I wonder if there's really such a thing as Karma. Seems at the moment as if life is extremely unfair. I wonder if we weren't done already, paying for our sins? What else is there that we need to suffer for? Building false hopes and then snatching them away is more than bad karma, it's cruel.
Maybe Karma is something we make up in the lack of believing in God. For me who is an agnostic, Karma becomes a close second when we're talking about possible deities. As God, Karma can be brutal, rewarding some for their wrongs, punishing others for doing everything right. As God, Karma is unpredictable, and we can never tell before-hand what Karma had in mind when handing us another card in life.
Difference is, I guess, that there is no Karma bible.
I wonder if I should just resign myself to the idea that nothing happens for a reason. That all of us are simply in this world by pure chance. That there is no meaning in anything. Humans meet humans, and inevitably you have trouble; because there were never such a thing as human perfection. Not even close. And with the greatest experience you can have in your life - love - comes the greatest pain, always walking side by side, with no exception.
I'm so tired. I'm tired from knowing there's no use in trying. I'm tired from things being so different. From not being able to fall asleep because the one person I ever loved isn't here to wag me to sleep anymore. I'm tired from knowing that person leads a better life without me. As if I was a burden. I'm tired from nothing working out. I'm tired from crying in the bathroom out of no apparent reason. Tired from seeing myself in the mirror and knowing why no one would love me. Tired from working where I don't belong. Tired from knowing there's a whole year before I'll be able to get out of this fucking town. Tired from cooking for myself in the kitchen and not having someone tell me how it tastes. Tired from taking pills just to make the simplest things work, and yet they don't. Tired from the darkness. From knowing there will be months and months of darkness ahead before spring is here again. Tired from not having anything to look forward to. Tired from pretending I'm angry and bitter. Tired from talking. Tired from seeing people. Tired from being alone. Tired from seeking my refuge in pain and writing.
I want to smash things! I want to drop things off my balcony and see them slash against the asphalt beneath. I want to throw everything that's old and not working out the goddamn window. I want the windows to break, I want the walls to tear down, I want all my things to be goddamn broken, maybe then they'd show what I really feel.
That I'm a broken soul. We're all broken souls. There is no comfort. There is no grand solution. And I have no idea why we keep trying to cope when the option of giving up is so fucking tempting.
POET in the ANGRY and SAD JAR
Wednesday, November 11
Sunday, November 8
Idiot
If I could change you
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
In some ways
It'd be easier if you'd died
In some ways, I guess,
Some days
Give me someone to blame
And someone to hate
Hating you while loving you
Doesn't satisfy the same
If I could change you
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
Some mornings
I feel like dying
It'd been easier if
I'd found you lying
Stop your reasons
You can't save me,
It's much too late
Aren't you relieved?
If I could change you
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
Don't pretend you miss me
That you're a friend who cares
Since I left the picture
Your life is better there
Go on, live it, don't look back
Idiot...
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
In some ways
It'd be easier if you'd died
In some ways, I guess,
Some days
Give me someone to blame
And someone to hate
Hating you while loving you
Doesn't satisfy the same
If I could change you
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
Some mornings
I feel like dying
It'd been easier if
I'd found you lying
Stop your reasons
You can't save me,
It's much too late
Aren't you relieved?
If I could change you
I could make you love me
But what would I get,
besides hatred,
and faking?
Don't pretend you miss me
That you're a friend who cares
Since I left the picture
Your life is better there
Go on, live it, don't look back
Idiot...
Saturday, November 7
You Do The Math
You say it'll be over.
You say it'll pass.
You've forgotten all we had together,
all our laughs.
You tell me to forget the pain.
That you can't be the one to blame.
You've forgotten what we were together,
You do the math.
You say there is no empty hole
By your side where I used to be
At least not empty in the way
something's missing to me.
You wanted us to stay friends,
You had no more love to give.
You're losing both in the end,
and I'm fighting just to live.
You have no idea how much you hurt me.
You have no idea what you did to me.
Before you tell me my pain will pass,
Remember you used to love me once,
You do the math.
You say it'll pass.
You've forgotten all we had together,
all our laughs.
You tell me to forget the pain.
That you can't be the one to blame.
You've forgotten what we were together,
You do the math.
You say there is no empty hole
By your side where I used to be
At least not empty in the way
something's missing to me.
You wanted us to stay friends,
You had no more love to give.
You're losing both in the end,
and I'm fighting just to live.
You have no idea how much you hurt me.
You have no idea what you did to me.
Before you tell me my pain will pass,
Remember you used to love me once,
You do the math.
World of Cade and Ophelia
Sorry to rant so much about novelling, guys; but as I usually say it's my best friend, someone who doesn't leave you for no good reason. Someone who's always there to have my back when I fall. And this time I'm falling hard. Feels weird, this world, when I'm the one going to a therapist and spilling my life while others can just pick up their stuff and move on. Can't believe they take me seriously. But they do. I think I had issues with myself and the world I didn't even know about...
I prefer losing myself into the slightly magical world of Cade and Ophelia. Even though it's an urban story, and it's not precisely the adventure genre anymore; it has a slightly... surreal... touch about it that enchants me. Maybe it's the falling rain and the rusted railings. Maybe it's the changing photograph and Cade's growing insanity. Maybe it's the quest to find the girl when it should be impossible. Well, it's something alright. And even though Cade and Ophelia have never met, they just feel right. I symphatize with them a way I haven't done before, without myself being the character; and this time he's mostly just himself. Unlike Woven, who is mostly me. Either way he has a lot of my thoughts in him, naturally.
As I've become obsessed with writing and with this novel I've begun to plot the story in my head, even when I'm not near my notebook or my laptop. Earlier tonight I had to write something down on the back of a receipt in my wallet because it showed up so inconveniently. Luckily, I always carry a pen, mind you. And I think the basic moves in the story are now known to me, although I'm debating the ending slightly to myself.
What the problem really is, is getting the characters through the middle of the book scene by scene, and ending up in the, well, end. The way there is long and rough and has a lot of gaps that need to be crossed.
Slightly optimistic about it though. Slightly.
Won't be online again until probably late Sunday night or even Monday (gasp! lucky I wrote so much so far!), so see you then.
POET in the JAR
I prefer losing myself into the slightly magical world of Cade and Ophelia. Even though it's an urban story, and it's not precisely the adventure genre anymore; it has a slightly... surreal... touch about it that enchants me. Maybe it's the falling rain and the rusted railings. Maybe it's the changing photograph and Cade's growing insanity. Maybe it's the quest to find the girl when it should be impossible. Well, it's something alright. And even though Cade and Ophelia have never met, they just feel right. I symphatize with them a way I haven't done before, without myself being the character; and this time he's mostly just himself. Unlike Woven, who is mostly me. Either way he has a lot of my thoughts in him, naturally.
As I've become obsessed with writing and with this novel I've begun to plot the story in my head, even when I'm not near my notebook or my laptop. Earlier tonight I had to write something down on the back of a receipt in my wallet because it showed up so inconveniently. Luckily, I always carry a pen, mind you. And I think the basic moves in the story are now known to me, although I'm debating the ending slightly to myself.
What the problem really is, is getting the characters through the middle of the book scene by scene, and ending up in the, well, end. The way there is long and rough and has a lot of gaps that need to be crossed.
Slightly optimistic about it though. Slightly.
Won't be online again until probably late Sunday night or even Monday (gasp! lucky I wrote so much so far!), so see you then.
POET in the JAR
Wednesday, November 4
Stealing Intelligence
It's dangerous to allow me to be really enthusiastic about something. Especially when it comes to writing. Especially when it comes to Nanowrimo. During November, I'm a detached asocial writer going to sleep when dawn strikes the sky. This year, strangely; more than ever.
Cade Sebastian is stealing my intelligence. He comes up with things I would never have figured out. He ties it all together, by himself. Ophelia named herself, after the HMS Ophelia that is sailed by the industrial steampunk band Abney Park. I was worrying I wouldn't quite use up all the 50K before the story was over, but as it looks, I should worry 50K won't cut it. One fifth into the story and Cade Sebastian is visiting the economy office. Plot needs to quickly advance forward against the highly anticipated ending that I for once have a vague idea what it's going to be.
Unless Cade is changing it without me knowing. I think he's quite capable of doing that.
I don't even much like the guy. He has the annoying habit having to do with light switches. He works in the city archives under Defence Acts and Records. And he likes it! He avoids his working place. He's set up his own, temporary working place two floors down in the middle of the archive because it's "practical". His drink of choice is bourbon on the rocks. Sometimes without the rocks. He doesn't like mirrors because they force him to face himself. He's an off-on smoker that can't decide whether he likes the nicotine or not. And although he's a perfectionist when it comes to archiving, he's a total and complete slob in his apartment, which he rents with the furniture included! The sofa that he always sleeps on instead of his bed is mouldy and makes him stiff in his back and neck but he won't budge.
And the worst part is he keeps outsmarting me! Gaah!
And I can assure you, it wasn't my idea to stay up til 5.40 AM writing. It was his. It was his, because he knew all along what was going to happen at the economy office, and I sat there dumbly, watching. It was his idea, and Nanowrimo's; because the feeling of hitting 10K is so extremely adrenaline-rewarding. And addictive! And now gents, we're talking 5 digit count!
I'm currently two and a half day ahead of daily count.
POET in the NANO-LAND TOE-ESCAPING JAR
PS. Actually I love the guy. Can't do much other than that when he's becoming such a strong character! DS.
Cade Sebastian is stealing my intelligence. He comes up with things I would never have figured out. He ties it all together, by himself. Ophelia named herself, after the HMS Ophelia that is sailed by the industrial steampunk band Abney Park. I was worrying I wouldn't quite use up all the 50K before the story was over, but as it looks, I should worry 50K won't cut it. One fifth into the story and Cade Sebastian is visiting the economy office. Plot needs to quickly advance forward against the highly anticipated ending that I for once have a vague idea what it's going to be.
Unless Cade is changing it without me knowing. I think he's quite capable of doing that.
I don't even much like the guy. He has the annoying habit having to do with light switches. He works in the city archives under Defence Acts and Records. And he likes it! He avoids his working place. He's set up his own, temporary working place two floors down in the middle of the archive because it's "practical". His drink of choice is bourbon on the rocks. Sometimes without the rocks. He doesn't like mirrors because they force him to face himself. He's an off-on smoker that can't decide whether he likes the nicotine or not. And although he's a perfectionist when it comes to archiving, he's a total and complete slob in his apartment, which he rents with the furniture included! The sofa that he always sleeps on instead of his bed is mouldy and makes him stiff in his back and neck but he won't budge.
And the worst part is he keeps outsmarting me! Gaah!
And I can assure you, it wasn't my idea to stay up til 5.40 AM writing. It was his. It was his, because he knew all along what was going to happen at the economy office, and I sat there dumbly, watching. It was his idea, and Nanowrimo's; because the feeling of hitting 10K is so extremely adrenaline-rewarding. And addictive! And now gents, we're talking 5 digit count!
I'm currently two and a half day ahead of daily count.
POET in the NANO-LAND TOE-ESCAPING JAR
PS. Actually I love the guy. Can't do much other than that when he's becoming such a strong character! DS.
Monday, November 2
Random Post-First-Day of Nano Thoughts
Never try protecting someone you love, because you think you'll spare them their pain. Be honest. Even if the truth hurts, it's always better to know than to wander around in doubt, even if sometimes you wish you'd never known.
The first day of Nano has passed. Strangely I have hit a word count equivalent to two and a half days. My count right now is 4,1K. I don't think I've ever, in the history of Nano, done such a day! Pretty impressed by myself, and I don't have to be as pressured while writing tomorrow. But the story is enticing me. I don't know why. I never thought any story besides my trilogy would ever catch my interest that way. I guess it's because it's not entirely realistic, and I even kept the genre Adventure, although I'm sure it'd fall under some other category; but I sure didn't find anyone suitable when I was looking.
I guess part of my insane energy is because I need something to occupy myself with. I can't allow myself to start thinking about my own life. It's easier to project everything on Sebastian. I'm gonna make his life fall apart. I'm gonna strengthen him. As with everything I write, part of him will be me.
Now I really should hit the sack, it's 2.21AM and there's another day coming tomorrow. I'm gonna flip some channels and avoid text as much as possible.
"Living well is the best revenge" - REM
Well, REM, I'm really trying. I'm trying really hard. Did I say I was trying?
POET in the GLASS JAR
The first day of Nano has passed. Strangely I have hit a word count equivalent to two and a half days. My count right now is 4,1K. I don't think I've ever, in the history of Nano, done such a day! Pretty impressed by myself, and I don't have to be as pressured while writing tomorrow. But the story is enticing me. I don't know why. I never thought any story besides my trilogy would ever catch my interest that way. I guess it's because it's not entirely realistic, and I even kept the genre Adventure, although I'm sure it'd fall under some other category; but I sure didn't find anyone suitable when I was looking.
I guess part of my insane energy is because I need something to occupy myself with. I can't allow myself to start thinking about my own life. It's easier to project everything on Sebastian. I'm gonna make his life fall apart. I'm gonna strengthen him. As with everything I write, part of him will be me.
Now I really should hit the sack, it's 2.21AM and there's another day coming tomorrow. I'm gonna flip some channels and avoid text as much as possible.
"Living well is the best revenge" - REM
Well, REM, I'm really trying. I'm trying really hard. Did I say I was trying?
POET in the GLASS JAR
Saturday, October 31
Hypnosis
There was never someone named John.
There was never any break.
It never felt right.
You were asleep the last seven months.
All that happened was a dream.
There was never someone named John.
There was never someone you loved.
There was never any end.
There was never any beginning.
You own your own name.
Your name is Clementine.
It was never different.
There was never someone named John.
There was never someone who loved you.
There was never someone special.
It was never real.
You were asleep the last seven months.
All that happened was a dream.
You're not wounded.
You're not hurt.
You own your own heart.
Your heart is Clementine's.
It never was different.
This is your new truth.
You will pretend all that I've said is true.
You may think I'm a fool
But I'm protecting you.
There was never someone named John.
There was nevery any "us".
Your name is Clementine.
Your heart is Clementine's,
And it never was different.
POET in the GLASS JAR
There was never any break.
It never felt right.
You were asleep the last seven months.
All that happened was a dream.
There was never someone named John.
There was never someone you loved.
There was never any end.
There was never any beginning.
You own your own name.
Your name is Clementine.
