I do with this racing heart?
With this obstructed lung?
With this breath I can't control
With you
Always I'll try forgetting you
Try not to stay another second
in your arms
The only place
safe
I just want to be myself around you
To laugh like in the golden days
When we'd say the same things
At the same time
and joke it away
But I'm different
You made me change
And I lost myself around you
What do I do with this shivering voice?
Suddenly I can't even sing around you
Every time my voice breaks
With the pace of my racing heart
The clutter of my obstructed lung
This breath I can't control
With you
My voice breaks
around you
With this obstructed lung?
With this breath I can't control
With you
Always I'll try forgetting you
Try not to stay another second
in your arms
The only place
safe
I just want to be myself around you
To laugh like in the golden days
When we'd say the same things
At the same time
and joke it away
But I'm different
You made me change
And I lost myself around you
What do I do with this shivering voice?
Suddenly I can't even sing around you
Every time my voice breaks
With the pace of my racing heart
The clutter of my obstructed lung
This breath I can't control
With you
My voice breaks
around you
Wednesday, April 1
Beautiful Scar
I wish I was still angry with you
That I'd still want to throw my words
and my rocks
I'd want to make you perish
The way I disappeared
long ago
I wish I could do something
But I'm mesmerized, again
You cast that rope out and pull me in
I wish you never whispered to me
That all the screaming had died out
I wish I could wish for other things
Maybe that I'd never ran into you
Maybe that some of the pain gone away
But then I wouldn't have had this beautiful scar
Where you rubbed your salt in
And made me disappear
long ago
That I'd still want to throw my words
and my rocks
I'd want to make you perish
The way I disappeared
long ago
I wish I could do something
But I'm mesmerized, again
You cast that rope out and pull me in
I wish you never whispered to me
That all the screaming had died out
I wish I could wish for other things
Maybe that I'd never ran into you
Maybe that some of the pain gone away
But then I wouldn't have had this beautiful scar
Where you rubbed your salt in
And made me disappear
long ago
Emergency Flare
I'm stranded here
Last emergency flare gone out
Last sparks of green on that veil
of sky
I have signalled in the dark for you
You've been blinded by the stars
And I was blinded by assuming
I knew who you were
These sails were set long ago
There's been no wind in them for long
I don't know what to do with this sudden draft
There is no image here of you
No faltering photograph to hold on to
I owe nothing to your memory
You owe everything, to me
Last emergency flare gone out
Last sparks of green on that veil
of sky
I have signalled in the dark for you
You've been blinded by the stars
And I was blinded by assuming
I knew who you were
These sails were set long ago
There's been no wind in them for long
I don't know what to do with this sudden draft
There is no image here of you
No faltering photograph to hold on to
I owe nothing to your memory
You owe everything, to me
Tuesday, March 31
My Vulture
Why am I so obsessed with you?
Your darkness isn't good for me
Drowning for you
Drowning in you
This sea is towering high above me
This castle too dark for me to climb
I watch from the bottom
of the bottomless well
You circle above me
You always were my vulture
I always died for you
You're waiting for me to fall
so that you can feast
I've been waiting for my fall
so that I can rest
Take every last bit and piece of me
That I hadn't already devoted you
Drive the cross through my heart,
like you already crossed my mind
Like you crossed my soul
Why am I so obsessed with you?
I'm a prisoner without a goal
Yet I'd rather die here in chains for you
Than trying to set myself free
You are the only free I'll know
Your darkness isn't good for me
Drowning for you
Drowning in you
This sea is towering high above me
This castle too dark for me to climb
I watch from the bottom
of the bottomless well
You circle above me
You always were my vulture
I always died for you
You're waiting for me to fall
so that you can feast
I've been waiting for my fall
so that I can rest
Take every last bit and piece of me
That I hadn't already devoted you
Drive the cross through my heart,
like you already crossed my mind
Like you crossed my soul
Why am I so obsessed with you?
I'm a prisoner without a goal
Yet I'd rather die here in chains for you
Than trying to set myself free
You are the only free I'll know
Monday, March 30
A Woven Darkly?
I think I've fallen in love with my main character, once again. It keeps surprising me how he can be so goddamn dark, and yet express himself in such poetic ways; I think to myself I must have been drunk or stoned when I caught particular phrases out of thin air, guiding them to paper. Woven, that's his name, weaved by drops of dew in a vast ocean, weaved together by various fears and wonders, dark, dark, dark. A Woven Darkly should maybe the correct subtitle to either one of the novels?