It was never different.
There was never someone named John.
There was never someone who loved you.
There was never someone special.
It was never real.
You were asleep the last seven months.
All that happened was a dream.
You're not wounded.
You're not hurt.
You own your own heart.
Your heart is Clementine's.
It never was different.
This is your new truth.
You will pretend all that I've said is true.
You may think I'm a fool
But I'm protecting you.
There was never someone named John.
There was nevery any "us".
Your name is Clementine.
Your heart is Clementine's,
And it never was different.
POET in the GLASS JAR
Monday, October 26
Luftslott
Jag är inte på fötter än,
Jag är inte perfekt
Det finns nog många saker
jag borde ha upptäckt
Jag försöker att känna
Har bara tomhet kvar
Den lilla flicka jag var
Var blev hon av?
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
eller inte vill?
Jag skrev ett brev till Karma
Varför fick jag det här?
Var det inte bättre om jag
dog, då och där?
Kunde du inte sparat mig
lite smärta, och mörker och så
Har jag inte tillräckligt
med ensamhet ändå?
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
eller inte vill?
Jag har fått höra att
Det läker nog med tiden
Så var försiktig och
ta ingenting för givet
Men jag är inte naiv,
jag valde dig att lita på
Du var den hörnsten som
jag byggde mina drömmar på
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man aldrig tar sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Tänk om jag inte räcker till
Om energin tar slut
Vart tar jag vägen då?
Har du inte lärt dig nu
att studsa upp på fötter?
Och att du aldrig riktigt
lämnar dina rötter?
Jag vill inte glömma
Jag vill inte tyna bort
Vill bara låtsas och drömma
Och bygga mina luftslott
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
Tänk för att jag inte vill
Jag är inte perfekt
Det finns nog många saker
jag borde ha upptäckt
Jag försöker att känna
Har bara tomhet kvar
Den lilla flicka jag var
Var blev hon av?
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
eller inte vill?
Jag skrev ett brev till Karma
Varför fick jag det här?
Var det inte bättre om jag
dog, då och där?
Kunde du inte sparat mig
lite smärta, och mörker och så
Har jag inte tillräckligt
med ensamhet ändå?
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
eller inte vill?
Jag har fått höra att
Det läker nog med tiden
Så var försiktig och
ta ingenting för givet
Men jag är inte naiv,
jag valde dig att lita på
Du var den hörnsten som
jag byggde mina drömmar på
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man aldrig tar sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Tänk om jag inte räcker till
Om energin tar slut
Vart tar jag vägen då?
Har du inte lärt dig nu
att studsa upp på fötter?
Och att du aldrig riktigt
lämnar dina rötter?
Jag vill inte glömma
Jag vill inte tyna bort
Vill bara låtsas och drömma
Och bygga mina luftslott
Är läxan man lär sig
att falla hårt till botten?
Och det man tar med sig att
man måste ta sig upp igen?
Tänk om jag faller en gång till
Vad tjänar då allt detta till
Tänk om jag inte orkar
Tänk för att jag inte vill
Letter to Karma
Dear Karma,
You've got to be kidding me, right? This gotta be one of your absurd, really surreal little jokes; just to see how long I'll take it before I break, before you can go set everything right again, and everything can just go back to normal. Why do you have to play all the songs we used to listen to, that he used to play, that he used to tell me about? Why do you have to slap me in the face with memories that I don't want to forget? Why did you make me believe everything was alright and dandy, that as long as we had eachother it would work out, as long as I had him, and he was my most important cornerstone. Life without him didn't exist, I got too attached, what should I have done, you suggest? Should I have loved him less? Should I have tried being someone else? Should I have been walking around suspiciously and prepared myself to be left, as if that would be easier?
Would it have made any difference?
Everything, I see now, it's connected, the point of it all to play me a miserable joke. You should know, of all people, that I'm not really very strong. I'm not really very powerful. I've been able to move on every time by chance and endurance, by naivety. Did you really think that would last?
If this is a joke, then quit playing around, I get it now, okay, just make it stop.
I don't know what I'm supposed to be learning. Maybe not to love anyone. Maybe to not let someone that close. But why? I chose very carefully when trusting him, and I did what I could to safeguard myself, but eventually I really fell, and fell hard, what should I be learning?
You seem to want to make sex the most pitiful thing for me, always connecting it to misery, to anticipating disaster. While I have friends who find sex important in a relationship I wish I'd never have to have it. Last relationship, the one I keep telling myself I am still in, was okay, it wasn't filled with angst, I started to view it almost normally. Then you go on in and mark it down as the last time we were together, before it all broke up, what kind of joke is that?
How can you serve me everything on a platter, after I'd been fighting and growing stronger by every disaster that hit me, how can you give it all to me then and makebelieve that I'm happy just to rip it all away again when I start to believe you?
You're fucking unbelievable, you know that?
I'm not even angry yet, like usually I'd always be; I'm just blank and tired and nothing feels fun anymore. Everything is twice the struggle as before - why? What did I do that was so bad, what did I do that I still have to pay for, what was it you think I haven't learnt enough from yet?
How do you suppose I'd ever trust anyone again? When someone who leaves me notes by my bed one day and leaves me the second is the truth I'm trying to face here.
I'm still like a huge question mark. Everything, the last 7-8 months, spinning over and over in my head. What went wrong? What did I do? What didn't I do? Cause there simply has to be a reason it ended, has to be something valid; how could I live with myself while knowing nothing happened for a reason and everything was meaningless?
Is that what you are trying to say? That nothing is meaningful? Fuck you, you know I been down those lines already, you know I already been thinking all those things, why the fuck would I wanna go there again? Can't you leave me be, haven't you done all your damage already? Just when I started to think again, to feel again, I was convinced that it'd be alright, we'd work it out, as long as we were together... and now I stand here with nothing. And no cornerstone.
Is that it? That I scared him away being depressed? What then do you want me to do, never show the truth to anyone I know, never to talk to him about things weighing on me, who else was I supposed to talk to? Did I put too much of my burden on him? Was it impossible for him to bear?
Well then I suppose you should be happy that I booked a therapist's appointment, I'm gonna spill all my heart out to a stranger, because you took my love away. Whenever I see him again, when I decide that long enough time has gone by without us speaking, I'll tell him, and we'll see. But what you gonna reward me for? I can bet already it won't help, it won't bring him back. You'll just say I didn't try hard enough, I only did this to get him back and not to help myself... but why couldn't I do both? Why couldn't I have him there while I tried helping myself, wouldn't I eventually learn the same thing?
I don't want to view all love as something painful, something dark that never turns out right; I want to be one of those believing love can withstand anything, that it wins even in death. But those words are just glorious while written, not in the everyday life, what we have to pull ourselves through daily and that we have to bear with. It's difficult, okay; it's fucking difficult enough as it is; are you getting some kick out of torturing me this way?
Do you really want me to go on some happy pills and then settle for that, and try to win back Rockstar while I do; while you know he's not going to change his mind?
I want to believe he would. I want to believe that just if I said the right words, if I just let him be by himself, if I just... fixed things... we'd be together again, we'd forget everything. I never felt this panic with someone else. Everyone is telling me to move on from it, but they're not the ones with the lumps in their throats, with their darkness in their hearts, with their panic pressing on their lungs. I'm desperate and I just want to forget everything, to have that go away, all the bad things...
Do you have any idea how close I came to calling him? Do you have any idea how difficult it was not to? I felt ready to die there and then, losing faith, losing all. I just wanted to hear his voice again, but in the end I was too scared.
Too scared that his voice would be the same, but unrecognizable; that he'd be saying things I wouldn't want to hear. That he'd tell me to fuck off and never call again, that he would let me know I was bothering him, that he'd once again say the words I just don't love you anymore.
I don't want to live this way anymore. Thursday couldn't come sooner and nor could November 20th, the day I vowed to myself we'd talk again.
POET in the BREAKING JAR
You've got to be kidding me, right? This gotta be one of your absurd, really surreal little jokes; just to see how long I'll take it before I break, before you can go set everything right again, and everything can just go back to normal. Why do you have to play all the songs we used to listen to, that he used to play, that he used to tell me about? Why do you have to slap me in the face with memories that I don't want to forget? Why did you make me believe everything was alright and dandy, that as long as we had eachother it would work out, as long as I had him, and he was my most important cornerstone. Life without him didn't exist, I got too attached, what should I have done, you suggest? Should I have loved him less? Should I have tried being someone else? Should I have been walking around suspiciously and prepared myself to be left, as if that would be easier?
Would it have made any difference?
Everything, I see now, it's connected, the point of it all to play me a miserable joke. You should know, of all people, that I'm not really very strong. I'm not really very powerful. I've been able to move on every time by chance and endurance, by naivety. Did you really think that would last?
If this is a joke, then quit playing around, I get it now, okay, just make it stop.
I don't know what I'm supposed to be learning. Maybe not to love anyone. Maybe to not let someone that close. But why? I chose very carefully when trusting him, and I did what I could to safeguard myself, but eventually I really fell, and fell hard, what should I be learning?
You seem to want to make sex the most pitiful thing for me, always connecting it to misery, to anticipating disaster. While I have friends who find sex important in a relationship I wish I'd never have to have it. Last relationship, the one I keep telling myself I am still in, was okay, it wasn't filled with angst, I started to view it almost normally. Then you go on in and mark it down as the last time we were together, before it all broke up, what kind of joke is that?
How can you serve me everything on a platter, after I'd been fighting and growing stronger by every disaster that hit me, how can you give it all to me then and makebelieve that I'm happy just to rip it all away again when I start to believe you?
You're fucking unbelievable, you know that?
I'm not even angry yet, like usually I'd always be; I'm just blank and tired and nothing feels fun anymore. Everything is twice the struggle as before - why? What did I do that was so bad, what did I do that I still have to pay for, what was it you think I haven't learnt enough from yet?
How do you suppose I'd ever trust anyone again? When someone who leaves me notes by my bed one day and leaves me the second is the truth I'm trying to face here.
I'm still like a huge question mark. Everything, the last 7-8 months, spinning over and over in my head. What went wrong? What did I do? What didn't I do? Cause there simply has to be a reason it ended, has to be something valid; how could I live with myself while knowing nothing happened for a reason and everything was meaningless?
Is that what you are trying to say? That nothing is meaningful? Fuck you, you know I been down those lines already, you know I already been thinking all those things, why the fuck would I wanna go there again? Can't you leave me be, haven't you done all your damage already? Just when I started to think again, to feel again, I was convinced that it'd be alright, we'd work it out, as long as we were together... and now I stand here with nothing. And no cornerstone.
Is that it? That I scared him away being depressed? What then do you want me to do, never show the truth to anyone I know, never to talk to him about things weighing on me, who else was I supposed to talk to? Did I put too much of my burden on him? Was it impossible for him to bear?
Well then I suppose you should be happy that I booked a therapist's appointment, I'm gonna spill all my heart out to a stranger, because you took my love away. Whenever I see him again, when I decide that long enough time has gone by without us speaking, I'll tell him, and we'll see. But what you gonna reward me for? I can bet already it won't help, it won't bring him back. You'll just say I didn't try hard enough, I only did this to get him back and not to help myself... but why couldn't I do both? Why couldn't I have him there while I tried helping myself, wouldn't I eventually learn the same thing?
I don't want to view all love as something painful, something dark that never turns out right; I want to be one of those believing love can withstand anything, that it wins even in death. But those words are just glorious while written, not in the everyday life, what we have to pull ourselves through daily and that we have to bear with. It's difficult, okay; it's fucking difficult enough as it is; are you getting some kick out of torturing me this way?
Do you really want me to go on some happy pills and then settle for that, and try to win back Rockstar while I do; while you know he's not going to change his mind?
I want to believe he would. I want to believe that just if I said the right words, if I just let him be by himself, if I just... fixed things... we'd be together again, we'd forget everything. I never felt this panic with someone else. Everyone is telling me to move on from it, but they're not the ones with the lumps in their throats, with their darkness in their hearts, with their panic pressing on their lungs. I'm desperate and I just want to forget everything, to have that go away, all the bad things...
Do you have any idea how close I came to calling him? Do you have any idea how difficult it was not to? I felt ready to die there and then, losing faith, losing all. I just wanted to hear his voice again, but in the end I was too scared.
Too scared that his voice would be the same, but unrecognizable; that he'd be saying things I wouldn't want to hear. That he'd tell me to fuck off and never call again, that he would let me know I was bothering him, that he'd once again say the words I just don't love you anymore.
I don't want to live this way anymore. Thursday couldn't come sooner and nor could November 20th, the day I vowed to myself we'd talk again.
POET in the BREAKING JAR
Sunday, October 25
Chocolate Muffins
As long as I don't think, it's okay. Think about you, that is. As long as I'm pondering life's eternal questions, taking care of the darkest parts of my life and ignoring the rest, as long as I stay the night at friends' houses and stay up all night talking. As long as I'm numb from booze, worn out by work, by chores. As long as I work on my site promotion, as long as I imagine I'm really Woven, as long as I imagine writing can take away everything.
As long as I pretend, it's okay.
Queen sang "the show must go on". I listened and wondered about Freddie Mercury's life. I remembered the time we were in the car together and talking about the same thing, and you told me things I never knew.
I remember that when I said I loved you - I meant it.
For all my life when I've said that, I've never, ever meant it, not in this way. Because you were special. We were. Or so I thought.
I remember us laughing, I remember where you were ticklish, I remember this song was really yours. I remember how you looked in your battered leather jacket, and your black shoes, like you were a gunslinger walking up that road to the house at Dad's 50th birthday party.