Anyway. He simply says some things that seem to amaze me, and I wrote the damn thing. Once again I think to myself that writers don't actually write the books, only channel stories to paper. That is how I am still surprised by what happens, how I am still moved by what they feel, by how they're thinking.
There's so goddamn much of me in these pages. Half my heart and soul gone to them. Rest in peace, piece! I feel like a real novelist, and for once perhaps one that will never die.
Long live melancholy and darkness. Long live noir!
FJAERIL in the NOVELIST JAR
Anyway. He simply says some things that seem to amaze me, and I wrote the damn thing. Once again I think to myself that writers don't actually write the books, only channel stories to paper. That is how I am still surprised by what happens, how I am still moved by what they feel, by how they're thinking.
There's so goddamn much of me in these pages. Half my heart and soul gone to them. Rest in peace, piece! I feel like a real novelist, and for once perhaps one that will never die.
Long live melancholy and darkness. Long live noir!
FJAERIL in the NOVELIST JAR
No Sidewalks Will Dry
I find it strange
that you are here, again
In the pools of rain
That you left me in
No sidewalks will dry
No wrongs will be right
I'm done with agony
I want your empathy
Pull your strings on me,
I'm your doll
You can play me by your fingers,
by your hands
I've tried to break loose
and become someone else
But without you I was nothing,
Even less, in the end
I find that strangely
I ran out of pain
I sang my refrain
That you left me in
No sidewalks will dry
No wrongs will be right
I'm done with blasphemy
I want your sympathy
Pull your strings on me,
I'm your doll
You can play me by your fingers,
by your hands
I've tried to break loose
and become someone else
But without you I was nothing,
Even less, in the end
No sidewalks will dry
I'll still be in the pools of rain
Pulling you with me down the drain
that you are here, again
In the pools of rain
That you left me in
No sidewalks will dry
No wrongs will be right
I'm done with agony
I want your empathy
Pull your strings on me,
I'm your doll
You can play me by your fingers,
by your hands
I've tried to break loose
and become someone else
But without you I was nothing,
Even less, in the end
I find that strangely
I ran out of pain
I sang my refrain
That you left me in
No sidewalks will dry
No wrongs will be right
I'm done with blasphemy
I want your sympathy
Pull your strings on me,
I'm your doll
You can play me by your fingers,
by your hands
I've tried to break loose
and become someone else
But without you I was nothing,
Even less, in the end
No sidewalks will dry
I'll still be in the pools of rain
Pulling you with me down the drain
Sunday, March 29
Light, Kites, Currents
Why are we so fascinated by the light...? When we know it will draw us in, blind us, rob us of our judgment skills, rob us of our everything. Why are we drawn to the sun? When we know we are safer in the dark, where we're invisible, where the cold is all around us, and hence won't touch us... Why do we peer up to the sky, trying to close our eyes, but we seem unable to... We let ourselves be drawn in, we let ourselves be caught, and again we're drifting in those currents, again we're letting ourselves fly with the dangerous kites. For a moment just to lift from the ground, without once thinking that kite will drop us twice as hard to hit the ground.
FJAERIL in the JAR
FJAERIL in the JAR
Saturday, March 28
No More Lies
Maybe this time I didn't dress up.
Maybe this once, there was no disguise.
Maybe, this is plain me, no more lies.
Someone throws a glass bottle,
Someone is thrown across the floor.
All I know is that I'm shielding you,
That I'm pulling you away.
Can you tell this love
from other love?
You're not just anyone
That I really care of
I'll take you to another place,
Walk the pavement with you.
Hug you in the rain,
hoping to see you again,
Tomorrow.
What makes this love different
from other love?
You're not just anyone
That I really care of
I can't put my finger on you.
Why people see us together.
But where I'm the shadow you're the light.
I don't see myself without you, ever.
Can you tell this love
from other love?
You're not just anyone
I really care of
You're more than a friend to me
More than a sibling or a lover
You're everything that's still left
to discover
Can you tell this love
from other love?
You're not just anyone
I really care of
_______________________________
Jessie, you have meant the world to me.
You have inspired for this song.
I love you.
FJAERIL in the JAR
Maybe this once, there was no disguise.