I remember how good you always smelled. How you found me a little weird when I wanted to smell you. I remember everything that was good about you, and your little habits that you had sometimes, like always choosing clothes for ages, trying to decide. I remember how well you took care of your dishes, how you always made my bed if I had to leave early for work. I remember when you left the recipe for chocolate muffins by my teddy bear, and I didn't notice it until you told me, and how we laughed about that... I remember we used to play Lego Batman and you would always play as Batman and I would always play as Robin and we'd laugh at the sound of his metal shoes
I remember when we took a drive in your Pontiac, your darling
I remember how we used to talk about our money problems and we'd always try to sort things out
I remember us hanging out with my sis and with Hef and that it was all so troubleless
I remember that you always noticed what I was wearing and you could say what I had on at almost any occasion
...except for that shirt dress that you hated and that you snuck away so that I wouldn't find it, you thought it looked like a tent and how I loved that very dress
I remember that I wanted to stop and look at the stars while walking home and you wanted to hurry up because you were freezing
I remember that even though you weren't into writing at all you spent hours trying to find me a new publisher when my old one turned out to be a scam
I remember that you made me a CD with your favorite Beatles songs and I loved every one and I remember how we were watching that movie about them and I fell asleep in it and we never finished watching
I remember how when I thought about you it made my stomach jolt a bit every time even when we had known eachother for months
I remember that I had to hold back not to say I loved you every time I saw you, maybe it was what scared you away
I remember that when calling you there always seemed to be animals on the road and it became a thing I associated with you
I remember you, I remember me, I remember us, I remember everything,
and nothing really matters does it
Nothing really matters to you
And as long as I don't think about all this I'm okay
But I can't stop remembering
I can't stop thinking
And I'm not okay at all
POET in the BLUNT JAR
As long as I pretend, it's okay.
Queen sang "the show must go on". I listened and wondered about Freddie Mercury's life. I remembered the time we were in the car together and talking about the same thing, and you told me things I never knew.
I remember that when I said I loved you - I meant it.
For all my life when I've said that, I've never, ever meant it, not in this way. Because you were special. We were. Or so I thought.
I remember us laughing, I remember where you were ticklish, I remember this song was really yours. I remember how you looked in your battered leather jacket, and your black shoes, like you were a gunslinger walking up that road to the house at Dad's 50th birthday party.
I remember how good you always smelled. How you found me a little weird when I wanted to smell you. I remember everything that was good about you, and your little habits that you had sometimes, like always choosing clothes for ages, trying to decide. I remember how well you took care of your dishes, how you always made my bed if I had to leave early for work. I remember when you left the recipe for chocolate muffins by my teddy bear, and I didn't notice it until you told me, and how we laughed about that... I remember we used to play Lego Batman and you would always play as Batman and I would always play as Robin and we'd laugh at the sound of his metal shoes
I remember when we took a drive in your Pontiac, your darling
I remember how we used to talk about our money problems and we'd always try to sort things out
I remember us hanging out with my sis and with Hef and that it was all so troubleless
I remember that you always noticed what I was wearing and you could say what I had on at almost any occasion
...except for that shirt dress that you hated and that you snuck away so that I wouldn't find it, you thought it looked like a tent and how I loved that very dress
I remember that I wanted to stop and look at the stars while walking home and you wanted to hurry up because you were freezing
I remember that even though you weren't into writing at all you spent hours trying to find me a new publisher when my old one turned out to be a scam
I remember that you made me a CD with your favorite Beatles songs and I loved every one and I remember how we were watching that movie about them and I fell asleep in it and we never finished watching
I remember how when I thought about you it made my stomach jolt a bit every time even when we had known eachother for months
I remember that I had to hold back not to say I loved you every time I saw you, maybe it was what scared you away
I remember that when calling you there always seemed to be animals on the road and it became a thing I associated with you
I remember you, I remember me, I remember us, I remember everything,
and nothing really matters does it
Nothing really matters to you
And as long as I don't think about all this I'm okay
But I can't stop remembering
I can't stop thinking
And I'm not okay at all
POET in the BLUNT JAR
Friday, October 23
Another Short Story
There's a short story contest in the newspaper today, and I thought I'd enter. Odds are I don't win the first prize (trip to New York for two) but hell knows, why not give it a shot? Maybe I'll end up with some cinema tickets. I'll have to write in Swedish but I think I can live with that for such a short story, anyways, not really intending to make it epic. I have been away from short story writing for a while and I'm sure it will at least entertain me for a while...
Approximately 2 pages of a very melancholic love story may begin.
3, 2, 1 - Write!
Approximately 2 pages of a very melancholic love story may begin.
3, 2, 1 - Write!
Wednesday, October 21
Fake Version (Of You)
Pick those strings
Like last time
I'll listen while you play
All my pain,
dying away
Stroke my neck
Like before
I'll sleep while you're on guard
Only calm,
in my heart
I own a fake version of you
Who comes out when it's dark
It's only a ghost
I know
How do I let go of you
When your things are still here
When your songs still play
And all that was glorious stings
Like last time
I'll listen while you play
All my pain,
dying away
Stroke my neck
Like before
I'll sleep while you're on guard
Only calm,
in my heart
I own a fake version of you
Who comes out when it's dark
It's only a ghost
I know
How do I let go of you
When your things are still here
When your songs still play
And all that was glorious stings
Monday, October 19
To Crochet
I don't know what I'm trying to do. I have a nagging feeling it's not going to help. In my head there's some childish vision where everything turns for the better and the bad goes away.
In real life, I'm an idiot.
I know my Mum is trying to cheer me up but everything just turns out wrong. Instead I see her admiring my uneven attempt to crochet and can't help but wonder to myself, maybe this is how I should have been. Maybe some needles and some tricks in sewing would make this family a unit again.
All in all I feel worthless. And when Mum asks me to show Dad the crocheting that I was earlier pleased with I toss it away. I can't tell him what it's supposed to be, because I'm choking on air as I do. Mum says with her resignated voice that if I can't manage work, I should tell her, and she'll take the shift, she's only been here since 7AM this morning... My affection for her since before blows away. I say she's being silly. If I can't manage work, I can't manage anything. Sure as hell won't make me feel better to just sit around at home staring at a TV screen, doing nothing.
I can't think a few days ahead in time, I can't... imagine. There's no... future anymore the way I visioned it. Guess we should never imagine the future.
But either way I was pretty happy with my present.
I'm going over to see you tomorrow, basically because I've made you. My guess is you don't want me to come. My guess is you've already said all that you needed to say.
But I don't think I've heard all I needed to hear.
And I think maybe I just have a hard time letting go.
So, I don't know what I'm trying to do here. I don't think anything will make amends. I can't fix you. I can't, apparently, help you with whatever you need. I don't think I will come by you tomorrow and you'll have miraculously changed your mind.
I don't know what I'm expecting.
All I know is I can't be like this. Not anymore.
In real life, I'm an idiot.
I know my Mum is trying to cheer me up but everything just turns out wrong. Instead I see her admiring my uneven attempt to crochet and can't help but wonder to myself, maybe this is how I should have been. Maybe some needles and some tricks in sewing would make this family a unit again.
All in all I feel worthless. And when Mum asks me to show Dad the crocheting that I was earlier pleased with I toss it away. I can't tell him what it's supposed to be, because I'm choking on air as I do. Mum says with her resignated voice that if I can't manage work, I should tell her, and she'll take the shift, she's only been here since 7AM this morning... My affection for her since before blows away. I say she's being silly. If I can't manage work, I can't manage anything. Sure as hell won't make me feel better to just sit around at home staring at a TV screen, doing nothing.
I can't think a few days ahead in time, I can't... imagine. There's no... future anymore the way I visioned it. Guess we should never imagine the future.
But either way I was pretty happy with my present.
I'm going over to see you tomorrow, basically because I've made you. My guess is you don't want me to come. My guess is you've already said all that you needed to say.
But I don't think I've heard all I needed to hear.
And I think maybe I just have a hard time letting go.
So, I don't know what I'm trying to do here. I don't think anything will make amends. I can't fix you. I can't, apparently, help you with whatever you need. I don't think I will come by you tomorrow and you'll have miraculously changed your mind.
I don't know what I'm expecting.
All I know is I can't be like this. Not anymore.
Vacuum
My thighs are freezing. Why? Because I stayed out too late at the pier, and had too little clothes. I went there to find a quiet corner, watch the lights on the bridge ahead and listen to the ocean. It soothed me for a little while. Before I found myself half over the railing, shoe laces dangling over the water, thinking: I wonder how cold it'll be.
I was starting to get Rose Dewitt Bukater vibes and got my feet back onto the catwalk. And firstly then I panicked. I couldn't breathe.
You don't know it yet, but life isn't supposed to be like this. It's not supposed to be this hard.
She has some wise things to say sometimes, that Meredith Grey.
You said you were worried I'd do something bad. I was worried you would. I guess our history is like that, although we never really saw into the darkest places. We let those places be, just touched on the subject.
I never told you the nightmares I used to have.
Before you.
I never took that extra step. I was never really driven to. I played around with broken glass without trying to cut; I sank below the surface in the bathtub for as long as I could without trying to drown. I put needles in my skin, but only with ink. I thought about it many times... just never... did it.
I didn't do it today either. But I fucking scared myself. And that was enough.
It seems like a mockery just to keep existing. What here is worth my while now? How do I find the energy to do anything? To cope?
You used to make it go away, magically. When I slept and you held me, there was nothing else, not a worry in the world. I felt safe with you. There was just the moment.
How could you make me feel so safe?
How could you look me in the eyes and smile with me?
How could you come so close to me and then just fall away?
What are you afraid of?
What went wrong?
Why can't I understand?
My thighs are freezing. My lungs are worn out and my eyes are swollen. I should go on with my daily life, but how? How do I live in this vacuum, where there's no longer anyone to talk to when it gets dark outside, when our memories have been reduced to my things in a red plastic bag, when nothing holds any meaning?
How can something that felt so right be wrong?
You have tried to explain, you gave all the answers you could give, but my head is buzzing with questions, they won't give me any rest. You said these things are never easy, like you were talking about anyone; someone you didn't know. You made it sound like you'd known me for two weeks. Not like seven months. Was it somewhere there we would have landed? I don't know. Am I supposed to remember? Am I supposed to forget?
It's too early to be angry at you. I wish I was. I want to speed up the process and want to toss your everything out the window, I want to break everything we had so that I can forget about it and move on. I want to be angry with you, I want to hit you, I want to hurt you; I'm just so fucking tired... I want nothing but to sleep, but I can't; I just stare into the ceiling, my eyes are just swelling again; I'm taking 1AM walks along the beach cause I can't sleep...
I want to be angry, cause I just can't stand being this way, I can't be this helpless, it's just not me. I can't walk around with this weight on my heart, I don't know how to do it, I don't know how to carry it, how to tear it. I can't cry anymore, I can't pretend I want to learn how to crochet, I can't get short of breath when I'm reminded of you; I can't want to drop by your place just to get my keys just so that I can see you one more time, just to know you're still there, you're still living and breathing and that maybe I could touch you and maybe you could hug me and just maybe... everything would go away like it always would.
How do I forget?
You said I shouldn't let this get to me too badly, I should think of other things, how do I do that? Could you tell?
How can we still be there for eachother?
How can I still call you when I'm falling apart, when losing you is what got me here? How will you comfort me when I will break by just hearing your voice? In what perfect universe does that work? And why do I still want it to?
Hur kan allting bara vara... ingenting?
I was starting to get Rose Dewitt Bukater vibes and got my feet back onto the catwalk. And firstly then I panicked. I couldn't breathe.
You don't know it yet, but life isn't supposed to be like this. It's not supposed to be this hard.
She has some wise things to say sometimes, that Meredith Grey.
You said you were worried I'd do something bad. I was worried you would. I guess our history is like that, although we never really saw into the darkest places. We let those places be, just touched on the subject.
I never told you the nightmares I used to have.
Before you.
I never took that extra step. I was never really driven to. I played around with broken glass without trying to cut; I sank below the surface in the bathtub for as long as I could without trying to drown. I put needles in my skin, but only with ink. I thought about it many times... just never... did it.
I didn't do it today either. But I fucking scared myself. And that was enough.
It seems like a mockery just to keep existing. What here is worth my while now? How do I find the energy to do anything? To cope?
You used to make it go away, magically. When I slept and you held me, there was nothing else, not a worry in the world. I felt safe with you. There was just the moment.
How could you make me feel so safe?
How could you look me in the eyes and smile with me?
How could you come so close to me and then just fall away?
What are you afraid of?
What went wrong?
Why can't I understand?
My thighs are freezing. My lungs are worn out and my eyes are swollen. I should go on with my daily life, but how? How do I live in this vacuum, where there's no longer anyone to talk to when it gets dark outside, when our memories have been reduced to my things in a red plastic bag, when nothing holds any meaning?
How can something that felt so right be wrong?
You have tried to explain, you gave all the answers you could give, but my head is buzzing with questions, they won't give me any rest. You said these things are never easy, like you were talking about anyone; someone you didn't know. You made it sound like you'd known me for two weeks. Not like seven months. Was it somewhere there we would have landed? I don't know. Am I supposed to remember? Am I supposed to forget?
It's too early to be angry at you. I wish I was. I want to speed up the process and want to toss your everything out the window, I want to break everything we had so that I can forget about it and move on. I want to be angry with you, I want to hit you, I want to hurt you; I'm just so fucking tired... I want nothing but to sleep, but I can't; I just stare into the ceiling, my eyes are just swelling again; I'm taking 1AM walks along the beach cause I can't sleep...
I want to be angry, cause I just can't stand being this way, I can't be this helpless, it's just not me. I can't walk around with this weight on my heart, I don't know how to do it, I don't know how to carry it, how to tear it. I can't cry anymore, I can't pretend I want to learn how to crochet, I can't get short of breath when I'm reminded of you; I can't want to drop by your place just to get my keys just so that I can see you one more time, just to know you're still there, you're still living and breathing and that maybe I could touch you and maybe you could hug me and just maybe... everything would go away like it always would.
How do I forget?
You said I shouldn't let this get to me too badly, I should think of other things, how do I do that? Could you tell?
How can we still be there for eachother?
How can I still call you when I'm falling apart, when losing you is what got me here? How will you comfort me when I will break by just hearing your voice? In what perfect universe does that work? And why do I still want it to?
Hur kan allting bara vara... ingenting?
Friday, October 16
Dagger
A dagger to my heart
It stings when I breathe
Blood drops to the floor
I'm not real
I'm not here
Anymore
It stings when I breathe
Blood drops to the floor
I'm not real
I'm not here
Anymore
Thursday, October 15
Material For Author's Projects
Stumbled upon an old folder labelled unnecessaringly neatly "Material for Author's Projects" and started to grin. Here is tons of old story ideas that never really turned out into anything. With two weeks left for Nanowrimo, it's a freakin' gold mine. I want to write something post-industrial and unenduringly depressive, and one of the story ideas in here (complete with plot, which is unusual enough) really fits the scenario. Who knows, maybe it would bring back some of the fun and silliness about writing that was often there when I used to write short stories.
Nothing to lose, right?
POET in the NANO JAR
2 weeks left!
Nothing to lose, right?
POET in the NANO JAR
2 weeks left!
Tuesday, October 13
Winter Commences
Gents - ladies - I'm afraid the novel publication will be slightly delayed. This is because we want the cover design to be just right, with the just right person to model it. And it'll take us a bit of time. Have patience through November, and see if we won't be able to do it until November 31st, the same deadline as this year's Nanowrimo. Still didn't decide whether to participate. I'll probably decide on November 1st itself.
Cold streaks around these corners, and I brace myself for the upcoming 5 months of darkness, of Scandinavian winter. It will be dark when we wake up. It will be dark when we go to bed. It will be cold, always. The sun coming out in short moments in the day will comfort us, but it won't warm us. I dig into my closet for my winter shoes, for my winter jacket. My gloves, my extra socks. All the things I'll need when the minus degrees come knocking on my door at night, wanting to break that window, creep into my bed, ice my heart...
I know I'll love the darkness at first. Love the evenings. Think it's charming to dress warm just to go outdoors. But then it will grow tiring. And depressing. And never-ending.
Winter commences.
Welcome to our world.
POET in the SCANDINAVIAN JAR
Cold streaks around these corners, and I brace myself for the upcoming 5 months of darkness, of Scandinavian winter. It will be dark when we wake up. It will be dark when we go to bed. It will be cold, always. The sun coming out in short moments in the day will comfort us, but it won't warm us. I dig into my closet for my winter shoes, for my winter jacket. My gloves, my extra socks. All the things I'll need when the minus degrees come knocking on my door at night, wanting to break that window, creep into my bed, ice my heart...
I know I'll love the darkness at first. Love the evenings. Think it's charming to dress warm just to go outdoors. But then it will grow tiring. And depressing. And never-ending.
Winter commences.
Welcome to our world.
POET in the SCANDINAVIAN JAR
Monday, October 12
Cars & Kelly
Actually got up now, something's wrong with me (don't start work until 4 PM). I was planning to do something useful today, for example going grocery shopping and then cleaning my apartment, but I suspect that isn't turning out very well. I feel like novel editing or gaming and I'd much rather do that. I think I'm free from work tomorrow anyway. Can do it then!
Well, pretty much settled now, cause I just got out and moved the car to avoid parking tickets. That means I plan to be staying around here for a while. I don't mind. I like this place, and the best of all is that it's got a proper kitchen table where I can sit down and write. I always loved sitting in the kitchen to do that, strangely.
Up for another round of Mirror's Edge quite shortly,
POET in the DIZZY JAR
PS. Kelly Osbourne is really pretty, isn't she? DS.
Well, pretty much settled now, cause I just got out and moved the car to avoid parking tickets. That means I plan to be staying around here for a while. I don't mind. I like this place, and the best of all is that it's got a proper kitchen table where I can sit down and write. I always loved sitting in the kitchen to do that, strangely.
Up for another round of Mirror's Edge quite shortly,
POET in the DIZZY JAR
PS. Kelly Osbourne is really pretty, isn't she? DS.
Sunday, October 11
The Radio That Rocked
I'm not your average perfect citizen. I don't live up to people's expectations, not even my own. I do my job carelessly, I fight my tears while I do and sometimes I lose. Lately more often than before. I can't maintain a professional aura, I can't leave that chocolate bar be, I'm cleptomaniac, I collect things that aren't mine and every time I borrow something I'm unable to return it until months later. I can't maintain a perfect life, cooking, cleaning; I skip meals and have chocolates instead, I fall asleep while driving, but lie awake at night. I'm a worked out junkie and a drunkie too, I can't cope, I can't do the everyday life. Like Rockstar told me yesterday. While he's always so... neat. Always does things on time. His home is always clean and he washes clothes and dishes and goes to work and does his errands... I don't know how he does it. How is it possible to keep that up so consistently? Why can't I? Why can't I do good for more than a few weeks, a few months, before inevitably I crash again and start to misbehave?
I've always been the happiest when the everyday life isn't the everyday life. When I'm someplace else, doing other things. Or when Nanowrimo turns my life upside-down because of a silly hunt for word count every November. Will I never sort this out? Will I never be able to be happy where I am, see the small things in life?
Anyway, there'd be no point in it, would it. We can read a thousand self-help guides to make ourselves feel better, to "bring out the best" in you or come to terms with our lives, but what does it really do for us? It doesn't make anything better. But it makes you forget that you're just one of billions of people in the world who are just like you, with thoughts, and feelings, and entire lives, just like you; and you get dizzy just by thinking. We aren't really unique. We are all just cogs in the system, and the system isn't meant for people like you and me. We serve the greater purpose. We are slaves. We will live our entire lives working for other people, trying to fit into a context that we didn't decide ourselves, unable to live the way we want because we're always, in the end, restricted. By money, by laws, by society. Freedom? Are we really free? Only because we are in a different place than many countries?
We are not free. We can say what we want and write what we want, because the people who are in charge of things realized that makes us think we are. It makes us happier to be let to dream, even if we are never allowed to live those dreams out.
One of Mum's favorite slogans is that "It doesn't get any better than this". Just accept our lot in life and live with it, and everyone who can't (like me) are weak. I am the black sheep of my family, in that respect. But surprisingly many share her view - why? Have they given up on ever getting close to something they desire and strive for? Have they decided there'll always be those who are worse off than they are? Maybe they know how hopeless their dreams are, and let them be because of that, because they would only get disappointed in the end anyway.
What kind of attitude is that? What we never fight for, we'll never get; but if we never try we sure as hell aint gonna get anywhere. And we'll have ourselves to blame for giving up, even if it's so much more convenient to blame it on everyone else, on everything else.
I don't want things to be impossible. I want to get into my bubble world, where everything is different from here. Some place I imagine inside my head that I fell in love with when I was young and naive. A place that when hardened by life and by bad experiences only seemed more intriguing, and more worth the fight.
We live in an undefined era. Our generation can't brag with having The Beatles, Woodstock, the first cars or the moon landing. We have the internet. We have ignorance. We have an entire people more interested in scandal, sex, and violence than they are in politics or humanitarian work. We have a built-in laziness unlike the generation before us, working 50 years in the same place before retiring and then living on a lousy ass pension. We all want to be special, but prefer the comfy couch at home watching mindless entertainment on TV waiting for the big opportunities to change our lives to come jumping into our laps.
I try to make my own era. What these years mean to me. And right now what saves me in doing that is rock radio station Bandit Rock 105.7. I imagine it's like The Boat That Rocked, where the music changes everything, where it means everything. Today the stations drown out eachother, and no one is broadcasting from sinking ships; but all in all, isn't it the same? That station saves my day, reading my mind to see what song to play next. They play the classic songs and the new songs. They play everything that's rock and everything that touches on the genre. They're genuine. They feel real. And moreover, they have a slogan that goes "We play what we want", which is the only slogan that ever felt real and meaningful to me on all the different channels. Sure, they have a lot of the same songs going over and over. They are probably bribed by the greedy music companies as all other stations are, and sure, they have just as many commercial breaks. But I don't give a shit. This station plays my music. This station has done a lot for me. And even if I'll always be one of their anonymous listeners, I'd come saving them on a rescue boat in the Northern Sea any day now.
POET in the GLASS JAR
With her usual angry style while awkwardly fragile
Beat it if you can't take it
I've always been the happiest when the everyday life isn't the everyday life. When I'm someplace else, doing other things. Or when Nanowrimo turns my life upside-down because of a silly hunt for word count every November. Will I never sort this out? Will I never be able to be happy where I am, see the small things in life?
Anyway, there'd be no point in it, would it. We can read a thousand self-help guides to make ourselves feel better, to "bring out the best" in you or come to terms with our lives, but what does it really do for us? It doesn't make anything better. But it makes you forget that you're just one of billions of people in the world who are just like you, with thoughts, and feelings, and entire lives, just like you; and you get dizzy just by thinking. We aren't really unique. We are all just cogs in the system, and the system isn't meant for people like you and me. We serve the greater purpose. We are slaves. We will live our entire lives working for other people, trying to fit into a context that we didn't decide ourselves, unable to live the way we want because we're always, in the end, restricted. By money, by laws, by society. Freedom? Are we really free? Only because we are in a different place than many countries?
We are not free. We can say what we want and write what we want, because the people who are in charge of things realized that makes us think we are. It makes us happier to be let to dream, even if we are never allowed to live those dreams out.
One of Mum's favorite slogans is that "It doesn't get any better than this". Just accept our lot in life and live with it, and everyone who can't (like me) are weak. I am the black sheep of my family, in that respect. But surprisingly many share her view - why? Have they given up on ever getting close to something they desire and strive for? Have they decided there'll always be those who are worse off than they are? Maybe they know how hopeless their dreams are, and let them be because of that, because they would only get disappointed in the end anyway.
What kind of attitude is that? What we never fight for, we'll never get; but if we never try we sure as hell aint gonna get anywhere. And we'll have ourselves to blame for giving up, even if it's so much more convenient to blame it on everyone else, on everything else.
I don't want things to be impossible. I want to get into my bubble world, where everything is different from here. Some place I imagine inside my head that I fell in love with when I was young and naive. A place that when hardened by life and by bad experiences only seemed more intriguing, and more worth the fight.
We live in an undefined era. Our generation can't brag with having The Beatles, Woodstock, the first cars or the moon landing. We have the internet. We have ignorance. We have an entire people more interested in scandal, sex, and violence than they are in politics or humanitarian work. We have a built-in laziness unlike the generation before us, working 50 years in the same place before retiring and then living on a lousy ass pension. We all want to be special, but prefer the comfy couch at home watching mindless entertainment on TV waiting for the big opportunities to change our lives to come jumping into our laps.
I try to make my own era. What these years mean to me. And right now what saves me in doing that is rock radio station Bandit Rock 105.7. I imagine it's like The Boat That Rocked, where the music changes everything, where it means everything. Today the stations drown out eachother, and no one is broadcasting from sinking ships; but all in all, isn't it the same? That station saves my day, reading my mind to see what song to play next. They play the classic songs and the new songs. They play everything that's rock and everything that touches on the genre. They're genuine. They feel real. And moreover, they have a slogan that goes "We play what we want", which is the only slogan that ever felt real and meaningful to me on all the different channels. Sure, they have a lot of the same songs going over and over. They are probably bribed by the greedy music companies as all other stations are, and sure, they have just as many commercial breaks. But I don't give a shit. This station plays my music. This station has done a lot for me. And even if I'll always be one of their anonymous listeners, I'd come saving them on a rescue boat in the Northern Sea any day now.
POET in the GLASS JAR
With her usual angry style while awkwardly fragile
Beat it if you can't take it
Where The Darkest Is
Don't count me out yet
I'm still in the trenches
And not on the field
My guns aren't fired
Just in self-defence
I crawled all the way here
Through the mud
And the mines
Every one exploded
Every time it made me jump,
and got me tense
Don't let me go just yet
I still have battle rage to wield
I've been where the darkest is
But I'm sure it can get worse
I can get worse
Why not let me do what everyone else does
Let me be until my angst kills me
Until everything blows up and runs out
Until I can't protect myself anymore
And the final shot is misdirected
Don't put me in that state
Before time runs out
Let me have my time
Don't count me out just yet
I'm still in the trenches
And not on the field
My guns aren't fired
Just in self-defence
I crawled all the way here
Through the mud
And the mines
Every one exploded
Every time it made me jump,
and got me tense
Don't let me go just yet
I still have battle rage to wield
I've been where the darkest is
But I'm sure it can get worse
I can get worse
Why not let me do what everyone else does
Let me be until my angst kills me
Until everything blows up and runs out
Until I can't protect myself anymore
And the final shot is misdirected
Don't put me in that state
Before time runs out
Let me have my time
Don't count me out just yet
Saturday, October 10
Mumbo Jumbo & Date for Novel Publication
Is it a wonder that I'm tired of this shitloaded world, this shallow existence? Seems that things will never be above average. Or below average, where I am now. I think I have borrowed money from everyone by now (thank hell Grandma let off my debt to her) and the extra job I got made me have to put out a pretty damn big deal of money, or at least it was to me. Studied 5 gas stations, paid 80 crowns at each. Around 20 crowns at every kiosk I inspected. And in the shops, 7 visits of a solid 500 crowns at every stop, although luckily I could just go back there the following day and return the stuff, and get the money back. Now it's the salary I'm wanting, and it won't arrive until November 25th. Also luckily, I could borrow some money from James so I could finish the assignments. Paid one fourth of it now, and will do two more fourths later today. We'll see, since the return I did yesterday doesn't seem to have appeared yet.
The paperwork should have been finished yesterday, but when I was typing every sentence wrong at around 1 AM, I gave in for the night. I can only hope my reports will do even if some of them were filled out today. Overall, it's incredibly much bureaucracy involved with the entire thing. I have to write the same information in like, three different places, attach each receipt in the exactly correct way, etcetera, etcetera. It just never ends. I can't close my eyes without seeing shoe shops, receipt numbers, return statistics that has turned out wrong, directions written in Mumbo-Jumbo saying different instructions depending on where you read it and from what angle. Gah! I'd say shoot me now, if I wasn't so superstitious that things I say might come true if I mean them enough.
Deadline for the novel is October 31st (this is what we are aiming for). That, lads, is when you'll hopefully be able to order Even Angels Die, EAD, which is my first novel (that I have ranted too much about) and finally read it yourselves. You can either send for it from the US, from where it will be shipped, or you can download it easily as an e-book if it's more convenient for you. I'm afraid the prices haven't been set yet, since the cover design and other choices may affect the price, but what I can tell you for sure is that the electronic version will be considerably cheaper (and the shipping time will be close to zero!). So keep your eyes open! I will alert y'all when the time comes and let you know where to order from, and so on. One step closer to fame, ha, ha.
Only a rough 90 pages left to edit, then a bit of other work. I need to adjust how the chapters are divided, write the acknowledgements and dedications, add a copyright page, set the page numbers right, etcetera. I wish I had time to go over it in a second edit to be thorough with the spelling and such, but I think I'll just run a spell-check within the word processor (OpenOffice Writer, which by the way is a cost-free, awesome program). I have gone over it pretty thoroughly with this first edit (which is in fact the second edit, and yes, it's pretty complicated). Anyway I think I'll live. As I've stated before - even Stephen King makes typos.