Maybe, this is plain me, no more lies.
Someone throws a glass bottle,
Someone is thrown across the floor.
All I know is that I'm shielding you,
That I'm pulling you away.
Can you tell this love
from other love?
You're not just anyone
That I really care of
I'll take you to another place,
Walk the pavement with you.
Hug you in the rain,
hoping to see you again,
Tomorrow.
What makes this love different
from other love?
You're not just anyone
That I really care of
I can't put my finger on you.
Why people see us together.
But where I'm the shadow you're the light.
I don't see myself without you, ever.
Can you tell this love
from other love?
You're not just anyone
I really care of
You're more than a friend to me
More than a sibling or a lover
You're everything that's still left
to discover
Can you tell this love
from other love?
You're not just anyone
I really care of
_______________________________
Jessie, you have meant the world to me.
You have inspired for this song.
I love you.
FJAERIL in the JAR
Friday, March 27
Number 9
I held a vision of you in my arms
A dream of a memory
Of what used to be
I held something here,
that resembled you
A breath, a sound, a whisper
And I remembered you
I held a blur of you, swirling by
Something I knew
A part of you
I held something here,
that reminded me
A breath, a sound, a whisper
That'll never be
You broke me like a china plate
Made me anxious, and desolate
I'm in line as number 9,
after the first eight
I'm done with us
I held a shard of you in my hands
A piece of horizon,
a thirteenth chance
I held something here,
that resembled us
A breath, a sound, a whisper
And I remembered us
I'm done with your breath
With the sound of your absent voice
Done with whispers of your death
When both of us died
Couldn't you have stayed quiet and lied?
A dream of a memory
Of what used to be
I held something here,
that resembled you
A breath, a sound, a whisper
And I remembered you
I held a blur of you, swirling by
Something I knew
A part of you
I held something here,
that reminded me
A breath, a sound, a whisper
That'll never be
You broke me like a china plate
Made me anxious, and desolate
I'm in line as number 9,
after the first eight
I'm done with us
I held a shard of you in my hands
A piece of horizon,
a thirteenth chance
I held something here,
that resembled us
A breath, a sound, a whisper
And I remembered us
I'm done with your breath
With the sound of your absent voice
Done with whispers of your death
When both of us died
Couldn't you have stayed quiet and lied?
Saturday, March 21
I Even Took To Studying Lately
They're everywhere! It's like they're invading or something, or at least they're invading my mind. It's like when you could have gotten a dog and never did get one, you suddenly see people with dogs everywhere, taking walks, playing around, fetching toys, buying food; whatever is normal activities during the day for a person-with-dog. I'm not implying people are in fact dogs, or that the main reason to match up with a partner is to have them fetch toys and feed them (although the playing around part seems to be vital), however, the thought is the same.
I'm lonely, and everywhere there are the happy couples, like they're popping out to me from the crowd and looking at me saying things like, "You're insignificant", "You don't got what I got", "You're a failure", "You'll always be lonely"...
Truth is, for a long time, I didn't mind being lonely. Or rather alone. I didn't feel much lonely. That has been my way in life, always being on my own, and there's an artistic part of me that enjoys it. That likes isolation, that likes emptiness. If I am given enough space my creativity will always start to flourish, will always start to bloom. And a little space never hurt nobody (even if it's just an hour, in your room, doors closed; without, for once, anyone barging in wanting to borrow your PC, wanting help with their own PC, or just for you to join in on watching the latest Top 10 Sexiest Beach Bodies! on E! Entertainment Channel). Does it matter if that creativity comes out of bad things?
Quite the opposite... as always, the most beautiful and touching comes out of what is most miserable, and unhappy... something that never was, that should have been, something that never should have happened but did. And why? Because we know ourselves in flaws. We know ourselves as all but perfect. What reminds us that we're human, reminds us we're alive, reminds us we're all mortal.
I'm so antisocial right now, can't really face being with anyone. Since I redecorated my room I've just stayed in here, barely gone out. Everyone living here is complaining that I don't socialize and I'm just too tired to care. I even took to studying lately just to get a good excuse to isolate myself. Very rare! Right now music seems to be my only friend. I don't know why that is.
I feel weirded out cause I'm tired of no one being here and yet I can't seem to look anyone straight in the face. Want to come clean of every lie, ever told. And clear your charm of me.