I'm longing to get all the paperwork over and done with, so that maybe I could sit down and play some Mirror's Edge. Found the game for PC platform for just 99 crowns in a game shop. Well, y'know me, can't leave a game shop without a game. Bought it, and it was hell of a buy. I only played the first two levels (and died several times before learning) but it looks and feels very promising. If only all gamemakers were like this!
See you in the near future, and don't forget OCTOBER 31st,
POET in the GLASS JAR
The paperwork should have been finished yesterday, but when I was typing every sentence wrong at around 1 AM, I gave in for the night. I can only hope my reports will do even if some of them were filled out today. Overall, it's incredibly much bureaucracy involved with the entire thing. I have to write the same information in like, three different places, attach each receipt in the exactly correct way, etcetera, etcetera. It just never ends. I can't close my eyes without seeing shoe shops, receipt numbers, return statistics that has turned out wrong, directions written in Mumbo-Jumbo saying different instructions depending on where you read it and from what angle. Gah! I'd say shoot me now, if I wasn't so superstitious that things I say might come true if I mean them enough.
Deadline for the novel is October 31st (this is what we are aiming for). That, lads, is when you'll hopefully be able to order Even Angels Die, EAD, which is my first novel (that I have ranted too much about) and finally read it yourselves. You can either send for it from the US, from where it will be shipped, or you can download it easily as an e-book if it's more convenient for you. I'm afraid the prices haven't been set yet, since the cover design and other choices may affect the price, but what I can tell you for sure is that the electronic version will be considerably cheaper (and the shipping time will be close to zero!). So keep your eyes open! I will alert y'all when the time comes and let you know where to order from, and so on. One step closer to fame, ha, ha.
Only a rough 90 pages left to edit, then a bit of other work. I need to adjust how the chapters are divided, write the acknowledgements and dedications, add a copyright page, set the page numbers right, etcetera. I wish I had time to go over it in a second edit to be thorough with the spelling and such, but I think I'll just run a spell-check within the word processor (OpenOffice Writer, which by the way is a cost-free, awesome program). I have gone over it pretty thoroughly with this first edit (which is in fact the second edit, and yes, it's pretty complicated). Anyway I think I'll live. As I've stated before - even Stephen King makes typos.
I'm longing to get all the paperwork over and done with, so that maybe I could sit down and play some Mirror's Edge. Found the game for PC platform for just 99 crowns in a game shop. Well, y'know me, can't leave a game shop without a game. Bought it, and it was hell of a buy. I only played the first two levels (and died several times before learning) but it looks and feels very promising. If only all gamemakers were like this!
See you in the near future, and don't forget OCTOBER 31st,
POET in the GLASS JAR
Thursday, October 1
Department of Mysteries
While trying not to be jealous at my sis - who is going to Turkey tomorrow (and if I was the one going, it would mean I could meet Alev) - at least one quite exciting thing happened to me today, and guess what, it had nothing to do with writing!
Got a phone call while entering my apartment to fetch the laundry, feeling quite off about most things in my life. Hmm, unknown number. Well, many good things happened to me by an unknown number calling; so I decided to pick up.
Conversation as follows.
"Yes, hello?"
"Hi, is this Rebecca I'm talking to?"
"Yes, it indeed is."
"I see here that you registered as a Mystery Shopper in our database a while ago?"
Finally I understand what this call is about!
"Definitely, yes."
"I have some work for you here next week, if you're still interested."
"Yes, I'm definitely interested."
"Great!"
And as it turns out, I got two days of Mystery Shopping next week at various places throughout the county - luckily I have a car - and it will pay me a rough 2,000 SEK to do it. Could turn out a bit stressful, perhaps, but still. It's 2,000 crowns!
All I need to do is to visit shops, buy what I'm supposed to buy, and then grade the staff and the shop due to a bunch of criterias that I note down and report in. And then when I send the receipts in, I get everything paid back plus a good 150 SEK per every visit (lasting about 30 minutes).
Really, it's quite the relief. I really, really need all the extra jobs I can take and all the extra money. I will try and put most of these 2,000 into my traveling jar (yes - I actually have one of those) and use it to go someplace, sometime. Maybe for the Workaway thing next year. I don't know, all I know is that it's really good pay for not so much work.
Being nervous is just part of it, I guess!
Having butterflies again, and they're not entirely due to this extra merit to put in my CV,
POET in the NOT QUITE AS EERY JAR
Now just hoping to hear about that translator job as well...
Got a phone call while entering my apartment to fetch the laundry, feeling quite off about most things in my life. Hmm, unknown number. Well, many good things happened to me by an unknown number calling; so I decided to pick up.
Conversation as follows.
"Yes, hello?"
"Hi, is this Rebecca I'm talking to?"
"Yes, it indeed is."
"I see here that you registered as a Mystery Shopper in our database a while ago?"
Finally I understand what this call is about!
"Definitely, yes."
"I have some work for you here next week, if you're still interested."
"Yes, I'm definitely interested."
"Great!"
And as it turns out, I got two days of Mystery Shopping next week at various places throughout the county - luckily I have a car - and it will pay me a rough 2,000 SEK to do it. Could turn out a bit stressful, perhaps, but still. It's 2,000 crowns!
All I need to do is to visit shops, buy what I'm supposed to buy, and then grade the staff and the shop due to a bunch of criterias that I note down and report in. And then when I send the receipts in, I get everything paid back plus a good 150 SEK per every visit (lasting about 30 minutes).
Really, it's quite the relief. I really, really need all the extra jobs I can take and all the extra money. I will try and put most of these 2,000 into my traveling jar (yes - I actually have one of those) and use it to go someplace, sometime. Maybe for the Workaway thing next year. I don't know, all I know is that it's really good pay for not so much work.
Being nervous is just part of it, I guess!
Having butterflies again, and they're not entirely due to this extra merit to put in my CV,
POET in the NOT QUITE AS EERY JAR
Now just hoping to hear about that translator job as well...
Saturday, September 26
Full Armour
I'm in full armour
You can't hurt me
Through the steel
Forget what I was
Forget our deal
I'm in full armour
I'll always heal
Barbed wire around my heart
There it was, to keep you out
Electric fences five miles high
And giant Keep Away signs
Flashing for your lie
I'm in full armour
You can't hurt me
Through the steel
Forget what I was
Forget our deal
I'm in full armour
I'll always heal
Thirteen locks and a riddle, too
There they were, to hinder you
Last solid gateway crypticized
Your compass needle,
Demagnetized
I'm in full armour
You can't hurt me
Through the steel
Forget what I was
Forget our deal
I'm in full armour
I'll always heal
All you can do to me now
Is from a distance
And my armour isn't thin enough
To let your arrows through
Allow me to disgrace your grace
And return the arrow heads
To you
I'm in full armour
You can't hurt me
Through the steel
Forget what I was
Forget our deal
I'm in full armour
I'll always heal
I have no Achilles' heel
Weakness only hardens me
I became a fortress
I forgot how to feel
Walk away when nothing is left of me
I'm in full armour
You can't hurt me
Through the steel
Forget what I was
Forget our deal
I'm in full armour
I'll always heal
I'll always bleed
You can't hurt me
Through the steel
Forget what I was
Forget our deal
I'm in full armour
I'll always heal
Barbed wire around my heart
There it was, to keep you out
Electric fences five miles high
And giant Keep Away signs
Flashing for your lie
I'm in full armour
You can't hurt me
Through the steel
Forget what I was
Forget our deal
I'm in full armour
I'll always heal
Thirteen locks and a riddle, too
There they were, to hinder you
Last solid gateway crypticized
Your compass needle,
Demagnetized
I'm in full armour
You can't hurt me
Through the steel
Forget what I was
Forget our deal
I'm in full armour
I'll always heal
All you can do to me now
Is from a distance
And my armour isn't thin enough
To let your arrows through
Allow me to disgrace your grace
And return the arrow heads
To you
I'm in full armour
You can't hurt me
Through the steel
Forget what I was
Forget our deal
I'm in full armour
I'll always heal
I have no Achilles' heel
Weakness only hardens me
I became a fortress
I forgot how to feel
Walk away when nothing is left of me
I'm in full armour
You can't hurt me
Through the steel
Forget what I was
Forget our deal
I'm in full armour
I'll always heal
I'll always bleed
Thursday, September 24
Lulu, You'll Save Me
Dear friends, no setback will stop me. I'm moving ahead and on from here, and I'm going to eventually reach out to people with what I write. Even if it takes me all my effort and all my time, and all my life even; all that matters to me is to see my hard work and piece of heart in print - in an actual, physical book. And if what is in this story, that means so much to me; ever reaches out to even a single soul who embraces it, a soul that doesn't know who I am or what I do but know me only through the story... then I will have achieved the best thing there is to achieve.
I long for this to happen and you are welcome to follow my process here (for those of you who get bored easily with my rants about publishers and novels, you can always search by labels to get what you want).
I have decided to go forward and once the novel is refitted I will use Print On Demand publisher Lulu.com, the US correspondent to Vulkan.se. A very modern idea that hopefully will appeal to some. The first thing I did was register and read through the different terms of use (it's boring, but remember; if you don't do this you might be in trouble later). Next comes refitting the novel for pocket book size and so on. Lots to do but I don't mind, really. At least I am doing it my way and the way I have decided to go.
Most stuff you'd need is on Lulu.com's free membership, and then if you want you can upgrade yourself towards a given fee. Once the book is done and out I will try to get some sponsorship to do this - it means I would get on Amazon.com and loads of other distribution options. With the free membership you will only be able to order from Lulu's own webshop, but that will have to do, for now.
That's all about writing for now.
I decided to adopt two kittens, insanely pretty. One is striped and the other almost black. At first I was just going to adopt the striped one but then I saw its siblings and it felt heartbreaking to separate them. This way at least they have eachother to play with when I'm not around (cause unfortunately that will happen a few times during the week). And one day when I'm living someplace different than here, they can go outside for the first time (although I'm sure they wouldn't feel very comfortable there!). Can't wait to get them. A bit of the money I'll get to spare after bills being paid, I'll use to get them a climbing tower and some toys.
I also think I'll get them Zorro's old favorite toy that I found at Mum and Dad's a while back...
Enough for now,
POET in the JAR
I long for this to happen and you are welcome to follow my process here (for those of you who get bored easily with my rants about publishers and novels, you can always search by labels to get what you want).
I have decided to go forward and once the novel is refitted I will use Print On Demand publisher Lulu.com, the US correspondent to Vulkan.se. A very modern idea that hopefully will appeal to some. The first thing I did was register and read through the different terms of use (it's boring, but remember; if you don't do this you might be in trouble later). Next comes refitting the novel for pocket book size and so on. Lots to do but I don't mind, really. At least I am doing it my way and the way I have decided to go.
Most stuff you'd need is on Lulu.com's free membership, and then if you want you can upgrade yourself towards a given fee. Once the book is done and out I will try to get some sponsorship to do this - it means I would get on Amazon.com and loads of other distribution options. With the free membership you will only be able to order from Lulu's own webshop, but that will have to do, for now.
That's all about writing for now.
I decided to adopt two kittens, insanely pretty. One is striped and the other almost black. At first I was just going to adopt the striped one but then I saw its siblings and it felt heartbreaking to separate them. This way at least they have eachother to play with when I'm not around (cause unfortunately that will happen a few times during the week). And one day when I'm living someplace different than here, they can go outside for the first time (although I'm sure they wouldn't feel very comfortable there!). Can't wait to get them. A bit of the money I'll get to spare after bills being paid, I'll use to get them a climbing tower and some toys.
I also think I'll get them Zorro's old favorite toy that I found at Mum and Dad's a while back...
Enough for now,
POET in the JAR
Wednesday, September 23
Losing A Limb - Help Me Out
Were you ever curious of my writing?
Did you want to see my novel in print?
Keep reading.
It's like losing a limb. A child. Part of me, of everything that mattered. Of everything, in this dark world, that held any meaning to me.
The more I look into it, the more I find. Suddenly there's information everywhere. Everything says the same. About the agency. About the publisher. About the con man who is supposedly behind both.
I have been fooled, and I have been stupid. As the aspiring writer I am, I believed pretty words, I believed I would be brought to the market, I believed I would be sold.
Today I have found out that the agent I have been represented by for 1,5 years does not exist. The publisher they recommended to me does not exist. The financial risk I shared with said publisher is a scam. Everything I believed in, and held hopes for, the last two years, is crumbling.
I am today not a single step closer towards publication than I was in the beginning of the process. New Years 2007, when I made a query to the agency.
None of this information existed at the time I signed the contract.
I looked the company up back then and found no bad record. My friend aided me in it. It seems their various name changes is the key to keeping "clean records".
Back to square one.
And it's like losing a limb. A child. All my meaning. And, of course, all the time, money, and energy I have poured into this project since it first showed itself.
I need your help to get out of this black hole, and to prove to myself as well as to the world that my writing is good enough, and that I am good enough. I need your help to prove I am not stupid, though I may be very, very naive.
Help me find a serious agent.
Do not trust WL Writer's Literary. Researching it I have found that they have now changed their name to The Literary Agency Group, which is suspicious enough. Furthermore, they are unable to samplify their sales. In the Authors section, no writer is mentioned with full name and there are no references to any novels or retailers selling the novels. In my early days, I believed the agency was small and that it was the explanation.
As I said: very naive.
Do not trust Eloquent Books, AEG Publishing Group (who wow! Just when I looked up their adress had changed their name AGAIN! And is now called Strategic Book Group) or Strategic Book Publishing. Dear child holds many names, they say in Sweden. This child is not dear to me. I will bring this child down with me, if I can.
No serious agent or publisher will ever charge you any fee other than for print costs and connected costs.
Help me bring them down.
Help me find a new agent.
POET in the WIDE AWAKE, EERY, DISAPPOINTED and EMBARRASSED JAR
And yes. That many feelings at once IS possible.
Did you want to see my novel in print?
Keep reading.
It's like losing a limb. A child. Part of me, of everything that mattered. Of everything, in this dark world, that held any meaning to me.
The more I look into it, the more I find. Suddenly there's information everywhere. Everything says the same. About the agency. About the publisher. About the con man who is supposedly behind both.
I have been fooled, and I have been stupid. As the aspiring writer I am, I believed pretty words, I believed I would be brought to the market, I believed I would be sold.
Today I have found out that the agent I have been represented by for 1,5 years does not exist. The publisher they recommended to me does not exist. The financial risk I shared with said publisher is a scam. Everything I believed in, and held hopes for, the last two years, is crumbling.
I am today not a single step closer towards publication than I was in the beginning of the process. New Years 2007, when I made a query to the agency.
None of this information existed at the time I signed the contract.
I looked the company up back then and found no bad record. My friend aided me in it. It seems their various name changes is the key to keeping "clean records".
Back to square one.
And it's like losing a limb. A child. All my meaning. And, of course, all the time, money, and energy I have poured into this project since it first showed itself.
I need your help to get out of this black hole, and to prove to myself as well as to the world that my writing is good enough, and that I am good enough. I need your help to prove I am not stupid, though I may be very, very naive.
Help me find a serious agent.
Do not trust WL Writer's Literary. Researching it I have found that they have now changed their name to The Literary Agency Group, which is suspicious enough. Furthermore, they are unable to samplify their sales. In the Authors section, no writer is mentioned with full name and there are no references to any novels or retailers selling the novels. In my early days, I believed the agency was small and that it was the explanation.
As I said: very naive.
Do not trust Eloquent Books, AEG Publishing Group (who wow! Just when I looked up their adress had changed their name AGAIN! And is now called Strategic Book Group) or Strategic Book Publishing. Dear child holds many names, they say in Sweden. This child is not dear to me. I will bring this child down with me, if I can.
No serious agent or publisher will ever charge you any fee other than for print costs and connected costs.
Help me bring them down.
Help me find a new agent.
POET in the WIDE AWAKE, EERY, DISAPPOINTED and EMBARRASSED JAR
And yes. That many feelings at once IS possible.
Tuesday, September 22
Lucky Writer
Maybe I am, after all, a lucky writer. According to Swedish media today, the publishing houses in this country are being quite difficult towards their employed professional writers. Once again I come to think that writing full-time is a shiny dream, quite far away from where I am now.
But if I didn't fight for it, where would I be now?
If I don't keep that dream in the corner of my eyes, will I ever get as much as an illusion of it?
Probably not.
Considering the poor standards for writers here, I find myself lucky to have been taken in by an American publishing house (Eloquent Books), even if it is a joint venture program (which means I shared the economical risk with the publisher, and is a more unusual type of contract, but also more profitable in the end). Also Eloquent Books have told me this is an on-demand type of contract, meaning the novel in its finished form is stored digitally, and only printed if it's ordered, and then the exact number that was. Brilliant, really. This way we avoid all expensive prints of copies that might end up not selling, and in the end, everyone makes more money, and saves more energy.
A more recent update from Kira, the Art Manager at EB, tells me that the cover art will be designed simultaneously with the text design; which means I will not receive a cover until the text edit is completed. As many of you already know I'm editing myself, and it takes me a certain amount of time; but on the other hand, I am sparked in editing by knowing that as soon as it is fully edited and approved of, the cover will be designed.
Can not wait for this to happen. First of all it will be the first physical, authentic proof of the whole getting published-business - but almost as importantly, it will tell me how someone other than myself would interpret the novel into art. I wonder if it will match up to my expectations. I hope it will, and after looking at the other art coming from EB, I feel rather reassured.
Good thing I emailed the Art Department and got the info I needed, and didn't wait with editing until the cover was assigned, as I had planned - then I would have been waiting forever.
Page 111 was my last milepost. Not too much left!
See you later alligator,
Don't Forget To Write!
POET in the OBSESSIVE WRITER'S JAR
But if I didn't fight for it, where would I be now?
If I don't keep that dream in the corner of my eyes, will I ever get as much as an illusion of it?
Probably not.
Considering the poor standards for writers here, I find myself lucky to have been taken in by an American publishing house (Eloquent Books), even if it is a joint venture program (which means I shared the economical risk with the publisher, and is a more unusual type of contract, but also more profitable in the end). Also Eloquent Books have told me this is an on-demand type of contract, meaning the novel in its finished form is stored digitally, and only printed if it's ordered, and then the exact number that was. Brilliant, really. This way we avoid all expensive prints of copies that might end up not selling, and in the end, everyone makes more money, and saves more energy.
A more recent update from Kira, the Art Manager at EB, tells me that the cover art will be designed simultaneously with the text design; which means I will not receive a cover until the text edit is completed. As many of you already know I'm editing myself, and it takes me a certain amount of time; but on the other hand, I am sparked in editing by knowing that as soon as it is fully edited and approved of, the cover will be designed.
Can not wait for this to happen. First of all it will be the first physical, authentic proof of the whole getting published-business - but almost as importantly, it will tell me how someone other than myself would interpret the novel into art. I wonder if it will match up to my expectations. I hope it will, and after looking at the other art coming from EB, I feel rather reassured.
Good thing I emailed the Art Department and got the info I needed, and didn't wait with editing until the cover was assigned, as I had planned - then I would have been waiting forever.
Page 111 was my last milepost. Not too much left!
See you later alligator,
Don't Forget To Write!
POET in the OBSESSIVE WRITER'S JAR
Sunday, September 20
Even Stephen King Has Typos
Maybe I'm writing so much because this is the poorest month ever. Really, ever. Worse than around Christmas. Worse than January. Worse than all months I had to buy course books that were insanely expensive.
Either way it's good. Seldom has my energy been at such a level, about any project. Basically - I just want the damn thing done already, and the more I do every day, the closer I get. Easy as cake!
Too bad though this energy isn't channeled into any creative writing, just proof-reading. But since I have grown quite brain-washed by now, I even found typos and missing characters in a novel by Stephen King, who I'm sure hires a professional editor. That strangely gives me some comfort - everyone is merely human, and if a mistake should slip me, I don't think it would matter much, on the whole. I hope that's not the thing people would remember after reading, anyway.
Can't wait to get home and add some more numbers to the page count,
POET in the EDITING JAR
Strangely Creative and with Very Suspicious Eyes
Either way it's good. Seldom has my energy been at such a level, about any project. Basically - I just want the damn thing done already, and the more I do every day, the closer I get. Easy as cake!
Too bad though this energy isn't channeled into any creative writing, just proof-reading. But since I have grown quite brain-washed by now, I even found typos and missing characters in a novel by Stephen King, who I'm sure hires a professional editor. That strangely gives me some comfort - everyone is merely human, and if a mistake should slip me, I don't think it would matter much, on the whole. I hope that's not the thing people would remember after reading, anyway.
Can't wait to get home and add some more numbers to the page count,
POET in the EDITING JAR
Strangely Creative and with Very Suspicious Eyes
Friday, September 18
Calculations & Smart Quotes
Did some modest calculations that if I edit in this pace, it'll take me 50 hours to finish the rough first edit. Wow! I better put another piece of charcoal on, as we would say in Swedish (better quicken up). I don't want the first edit to take 50 days if I can only do one hour a day, so... I'll have to do something about it. Today I have no work and so I have a good few hours off where I can edit away, swell. The worst part isn't editing itself, it's rather fun actually; it's that I'm freaking out I'll miss something, that I'll end up with some spelling mistakes or a sentence that sounds fucked up. It's rather difficult to keep all the editing rules in my head on one hand, and decide if a sentence sounds okay on the other. And I'm not even a tenth into the editing manual - there are tons, and tons, of rules I still haven't plowed through, that I still need to look up and learn. Just doing that takes time. Luckily for me most rules can be bent a little bit to fit my purpose, and since the publisher had my manuscript reviewed and they set the tone for me to edit in, the word 'compromise' definitely comes to mind.
Also I'm gonna need to learn how smart quotes work. I read the wikipedia article on it and I'm not much wiser afterwards.
Alright. Some loud My Chemical Romance and a few hours by myself here - I'll get stuff done in a jiffy!
POET in the JAR
Better not think it's impossible
Also I'm gonna need to learn how smart quotes work. I read the wikipedia article on it and I'm not much wiser afterwards.
Alright. Some loud My Chemical Romance and a few hours by myself here - I'll get stuff done in a jiffy!
POET in the JAR
Better not think it's impossible
Tuesday, September 15
Chicago Manual
Suddenly it seems to make sense, suddenly I'm not quite as lost anymore. I thought I didn't have a plan. I thought that I chose away education because of nothing but love, because of a bond I wanted to explore and that kept me swaying on the spot here. And indeed that was part of the reason, and I'm quite glad it was as well; however it was a big decision to make and I had many different arguments. One of them, was the novel.
One year away from any uni, taking jobs as I go and trying to make some sort of existence, I would live in the moment, and spend time working on the novel to get it ready for some kind of publication. Eloquent Books have required through their criticist that the manuscript be edited in accordance with the Chicago Manual of Style - a widely used system for written American English. It'd be hell lot easier to just hire some editor to do the work for me (two pairs of eyes better than one) but with funding, as you know, quite insufficient; I'm forced to do the editing myself. This was rather frustrating until today, when Al got me a wonderful PDF file - the manual itself, scanned and complete at 2600 pages length. Slightly intimidating, perhaps; the sheer size of the thing; but so far it has been a trumendous help. I cannot thank Al enough.
Anyway, it was earlier today that I realized I have spent perhaps too much time doing other things, when I was supposed to use this time off from school and other things to focus, get myself together, and pull this whole deal off. I think that maybe I can do it. I think that when I finally hold that copy in my hand, I will tremble, I'm gonna fucking break down when I think about all the damn work that has been behind it. It's gonna be such a fucking relief. Oh my goodness... it gets only harder and harder to grasp, to actually imagine... but I have to.
I kept writing, when no one thought I could pull it off, when people told me to lay off it, that it had no future, that it was never meant to be more than a hobby. I kept at it, and many frustrated times, many drunk times, many high times, many low times, it literally saved me. Getting completely immersed with another universe, letting the words form themselves as you note them down, it's... beautiful. And even if no one reads it, it will have served its purpose. It gave me calm. It salvated me.
And to be honest... this dump? My writing is all I'm good at. My writing is my ticket out of here.
No more messing that up...
POET in the DREAMY JAR
One year away from any uni, taking jobs as I go and trying to make some sort of existence, I would live in the moment, and spend time working on the novel to get it ready for some kind of publication. Eloquent Books have required through their criticist that the manuscript be edited in accordance with the Chicago Manual of Style - a widely used system for written American English. It'd be hell lot easier to just hire some editor to do the work for me (two pairs of eyes better than one) but with funding, as you know, quite insufficient; I'm forced to do the editing myself. This was rather frustrating until today, when Al got me a wonderful PDF file - the manual itself, scanned and complete at 2600 pages length. Slightly intimidating, perhaps; the sheer size of the thing; but so far it has been a trumendous help. I cannot thank Al enough.
Anyway, it was earlier today that I realized I have spent perhaps too much time doing other things, when I was supposed to use this time off from school and other things to focus, get myself together, and pull this whole deal off. I think that maybe I can do it. I think that when I finally hold that copy in my hand, I will tremble, I'm gonna fucking break down when I think about all the damn work that has been behind it. It's gonna be such a fucking relief. Oh my goodness... it gets only harder and harder to grasp, to actually imagine... but I have to.
I kept writing, when no one thought I could pull it off, when people told me to lay off it, that it had no future, that it was never meant to be more than a hobby. I kept at it, and many frustrated times, many drunk times, many high times, many low times, it literally saved me. Getting completely immersed with another universe, letting the words form themselves as you note them down, it's... beautiful. And even if no one reads it, it will have served its purpose. It gave me calm. It salvated me.
And to be honest... this dump? My writing is all I'm good at. My writing is my ticket out of here.
No more messing that up...
POET in the DREAMY JAR
Saturday, September 12
Teddy
I am not meant for this
The shadows streak by my corners
There's a wisp of it, stirring
Stroking my hair
My imaginary monsters
Come play with me
I'll let you be if you
salvate me
I'm not myself here
Where everything chases me
There's a wide grin, staring
Leaving the lair
My imaginary monsters
Come play with me
I'll let you be if you
salvate me
I miss all my memories
All the golden, all the safe
Please stay with me, Teddy
Until I'm stronger again, and ready
My imaginary monsters
Come play with me
I'll let you be if you
salvate me
The shadows streak by my corners
There's a wisp of it, stirring
Stroking my hair
My imaginary monsters
Come play with me
I'll let you be if you
salvate me
I'm not myself here
Where everything chases me
There's a wide grin, staring
Leaving the lair
My imaginary monsters
Come play with me
I'll let you be if you
salvate me
I miss all my memories
All the golden, all the safe
Please stay with me, Teddy
Until I'm stronger again, and ready
My imaginary monsters
Come play with me
I'll let you be if you
salvate me
Issues
Had a crappy day, everything feels like total... bonkers. It started out okay, I guess... worked the morning shift and got there early, had a nice flow until I opened up the store, then it was just busy, busy all day long until 2 PM. God, can't I ever spend some time doing nothing? I just spend my days flipping myself around between tons of errands without really managing... anything. What does it matter, really? Who cares if I don't do my grocery shopping or if I don't fold my clothes neatly enough, who effin' cares?
It's just everything crashing down on me, feels like it's catching up. Money issues, work issues, everything-issues. It's the same old lines, over and over again. "It'll get better next year/next month/next week", "It'll work out, it always works out", "Don't worry"... but I can't just let go of things. I don't know. I was supposed to use this year to flip out and just... float around and create stuff and just enjoy stuff. But what am I doing?
I don't have a fucking clue, I'm so fucking lost, and whatever, just, fuck this whole business, hate it all.
POET in the JAR
It's just everything crashing down on me, feels like it's catching up. Money issues, work issues, everything-issues. It's the same old lines, over and over again. "It'll get better next year/next month/next week", "It'll work out, it always works out", "Don't worry"... but I can't just let go of things. I don't know. I was supposed to use this year to flip out and just... float around and create stuff and just enjoy stuff. But what am I doing?
I don't have a fucking clue, I'm so fucking lost, and whatever, just, fuck this whole business, hate it all.
POET in the JAR
Thursday, September 10
Dear Josephine
Dear Josephine
Did the wings fall off
from your flying machine?
We saw you when you went down
And the light that your comet strew
Dear Josephine
Are you more at ease
than we have been?
It's still empty here, all around
In the shadow since your heart withdrew
Josephine
They took you too early
You weren't ready
Josephine
In your machine,
Your engines died
Oh Josephine,
was it suicide?
Dear Josephine
Did you see the smoke
from your crashing machine?
We never found your black box
Among the debris that you strew
Dear Josephine
Are you in a world
we've never seen?
Maybe you were trapped and locked
While we pondered and our sorrow grew
Josephine
They took you too early
You weren't ready
Josephine
In your machine,
Your engines died
Oh Josephine,
was it suicide?