FJAERIL in the PUZZLED POET JAR
I'm lonely, and everywhere there are the happy couples, like they're popping out to me from the crowd and looking at me saying things like, "You're insignificant", "You don't got what I got", "You're a failure", "You'll always be lonely"...
Truth is, for a long time, I didn't mind being lonely. Or rather alone. I didn't feel much lonely. That has been my way in life, always being on my own, and there's an artistic part of me that enjoys it. That likes isolation, that likes emptiness. If I am given enough space my creativity will always start to flourish, will always start to bloom. And a little space never hurt nobody (even if it's just an hour, in your room, doors closed; without, for once, anyone barging in wanting to borrow your PC, wanting help with their own PC, or just for you to join in on watching the latest Top 10 Sexiest Beach Bodies! on E! Entertainment Channel). Does it matter if that creativity comes out of bad things?
Quite the opposite... as always, the most beautiful and touching comes out of what is most miserable, and unhappy... something that never was, that should have been, something that never should have happened but did. And why? Because we know ourselves in flaws. We know ourselves as all but perfect. What reminds us that we're human, reminds us we're alive, reminds us we're all mortal.
I'm so antisocial right now, can't really face being with anyone. Since I redecorated my room I've just stayed in here, barely gone out. Everyone living here is complaining that I don't socialize and I'm just too tired to care. I even took to studying lately just to get a good excuse to isolate myself. Very rare! Right now music seems to be my only friend. I don't know why that is.
I feel weirded out cause I'm tired of no one being here and yet I can't seem to look anyone straight in the face. Want to come clean of every lie, ever told. And clear your charm of me.
FJAERIL in the PUZZLED POET JAR
Friday, March 20
Ghost Waiting
Why I am I still here?
Ashtray is full.
Air is cold.
I breathe puffs of smoke,
Waiting for you.
You're never here.
Why am I still waiting?
It's dark.
Lamp posts gone lit.
I'm in the dark,
Waiting for you.
You never get here.
Why did I walk you home
when you stumbled?
Why didn't I just leave you?
You would have done well,
Lying in that ditch,
Lying was your trade.
Why am I here?
Head full of traffic.
Bottle drank, and empty.
I don't breathe at all,
Waiting for you.
You'll never leave there.
I'm a ghost waiting
Waiting for you to die
Just as I
Ashtray is full.
Air is cold.
I breathe puffs of smoke,
Waiting for you.
You're never here.
Why am I still waiting?
It's dark.
Lamp posts gone lit.
I'm in the dark,
Waiting for you.
You never get here.
Why did I walk you home
when you stumbled?
Why didn't I just leave you?
You would have done well,
Lying in that ditch,
Lying was your trade.
Why am I here?
Head full of traffic.
Bottle drank, and empty.
I don't breathe at all,
Waiting for you.
You'll never leave there.
I'm a ghost waiting
Waiting for you to die
Just as I
Drop Me Again
Suddenly you're curious
When I've given up on you
When I'm in my car,
waiting for you,
waiting to cry
About you
Suddenly you're here again
Though you gave up on me
You're holding me,
releasing me,
seeing me
Without you
Suddenly you're curious
When it's too late for us
When I'm in my car,
waiting for you
Knowing what stalls you
Your curiosity means nothing
You already left me here
Don't try to pick me up
I know you'll just drop me again
You'll drop me again
When I've given up on you
When I'm in my car,
waiting for you,
waiting to cry
About you
Suddenly you're here again
Though you gave up on me
You're holding me,
releasing me,
seeing me
Without you
Suddenly you're curious
When it's too late for us
When I'm in my car,
waiting for you
Knowing what stalls you
Your curiosity means nothing
You already left me here
Don't try to pick me up
I know you'll just drop me again
You'll drop me again
Wednesday, March 18
Temporary Mercy
Because you can.
Because something happens to you.
You feel powerful. Immortal.
It's a gun you hold to someone's head.
With a solid clench of someone's heart.
Maybe you never realize.
You could have killed me, long ago.
And left your grand plans for nothing.
I try not to listen to you,
my hand straying to your cheek.
My beaten hand.
Your words don't matter.
I imagine they're something else
that I see in your voice.
I imagine that gun is fear.
And your clench isn't really here.
In your eyes is nothing.