Dear Josephine
In your flying machine
Dear Josephine
Did the wings fall off
from your flying machine?
We saw you when you went down
And the light that your comet strew
Dear Josephine
Are you more at ease
than we have been?
It's still empty here, all around
In the shadow since your heart withdrew
Josephine
They took you too early
You weren't ready
Josephine
In your machine,
Your engines died
Oh Josephine,
was it suicide?
Dear Josephine
Did you see the smoke
from your crashing machine?
We never found your black box
Among the debris that you strew
Dear Josephine
Are you in a world
we've never seen?
Maybe you were trapped and locked
While we pondered and our sorrow grew
Josephine
They took you too early
You weren't ready
Josephine
In your machine,
Your engines died
Oh Josephine,
was it suicide?
Dear Josephine
In your flying machine
Dear Josephine
You Imagined
I don't need another pretty picture
Stop talking about the northern lights
The sky is only black to me
Whatever you saw shining there
You imagined
I don't need your nuanced songs
I don't need your deep poetry
Or your words
Whatever you thought was mutual
You imagined
Get out of here
Why are you invading me
I don't need all the things
You used to tie me with
You only imagined
I don't need your ties anymore
Take your shining stars
And dream somewhere else
Whatever you cherished in life
You imagined
There's nothing waiting for you
You're not grand or special
You came here by chance
And by accident
I dreamed
And you imagined
Stop talking about the northern lights
The sky is only black to me
Whatever you saw shining there
You imagined
I don't need your nuanced songs
I don't need your deep poetry
Or your words
Whatever you thought was mutual
You imagined
Get out of here
Why are you invading me
I don't need all the things
You used to tie me with
You only imagined
I don't need your ties anymore
Take your shining stars
And dream somewhere else
Whatever you cherished in life
You imagined
There's nothing waiting for you
You're not grand or special
You came here by chance
And by accident
I dreamed
And you imagined
About The Nook & My Novel Universe
I feel like being by myself. Writing. Editing, maybe. Pulling a blanket over my head and sleep for a few weeks, maybe. Sit with my laptop on my balcony, maybe, and write there. Yes.
I've made a strange change for the better (I guess that's what it is) in some ways. Like, since I moved here. I know I seem to move a lot. I'm running out of good nicknames for my various residences. There's always gonna be Myntet (literally: The Coin), Kråkboet (Crow's Nest), Lyan (The Lair) and of course, Landet (The Countryside/The Country). And the place we rejoiced at in Finland will always be The Hostel With The Great View (which was slight irony). So, what do I call this new, strange place, these 25 square meters with an extended balcony? So far it has just gone under the name of Halla - which is short for the name of the street and frankly, not very exciting.
I'm quite tempted to baptize the thing as Mitt Krypin - something that would mean sort of, My Nook. Saying it with the determinative article though sounds strange. Krypinet. Weird. The Nook sounds a lot better!
Anyway, that was a sidetrack. I was talking about my change for the better. Well, that doesn't stretch very far. It contains cooking and doing the dishes daily, washing clothes weekly, and cleaning. To be honest there's not much choice with such a small Krypin. One T-shirt on the floor and it looks like the third world war took place there. I guess I benefit quite a lot from having left most of my stuff scattered neatly across the bedroom floor at Mum and Dad's (on The Countryside).
Now I guess the only thing left to salvate is my restless artist's soul who is fighting to thrive right now.
Tomorrow will be neat. Going to a buddy's place to try out the beta of AION Online (getting out September 25th here). Can't wait! It'll light up my day. And it's going to be nice to have a day off. Seems this week I've been doing nothing but covering for everyone at work calling in sick. (And since you all read my stuff extremely thoroughly you by know now that I'm sick myself.) But hey, who cares? Tomorrow is a long, cozy day off and I'm going to isolate myself the entire weekend (besides the 10 or so hours I'll be working).
And about AION. It feels like someone actually visualized what I've been writing for years. After all my top novel universe is one where angels of different races battle eachother over principles and where a few individuals just want peace. Strange similarity, I say. And perhaps here goes the dream I had to make my novels a great MMORPG one day. Even if our creations had nothing to do with eachother really, I think I would still feel like a copycat. A shame. My novels would be pretty perfect to base a game type like this on. Why?
Well. The novels contain four races of angels, plus the humans, who are wingless. The angels in my universe are simply humans with wings. There's nothing divine about them - more like the opposite. The angel races have old grudges against eachother, and even though there has been innocence for many years, things are starting to stir towards war again.
The four different races are Solar, Sea, Storm and Soil angels (actually I had no intention of them all beginning at S, it just turned out that way).
Solars - able to fly high and close to the sun, hence their race name. They have thin wings that can carry them high on the drafts. They're equipped with double eyelids to protect against UV lighting from the sun and a common characteristic is their whitish, practically blank eyes. The top ability of the solars is their speed in flight.
Seas - equipped with gills to breathe underwater, and made to live half underseas, half on land. In water they are exceptionally elegant and swift, a trait that does not always follow them up into free air. Just as the solars they have double eyelids, the transparent layer of which closes and allows for underwater vision. The Seas are often referred to as Dews, which is a patronizing word that plays on their skills in water. The Sea capital is New Atlantis Havens, hidden under the sea surface and enclosed in a giant dome.
Storms - thick-winged and stubborn, residing in the mountains where they have adapted to foggy terrain. Their draft-resistant wings allows them to fly in very heavy winds. It is rumored that Storms possess the ability to conjure winds, thunder and tornadoes. Storms excel in technology and are the original inventors of the angel chopper, which is used for instance as ambulance transports. Storms often scatter their settlements and one of their most known ones is positioned at the Outer and Inner Isles.
Soils - skilled in herbology and nature, the Soils are the top contributors of medical supplies to help centers. It is said they can affect the very earth and seeds by their green fingers. Since the many farm raids by bandits seeing the value in medical stocks, the Soils have grown suspicious and are very protective about their trade. Soils adapt quite quickly to the environment and creates helpful, curing herbs as well as poisonous ones. The top Soil residence is Chrysant City, which is in the midlands.
See?
Perfect race backgrounds...
I'll be back on the subject,
POET in the JAR
I've made a strange change for the better (I guess that's what it is) in some ways. Like, since I moved here. I know I seem to move a lot. I'm running out of good nicknames for my various residences. There's always gonna be Myntet (literally: The Coin), Kråkboet (Crow's Nest), Lyan (The Lair) and of course, Landet (The Countryside/The Country). And the place we rejoiced at in Finland will always be The Hostel With The Great View (which was slight irony). So, what do I call this new, strange place, these 25 square meters with an extended balcony? So far it has just gone under the name of Halla - which is short for the name of the street and frankly, not very exciting.
I'm quite tempted to baptize the thing as Mitt Krypin - something that would mean sort of, My Nook. Saying it with the determinative article though sounds strange. Krypinet. Weird. The Nook sounds a lot better!
Anyway, that was a sidetrack. I was talking about my change for the better. Well, that doesn't stretch very far. It contains cooking and doing the dishes daily, washing clothes weekly, and cleaning. To be honest there's not much choice with such a small Krypin. One T-shirt on the floor and it looks like the third world war took place there. I guess I benefit quite a lot from having left most of my stuff scattered neatly across the bedroom floor at Mum and Dad's (on The Countryside).
Now I guess the only thing left to salvate is my restless artist's soul who is fighting to thrive right now.
Tomorrow will be neat. Going to a buddy's place to try out the beta of AION Online (getting out September 25th here). Can't wait! It'll light up my day. And it's going to be nice to have a day off. Seems this week I've been doing nothing but covering for everyone at work calling in sick. (And since you all read my stuff extremely thoroughly you by know now that I'm sick myself.) But hey, who cares? Tomorrow is a long, cozy day off and I'm going to isolate myself the entire weekend (besides the 10 or so hours I'll be working).
And about AION. It feels like someone actually visualized what I've been writing for years. After all my top novel universe is one where angels of different races battle eachother over principles and where a few individuals just want peace. Strange similarity, I say. And perhaps here goes the dream I had to make my novels a great MMORPG one day. Even if our creations had nothing to do with eachother really, I think I would still feel like a copycat. A shame. My novels would be pretty perfect to base a game type like this on. Why?
Well. The novels contain four races of angels, plus the humans, who are wingless. The angels in my universe are simply humans with wings. There's nothing divine about them - more like the opposite. The angel races have old grudges against eachother, and even though there has been innocence for many years, things are starting to stir towards war again.
The four different races are Solar, Sea, Storm and Soil angels (actually I had no intention of them all beginning at S, it just turned out that way).
Solars - able to fly high and close to the sun, hence their race name. They have thin wings that can carry them high on the drafts. They're equipped with double eyelids to protect against UV lighting from the sun and a common characteristic is their whitish, practically blank eyes. The top ability of the solars is their speed in flight.
Seas - equipped with gills to breathe underwater, and made to live half underseas, half on land. In water they are exceptionally elegant and swift, a trait that does not always follow them up into free air. Just as the solars they have double eyelids, the transparent layer of which closes and allows for underwater vision. The Seas are often referred to as Dews, which is a patronizing word that plays on their skills in water. The Sea capital is New Atlantis Havens, hidden under the sea surface and enclosed in a giant dome.
Storms - thick-winged and stubborn, residing in the mountains where they have adapted to foggy terrain. Their draft-resistant wings allows them to fly in very heavy winds. It is rumored that Storms possess the ability to conjure winds, thunder and tornadoes. Storms excel in technology and are the original inventors of the angel chopper, which is used for instance as ambulance transports. Storms often scatter their settlements and one of their most known ones is positioned at the Outer and Inner Isles.
Soils - skilled in herbology and nature, the Soils are the top contributors of medical supplies to help centers. It is said they can affect the very earth and seeds by their green fingers. Since the many farm raids by bandits seeing the value in medical stocks, the Soils have grown suspicious and are very protective about their trade. Soils adapt quite quickly to the environment and creates helpful, curing herbs as well as poisonous ones. The top Soil residence is Chrysant City, which is in the midlands.
See?
Perfect race backgrounds...
I'll be back on the subject,
POET in the JAR
Wednesday, September 9
Eery
"Are you sad because of the pain, or because you couldn't go to work?"
"Sad because of the pain... and because it's the last thing I could afford right now. Going to the doctor."
Woke up this morning with an intense ache in my right ear. It seems familiar, seeing I've had infections there before, but I have a hunch that's not what it is, not this time. Not sure what it could be. Feels slightly better now though, after I've slept 13 hours in total and they do say sleep is the best medicine... but it's not going to go away, and it magnifies every sound I hear, and is drilling into my head as if I had a crocheing needle piercing through there. What a portal. I have an appointment at 2.45 at the medical station, crossing fingers they'll help me there.
Feel quite bad though. Lent some money from Rockstar in order to pay the doctor's visit and I know he's low on money just as me. To be honest, I have no fucking clue how to survive until payday. Before this, I might have made it... but every penny wasted now digs a hole in my wallet, and I'm tired. So incredibly tired.
Luckily it's easy to make grand plans for the future even without any means or fundings.
Losing Herself In Dreams,
POET in the JAR
"Sad because of the pain... and because it's the last thing I could afford right now. Going to the doctor."
Woke up this morning with an intense ache in my right ear. It seems familiar, seeing I've had infections there before, but I have a hunch that's not what it is, not this time. Not sure what it could be. Feels slightly better now though, after I've slept 13 hours in total and they do say sleep is the best medicine... but it's not going to go away, and it magnifies every sound I hear, and is drilling into my head as if I had a crocheing needle piercing through there. What a portal. I have an appointment at 2.45 at the medical station, crossing fingers they'll help me there.
Feel quite bad though. Lent some money from Rockstar in order to pay the doctor's visit and I know he's low on money just as me. To be honest, I have no fucking clue how to survive until payday. Before this, I might have made it... but every penny wasted now digs a hole in my wallet, and I'm tired. So incredibly tired.
Luckily it's easy to make grand plans for the future even without any means or fundings.
Losing Herself In Dreams,
POET in the JAR
Saturday, September 5
Year Of Music
It really is like I've stated before, 2009 is the year of music! After getting started on Spotify earlier today, I made a strange rediscovery of one of my favorite bands, Sounds Like Violence. A cover song I'd never heard from them before called Sammy, which is part of a tribute album for Afghan Wigs.
Had a hunch and went to their website. Found out they are releasing a new full-length album called The Devil On Nobel Street this year on November 9th. Amazing! I have been listening to their first albums, one full-length and one demo-like one, since 2006 and I know their every song by heart. Wonderful. And precisely the news I needed!
Other than that, of course POTF are a lot in the spotlight for me considering the meeting back in August. And I'm again listening, and loving their songs. Rockstar has overheard me listening, and before I knew it, I found Locking Up The Sun on a mixed CD he'd made. I'm pretty impressed by me (almost as much as by him). Well, knew he had nice taste, since he spent the week I was away in Finland learning how to play Carnival Of Rust, and we've played and sung that together.
Also only 19 days until finally I get to see Dead By April live. Awesome! Another wonderful Sticky Fingers night, I am sure. One month after that we've got the Swedish rock guys in Takida to look forward to.
Oh, and I almost forgot the song Monster by Itchy Daze, which you can not allow yourself to miss. Stumbled across this band after hearing them on Bandit (I have that radio station to thank for a LOT). Check them out!
POET in the JAR
Well, have to salvate myself with something.
Had a hunch and went to their website. Found out they are releasing a new full-length album called The Devil On Nobel Street this year on November 9th. Amazing! I have been listening to their first albums, one full-length and one demo-like one, since 2006 and I know their every song by heart. Wonderful. And precisely the news I needed!
Other than that, of course POTF are a lot in the spotlight for me considering the meeting back in August. And I'm again listening, and loving their songs. Rockstar has overheard me listening, and before I knew it, I found Locking Up The Sun on a mixed CD he'd made. I'm pretty impressed by me (almost as much as by him). Well, knew he had nice taste, since he spent the week I was away in Finland learning how to play Carnival Of Rust, and we've played and sung that together.
Also only 19 days until finally I get to see Dead By April live. Awesome! Another wonderful Sticky Fingers night, I am sure. One month after that we've got the Swedish rock guys in Takida to look forward to.
Oh, and I almost forgot the song Monster by Itchy Daze, which you can not allow yourself to miss. Stumbled across this band after hearing them on Bandit (I have that radio station to thank for a LOT). Check them out!