That mercy you show me
is temporary
and irrelevant, to me.
You keep me alive, beaten.
Because you can
Because something happens to you
You feel powerful
Because something happens to you.
You feel powerful. Immortal.
It's a gun you hold to someone's head.
With a solid clench of someone's heart.
Maybe you never realize.
You could have killed me, long ago.
And left your grand plans for nothing.
I try not to listen to you,
my hand straying to your cheek.
My beaten hand.
Your words don't matter.
I imagine they're something else
that I see in your voice.
I imagine that gun is fear.
And your clench isn't really here.
In your eyes is nothing.
That mercy you show me
is temporary
and irrelevant, to me.
You keep me alive, beaten.
Because you can
Because something happens to you
You feel powerful
Tuesday, March 17
Still Riding That Wave
What happened to me? I skipped the actual exam today (although it seems my classmates did the same!) and headed straight for the retake in one month's time. And strangely, after that, I felt much more at ease, and studied 2 hours straight without any troubles at all. With this pace I'll have nailed this area quickly, hoping it will stick with me. Believe me if you will, but after two years at the uni previous of this, I believe I got quite good at assessing myself, and had there been any chance to pass this I would have given it a go.
But everyone is faulty, right? Or we wouldn't be human. Can't do more than my best.
Either way, strangely happy about this day. Still riding on that wave of being a novelist.
FJAERIL in the JAR
But everyone is faulty, right? Or we wouldn't be human. Can't do more than my best.
Either way, strangely happy about this day. Still riding on that wave of being a novelist.
FJAERIL in the JAR
The Doll Of You
What do I need to know of you
to forget what I ever knew?
With a trembling curious shiver
Can I let go of you?
I kept the doll of you clenched in my heart
After your soul had long since gone
I kept using you as comfort and a cover
Even as I faded to you
And became no one
What do I need to know of you
to forget what I ever knew?
With a trembling curious shiver
Can I let go of you?
I kept speaking to you without answers
My voice still rang from these walls
I hid inside your memory, took cover
My ghosts returned to me
Scared, alone and cold
What do I need to know of you
to forget what I ever knew?
With a trembling curious shiver
Can I let go of you?
Whoever you were
I kept loving you when you hated me
Stayed awake, you sedated me
You belated me
What do I need to know of you
to forget what I ever knew?
Maybe you always were no one, like me
Maybe there's no difference to see
What do I need to forget?
to forget what I ever knew?
With a trembling curious shiver
Can I let go of you?
I kept the doll of you clenched in my heart
After your soul had long since gone
I kept using you as comfort and a cover
Even as I faded to you
And became no one
What do I need to know of you
to forget what I ever knew?
With a trembling curious shiver
Can I let go of you?
I kept speaking to you without answers
My voice still rang from these walls
I hid inside your memory, took cover
My ghosts returned to me
Scared, alone and cold
What do I need to know of you
to forget what I ever knew?
With a trembling curious shiver
Can I let go of you?
Whoever you were
I kept loving you when you hated me
Stayed awake, you sedated me
You belated me
What do I need to know of you
to forget what I ever knew?
Maybe you always were no one, like me
Maybe there's no difference to see
What do I need to forget?
Monday, March 16
More Than Everything
That's right. It's 5.26 AM in my room, and I just wrote down the last three lines of my second novel, More Than Everything. Since August, dear novel, you have dwelled between your tragic predecessor, and your dramatic heir. In between you were, cronologically, although still you've held the most meaning in my eyes, and the most wisdom. Maybe that's because we are built that way. It isn't the goal that matters but the journey that takes us there.
A few quotes from the novel, to round this longed-for post off with:
I would conjure to my heart illusions of what I most desired, reliving every moment as a fragile fragment, a broken shard.
Time does not heal every scar. But every scar, even as healed, will be our remembrance of the pain that caused them.
A world, made to escape another world.
GREETZ
The NOVELIST in the JAR
A few quotes from the novel, to round this longed-for post off with:
I would conjure to my heart illusions of what I most desired, reliving every moment as a fragile fragment, a broken shard.
Time does not heal every scar. But every scar, even as healed, will be our remembrance of the pain that caused them.
A world, made to escape another world.
GREETZ
The NOVELIST in the JAR
Sunday, March 15
Back Side Of The Moon
I'm anxious again
When I've come home
From walking the pavement, alone
I'm postdrunk and anxious
I'm let down again
Even though I knew
You wouldn't open the door to my room
You're poststoned and depressed
I'm lonely and undressed
I never saw you,
at the back side of the moon
when I ventured there
I don't know what I expected to see
but there was only a mirror image of me
And your eyes didn't shift with mine
I'm anxious again
When finally I'm there
Been walking the pavement, lonely
And your eyes didn't shift with mine
When I've come home
From walking the pavement, alone
I'm postdrunk and anxious
I'm let down again
Even though I knew
You wouldn't open the door to my room
You're poststoned and depressed
I'm lonely and undressed
I never saw you,
at the back side of the moon
when I ventured there
I don't know what I expected to see
but there was only a mirror image of me
And your eyes didn't shift with mine
I'm anxious again
When finally I'm there
Been walking the pavement, lonely
And your eyes didn't shift with mine
Friday, March 13
Surrender Your Memory
I decided to fucking forget you already
I'd start over somewhere else
With pages blank and empty to fill
With other emotions and feelings to kill
I decided I'd stop fucking dreaming of you
Although I never wanted or asked of it to
Maybe in the emptiness left I'd sleep
Maybe in the emptiness there'd be something
I decided to fucking let go of you already
I'd never speak a word of you again
Pretending my voice isn't already sore
I went from a scream to a whisper
I won't remember who I did it for
If I leave you be, will you leave me?
I surrender your memory
Everything that never made us
I decided I wouldn't believe in your lies
I'd see nothing of what I see in your eyes
And the broken whispers wouldn't be told
The whispered promises wouldn't hold
I decided to fucking drown you already
Like you already smothered me
Or if it sounds like more of a thing I would do
I'll write another song of you
I decided to stop fucking writing of you
If I leave you be, will you leave me?
I surrender your memory
Everything that never made us
I won't remember who I did it for
I decided to fucking forget you
I don't remember
any more
I'd start over somewhere else
With pages blank and empty to fill
With other emotions and feelings to kill
I decided I'd stop fucking dreaming of you
Although I never wanted or asked of it to
Maybe in the emptiness left I'd sleep
Maybe in the emptiness there'd be something
I decided to fucking let go of you already
I'd never speak a word of you again
Pretending my voice isn't already sore
I went from a scream to a whisper
I won't remember who I did it for
If I leave you be, will you leave me?
I surrender your memory
Everything that never made us
I decided I wouldn't believe in your lies
I'd see nothing of what I see in your eyes
And the broken whispers wouldn't be told
The whispered promises wouldn't hold
I decided to fucking drown you already
Like you already smothered me
Or if it sounds like more of a thing I would do
I'll write another song of you
I decided to stop fucking writing of you
If I leave you be, will you leave me?
I surrender your memory
Everything that never made us
I won't remember who I did it for
I decided to fucking forget you
I don't remember
any more
Try To Work, Try To Function
I'm tired of dreaming, dreaming of you... tired of having to wake. Tired of never being free. And no one really gets me? I am told I'm wasting my time, I am told I spend everything on pleasures, I am told I'm cheap, I am told I'm not trying hard enough, school and work I should manage, what's wrong with me?
Yeah. I don't really wonder what's wrong with me. I know it's not in any way sane trying to head up at 150 percent, constantly, all the time. Pleasures? C'mon, for fuck sake. I'm just trying to cling on to this life, to this existence, where I'm nothing, really, without you. And I don't want to be. I try to be independent, and I try to work, I try to function; try to be that someone, try to find comfort in words, all I fucking do is trying, and it's never enough...
One more day of these and I promise you fellas, I'm gonna fucking crash.
Hitting the wall some time crucially soon,
POET in the JAR
Yeah. I don't really wonder what's wrong with me. I know it's not in any way sane trying to head up at 150 percent, constantly, all the time. Pleasures? C'mon, for fuck sake. I'm just trying to cling on to this life, to this existence, where I'm nothing, really, without you. And I don't want to be. I try to be independent, and I try to work, I try to function; try to be that someone, try to find comfort in words, all I fucking do is trying, and it's never enough...
One more day of these and I promise you fellas, I'm gonna fucking crash.
Hitting the wall some time crucially soon,
POET in the JAR
Wednesday, March 11
In My Delusion
Who am I in the eyes of you?
Am I real, when you're looking back at me?
Once I was part of your hunger,
and part of your pain,
I was the sting at your finger
Am I real, would you know?
Even as I passed you by, or told you so
I have a different story than you
I fell with your rain,
I was the stone to drown you
I'm defined by what I sense
Reassured, and in a trance
But I'm never safe in my delusion
I speak to you, in a whisper
Would you tell it from a scream?
Could you tell your whispering memories
From what happened in a dream?
Were you ever real, to me
I'm defined by what I sense
Reassured, and in a trance
But I'm never safe in my delusion
Projected on the world
Who are you, in my eyes?
Are you real, when you're looking back at me?
You're only what I know of you
And what I assign you to be
I'm defined by what I sense
Reassured, and in a trance
But I'm never safe in my delusion
Projected on the world
Am I real, when you're looking back at me?
Once I was part of your hunger,
and part of your pain,
I was the sting at your finger
Am I real, would you know?
Even as I passed you by, or told you so
I have a different story than you
I fell with your rain,
I was the stone to drown you
I'm defined by what I sense
Reassured, and in a trance
But I'm never safe in my delusion
I speak to you, in a whisper
Would you tell it from a scream?
Could you tell your whispering memories
From what happened in a dream?
Were you ever real, to me
I'm defined by what I sense
Reassured, and in a trance
But I'm never safe in my delusion
Projected on the world
Who are you, in my eyes?
Are you real, when you're looking back at me?
You're only what I know of you
And what I assign you to be
I'm defined by what I sense
Reassured, and in a trance
But I'm never safe in my delusion
Projected on the world
Monday, March 9
They All Say (Audio Video)
Another song up for you, I chose out of those that were fairly recent. They All Say is a song about feeling weak, when everyone else believes you're strong. Thank you for listening.
POET in the JAR
POET in the JAR
Saturday, March 7
Mimicing Romance
I don't know who you are anymore,
and you don't really know me
Both of us grew anonymous,
head over heels with free
I thought I was somehow special
You fed my makebelieve
Again, there it is,
and I hide away and leave
Trying to safekeep
just a little part of me
Again, there it is,
you take your every chance
Kill me again, with something
mimicing romance
I gone lost in what to do or how,
and the light in the lighthouse faded
Both of us steered blindly,
I touched you, you were jaded
Don't fool me again that I'm special
You made dead my makebelieve
Again, there it is,
and I hide away and leave
Trying to safekeep
just a little part of me
Again, there it is,
you take your every chance
Kill me again, with something
mimicing romance
I'm a wreck for you to fire your cannons through
About all that I ever was to you
Forget about the rest
There isn't anything left
and you don't really know me
Both of us grew anonymous,
head over heels with free
I thought I was somehow special
You fed my makebelieve
Again, there it is,
and I hide away and leave
Trying to safekeep
just a little part of me
Again, there it is,
you take your every chance
Kill me again, with something
mimicing romance
I gone lost in what to do or how,
and the light in the lighthouse faded
Both of us steered blindly,
I touched you, you were jaded
Don't fool me again that I'm special
You made dead my makebelieve
Again, there it is,
and I hide away and leave
Trying to safekeep
just a little part of me
Again, there it is,
you take your every chance
Kill me again, with something
mimicing romance
I'm a wreck for you to fire your cannons through
About all that I ever was to you
Forget about the rest
There isn't anything left
Wednesday, March 4
When All Pretending Ends (Audio Video)
Since normally I'm very shy with my singing, putting this up took a lot of guts of me. It's merely a quick recording of one of my most recent songs When All Pretending Ends, without instrumentals yet, so my voice will be even more noticeable (oh my, what am I doing?)... Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy it, then maybe I'll record some more of my songs.
Oh and if anyone feels up for it, I'd be glad if anyone wanted to help out with the instrumentals. I'm simply not skilled enough on the guitar yet so any ideas are welcome. At a few places in the clip it might seem like I'm hesitating a bit. I was. I don't record my singing a lot, if I'd had more time I would have perfected it.
Ok, so trying this now, hoping you're ready, that I'm ready, and also hoping not to be completely dissected.
POET in the JAR
Oh and if anyone feels up for it, I'd be glad if anyone wanted to help out with the instrumentals. I'm simply not skilled enough on the guitar yet so any ideas are welcome. At a few places in the clip it might seem like I'm hesitating a bit. I was. I don't record my singing a lot, if I'd had more time I would have perfected it.
Ok, so trying this now, hoping you're ready, that I'm ready, and also hoping not to be completely dissected.
POET in the JAR
Tuesday, March 3
Nothing, Something, Everything
Don't text me again even if I text you first
And don't call me round the bend
When you're only drunk
Even if I called you first
I told you I wanted nothing
Then expected something out of you
When everything fails on me
You can have me
But don't help it along
Don't answer me if I'm trying you
Don't look at me that way and then look away
You're only irresponsible
Even if I was so before you were
This way will only get us hurt
I told you I wanted nothing
Then expected something out of you
When everything fails on me
You can look at me
But don't help it along
Don't encourage me
And you can't have me
And don't call me round the bend
When you're only drunk
Even if I called you first
I told you I wanted nothing
Then expected something out of you
When everything fails on me
You can have me
But don't help it along
Don't answer me if I'm trying you
Don't look at me that way and then look away
You're only irresponsible
Even if I was so before you were
This way will only get us hurt
I told you I wanted nothing
Then expected something out of you
When everything fails on me
You can look at me
But don't help it along
Don't encourage me
And you can't have me
Morning Angst
Woke up with the normal morning angst, just about to get ready for work... Today is one of those days when I've had the strangest of dreams and feel reluctant to leave bed, to leave house. Don't ask for much, just maybe not to be constantly going on at a rate of 145 percent... To relax. Don't know. Just do things, glide along.
Write.
Think.
And my Ipod died yesterday, so walking to the parking lot will be a bore. Music really is what saves me from thinking too hard you know. I don't wanna be anxious anymore. I don't wanna feel these strange things and have voices inside my head telling me I'm good for nothing, for no one. I don't wanna be bitter. I want to laugh again, to be sunny, to dream. To not see everything I've dreamt of slip away through my fingers just as I've finally caught it.
Respectfully, but only having 16 minutes to go,
THE POET in THE JAR
Write.
Think.
And my Ipod died yesterday, so walking to the parking lot will be a bore. Music really is what saves me from thinking too hard you know. I don't wanna be anxious anymore. I don't wanna feel these strange things and have voices inside my head telling me I'm good for nothing, for no one. I don't wanna be bitter. I want to laugh again, to be sunny, to dream. To not see everything I've dreamt of slip away through my fingers just as I've finally caught it.
Respectfully, but only having 16 minutes to go,
THE POET in THE JAR
Monday, March 2
When All Pretending Ends
The times that matter are the times you've fallen
When angst and despair is there
The times that matter are the times I've fallen
When all pretending ends
That's when I really see you
And I really hear your voice
When you call me up and pretend
I was your only choice
In fact you were scared
And you knew if anyone I would be there
The times that matter are the times you've fallen
When angst and despair is there
The times that matter are the times I've fallen
When all pretending ends
Tell yourself you're living life
And that it's precious
You won't need me
In the place you are
In fact you always needed me
Even when I told you so
And you denied it
The times that matter are the times you've fallen
When angst and despair is there
The times that matter are the times I've fallen
When all pretending ends
Maybe somehow I'll make it through
Maybe somehow aided by you
Maybe I won't
And maybe I won't really matter
But I'll have believed
And even when you were miles away
You were never too far away to save
The times that matter are the times you've fallen
When angst and despair is there
The times that matter are the times I've fallen
When all pretending ends
When angst and despair is there
The times that matter are the times I've fallen
When all pretending ends
That's when I really see you
And I really hear your voice
When you call me up and pretend
I was your only choice
In fact you were scared
And you knew if anyone I would be there
The times that matter are the times you've fallen
When angst and despair is there
The times that matter are the times I've fallen
When all pretending ends
Tell yourself you're living life
And that it's precious
You won't need me
In the place you are
In fact you always needed me
Even when I told you so
And you denied it
The times that matter are the times you've fallen
When angst and despair is there
The times that matter are the times I've fallen
When all pretending ends
Maybe somehow I'll make it through
Maybe somehow aided by you
Maybe I won't
And maybe I won't really matter
But I'll have believed
And even when you were miles away
You were never too far away to save
The times that matter are the times you've fallen
When angst and despair is there
The times that matter are the times I've fallen
When all pretending ends
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