POET in the JAR
Well, have to salvate myself with something.
Window
Was it lies that made you come here?
Was it lies that made you stay?
I'm illusions in your eyes,
pretty lights in window panes
Forget the safehouse and hiding place
that my love used to form
I am nothing but a window,
and I'm breaking in the storm
Are you still the lantern,
supposed to lead my way?
I mistook your light a thousand times
and got myself astray
Better handle that flame
with slightly better care
Who knows if I'd be breaking, darling
if you weren't there
Was it lies that made you come here?
Was it lies that made you stay?
I'm illusions in your eyes,
pretty lights in window panes
Forget the safehouse and hiding place
that my love used to form
I am nothing but a window,
and I'm breaking in the storm
Did you break the china
I entrusted in your hands?
I could hear it crashing, darling
My heart was in there
Better handle the next heart
With slightly better care
I hope you're gonna break it, darling
And I won't be there
Was it lies that made you come here?
Was it lies that made you stay?
I'm illusions in your eyes,
pretty lights in window panes
Forget the safehouse and hiding place
that my love used to form
I am nothing but a window,
and I'm breaking in the storm
I'm a glass window
breaking in the storm
Breaking in the
wind
Was it lies that made you stay?
I'm illusions in your eyes,
pretty lights in window panes
Forget the safehouse and hiding place
that my love used to form
I am nothing but a window,
and I'm breaking in the storm
Are you still the lantern,
supposed to lead my way?
I mistook your light a thousand times
and got myself astray
Better handle that flame
with slightly better care
Who knows if I'd be breaking, darling
if you weren't there
Was it lies that made you come here?
Was it lies that made you stay?
I'm illusions in your eyes,
pretty lights in window panes
Forget the safehouse and hiding place
that my love used to form
I am nothing but a window,
and I'm breaking in the storm
Did you break the china
I entrusted in your hands?
I could hear it crashing, darling
My heart was in there
Better handle the next heart
With slightly better care
I hope you're gonna break it, darling
And I won't be there
Was it lies that made you come here?
Was it lies that made you stay?
I'm illusions in your eyes,
pretty lights in window panes
Forget the safehouse and hiding place
that my love used to form
I am nothing but a window,
and I'm breaking in the storm
I'm a glass window
breaking in the storm
Breaking in the
wind
Shiny
I pretend that everything's fine for you
I'm a worked out junkie and a drunkie too
Behind my polished surface
See how shiny it is
See that I'm a liar
And I'm transparent
How can you believe my faint smile
And my promise I'll take care of it all
Can't you see me when I stumble?
Can't you see me when I fall?
With you I want to desert this place
But I always yearn to be alone
And when I'm alone is when I doubt
When I'm alone is when I drown
POET in the JAR
Currently posting as Wolfzeus
And tired of everything
I'm a worked out junkie and a drunkie too
Behind my polished surface
See how shiny it is
See that I'm a liar
And I'm transparent
How can you believe my faint smile
And my promise I'll take care of it all
Can't you see me when I stumble?
Can't you see me when I fall?
With you I want to desert this place
But I always yearn to be alone
And when I'm alone is when I doubt
When I'm alone is when I drown
POET in the JAR
Currently posting as Wolfzeus
And tired of everything
Monday, August 31
Dust And Memories
Should I be joyous about this? Really? Is this where we were all headed?
I'm looking around in my new place, another apartment to go to waste. Another room to feel at home in, while my mind strays elsewhere. Always dreaming of another place, another job, another shadow to chase. Isn't that always it? Never settled... never happy. I know this place won't be my home in a year from now. And it's almost as if I'm backing out of there again. I don't want another breakup from another place where I've rooted. I don't want to move again. Yet I'll never be happy where I am. Never be fully at ease.
And if I ever am... something will tear it up again.
Something will always... tear me up.
Strange, really.
I yearn for every new place I can get to see. I love the moving in and unpacking and "nesting". And equally much I hate the breaking up the roots, the stuffing everything into boxes again, stowing it away. I hate the going away. The last goodbyes. Knowing that everything will turn into dust and memories, and everything that happened to you here, everything that you were, will fade away.
Disappear.
I'm starting to sound like Woven, aint I...?
POET in the JAR
PS. Got the keys today, dropped a few things by. Tomorrow and Wednesday starts the real moving in business. Perhaps I'll throw some welcome thing when the weekend comes.
Anyway... looking forward to the first night there.
In every darkness there's gotta be some spit of light.
I have to be joyous.
Because if I stop to think, I'll be too scared to go on. And then I'll definitely be stuck here forever...
I'm looking around in my new place, another apartment to go to waste. Another room to feel at home in, while my mind strays elsewhere. Always dreaming of another place, another job, another shadow to chase. Isn't that always it? Never settled... never happy. I know this place won't be my home in a year from now. And it's almost as if I'm backing out of there again. I don't want another breakup from another place where I've rooted. I don't want to move again. Yet I'll never be happy where I am. Never be fully at ease.
And if I ever am... something will tear it up again.
Something will always... tear me up.
Strange, really.
I yearn for every new place I can get to see. I love the moving in and unpacking and "nesting". And equally much I hate the breaking up the roots, the stuffing everything into boxes again, stowing it away. I hate the going away. The last goodbyes. Knowing that everything will turn into dust and memories, and everything that happened to you here, everything that you were, will fade away.
Disappear.
I'm starting to sound like Woven, aint I...?
POET in the JAR
PS. Got the keys today, dropped a few things by. Tomorrow and Wednesday starts the real moving in business. Perhaps I'll throw some welcome thing when the weekend comes.
Anyway... looking forward to the first night there.
In every darkness there's gotta be some spit of light.
I have to be joyous.
Because if I stop to think, I'll be too scared to go on. And then I'll definitely be stuck here forever...
Tuesday, August 25
Another Addiction
It's gone too far
To the point where I need you
I'm not as strong as I used to be
I'm weak, and you weakened me
This is just what shouldn't have happened
I don't need another addiction
But you came along
And you're distracting me
What do you prefer
Being alone or addicted?
Please, stop
Turn around
Then I remember it's too late
It's gone too far
To the point where I need you
I'm not strong when I'm alone anymore
To the point where I need you
I'm not as strong as I used to be
I'm weak, and you weakened me
This is just what shouldn't have happened
I don't need another addiction
But you came along
And you're distracting me
What do you prefer
Being alone or addicted?
Please, stop
Turn around
Then I remember it's too late
It's gone too far
To the point where I need you
I'm not strong when I'm alone anymore
Monday, August 24
What Happened To The Dreams?
Writing is my only refuge. Writing and sugar. I immerse myself in a different world, far from everything here, yet so dangerously, vaguely familiar. All the time I'm eating chocolate. Sucking on the sugar as if it was someone to hold, someone to cherish. And just... writing. Sighing. Feeling like a crapload of shit about life.
What happened to everything I dreamed of? And why does it feel like I'm just wasting my life? I have many things to be happy for, but I just can't be. Something is just wrong with me.
And are we really lazy? Like Dad says?
I think something's seriously fucked with our generation. Before us, people worked like hell and never complained. We work half of their efforts, and get tired, burnt out, and collapse. Why?
Are we supposed to find meaning in this life? Are we shocked when we find that there is none?
Maybe it's just that we don't see the point in the old lifestyle, and the one we choose for ourselves is mocked by the older ones, and I can see why. We don't know where we're going. We have no idea. We makebelieve that we're a notch better than our folks, cause at least we got as far as to the point where we know something's not right about our lives.
But we're still a notch behind them, cause we have no clue whatsoever what to do about it.
POET in the DEPRESSED GLASS JAR
PS. Why is everything so much worse after having something that's the greatest thing ever? DS.
What happened to everything I dreamed of? And why does it feel like I'm just wasting my life? I have many things to be happy for, but I just can't be. Something is just wrong with me.
And are we really lazy? Like Dad says?
I think something's seriously fucked with our generation. Before us, people worked like hell and never complained. We work half of their efforts, and get tired, burnt out, and collapse. Why?
Are we supposed to find meaning in this life? Are we shocked when we find that there is none?
Maybe it's just that we don't see the point in the old lifestyle, and the one we choose for ourselves is mocked by the older ones, and I can see why. We don't know where we're going. We have no idea. We makebelieve that we're a notch better than our folks, cause at least we got as far as to the point where we know something's not right about our lives.
But we're still a notch behind them, cause we have no clue whatsoever what to do about it.
POET in the DEPRESSED GLASS JAR
PS. Why is everything so much worse after having something that's the greatest thing ever? DS.
Thursday, August 20
Fading Breath In Whispers
I don't want to leave here
Even though there's no one around
Only your scent
I'll stay where I can remember you
Where things are almost real
And your fading breath in whispers
is still what I feel
I linger in this place
Though you and me were only on lease
And on rent
I'll stay where I can remember you
Where things are almost real
And your fading breath in whispers
is still what I feel
I don't want to stray from here
And be gone when you return
To vent
I'll stay where I can remember you
Where things are almost real
And your fading breath in whispers
is still what I feel
I never want the bubble to burst
I want you to whisper to me again
And leave me in a dream
Except this time you'd stay
Even though there's no one around
Only your scent
I'll stay where I can remember you
Where things are almost real
And your fading breath in whispers
is still what I feel
I linger in this place
Though you and me were only on lease
And on rent
I'll stay where I can remember you
Where things are almost real
And your fading breath in whispers
is still what I feel
I don't want to stray from here
And be gone when you return
To vent
I'll stay where I can remember you
Where things are almost real
And your fading breath in whispers
is still what I feel
I never want the bubble to burst
I want you to whisper to me again
And leave me in a dream
Except this time you'd stay
Let's Finnish
I'm aware I should be editing right now, and definitely not thinking this much about a certain Cade (most recent spawn of my imagination). I also am aware that if I did sit down to write on his story, defying everything that really needed to be done; I'd probably lose time, forget myself and about work and turn up 2 hours late.
So what is it about this guy, about this story, that I can't let go of? I know it's not going to run anywhere, and I might as well write it once the editing is finished.
I guess that is one of the writer's dilemmas - inspiration never strikes you when you need it, more like the other way around.
Recently I came to rediscover my love for libraries. Always something interesting in there that you can find. Last time I was there (my second time there, in the countryside library of course), I ended up leaving with a beginner's CD course in Finnish and a comic book version of Stephen King's The Dark Tower. Not at all what I was looking for to begin with!
Alright. If this Cade is going to insist on me, I might as well open up his document and get carried away with it, to get it done. At least for just a moment...
POET in the UNUSUAL AMOUNT OF PROSE-WRITING JAR
So what is it about this guy, about this story, that I can't let go of? I know it's not going to run anywhere, and I might as well write it once the editing is finished.
I guess that is one of the writer's dilemmas - inspiration never strikes you when you need it, more like the other way around.
Recently I came to rediscover my love for libraries. Always something interesting in there that you can find. Last time I was there (my second time there, in the countryside library of course), I ended up leaving with a beginner's CD course in Finnish and a comic book version of Stephen King's The Dark Tower. Not at all what I was looking for to begin with!
Alright. If this Cade is going to insist on me, I might as well open up his document and get carried away with it, to get it done. At least for just a moment...
POET in the UNUSUAL AMOUNT OF PROSE-WRITING JAR
Monday, August 17
Hell In A Cavity
Snuff's pathetic. Smoking's pathetic. Morning hellos are pathetic. Everything, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. This is my post-morning mood. It's 7.36 AM and I'm hellishly, hellishly tired. Do I have myself to blame? Partly, sure. I could have gone to bed earlier than 2 AM, and I didn't have to start that new story, that new idea, that was just... perfect. But overall, it's another kind of tiredness. It's the working-11-days-in-a-row-with-another-day-to-go kind of tired, in combination with the after-one-day-off-it's-another-9-days-straight kind of tired; spiced on the top with some freakish nightmares and novel deadline angst. Give me a break, I'm fading away. Dad says this tiredness is laziness. He thinks my generation just isn't used to working. Heh. Funny, when I worked at the school and had weekends off, I was never this tired. Why? Because it was a different job. Even though it was a lot tougher than my current one, it meant something, I felt like I was at least making a difference.
I don't make a difference here. I keep passing on tobacco and petrol, exchanging the same old lines every day with the same old customers. Some days it's alright. Today it feels like hell in a cavity, and that I'll be stuck here, forever.
I just want to sleep... but even when I get off from work, I can't. I have a million things that need attending to.
Just in case you won't see me online this very immediate future, I'm probably passed out in some corner.
Sis refused to start work at 2PM today because she was too tired. She goes on at 4. I know she worked a lot while I was away in Finland, but I sort of envy her a bit. I don't have the same guts as her, and it feels wrong to me to stand up and say "Hey. I'm tired. Help me." Maybe because I'm so fucking scared they'll be disappointed in me if I do.
POET in the SCARED and PARANOID INSOMNIAC JAR
PS. Was really paranoid this morning, drove all the way here crying. Missed John when I woke up. Hope he's alright. DS.
I don't make a difference here. I keep passing on tobacco and petrol, exchanging the same old lines every day with the same old customers. Some days it's alright. Today it feels like hell in a cavity, and that I'll be stuck here, forever.
I just want to sleep... but even when I get off from work, I can't. I have a million things that need attending to.
Just in case you won't see me online this very immediate future, I'm probably passed out in some corner.
Sis refused to start work at 2PM today because she was too tired. She goes on at 4. I know she worked a lot while I was away in Finland, but I sort of envy her a bit. I don't have the same guts as her, and it feels wrong to me to stand up and say "Hey. I'm tired. Help me." Maybe because I'm so fucking scared they'll be disappointed in me if I do.
POET in the SCARED and PARANOID INSOMNIAC JAR
PS. Was really paranoid this morning, drove all the way here crying. Missed John when I woke up. Hope he's alright. DS.
Sunday, August 16
Our Photograph
Frozen time in a frame
Carried with me, always
Whenever I look at you
You will have forgotten me
Forever encapsuled
Where you can't abandon me
I kept our photograph
Frozen, dancing, in a kiss
Ever silent, and I'm missing you
Whenever I look at you
You will have forgotten me
Forever encapsuled
Where you can't abandon me
I kept our photograph
Carry on, walk away
Forget all of the photos
From back in the days
Do you remember
When this one was taken?
Mislead my way
Run from all of our memories
Back in the days
Do you remember
I was shaken?
Whenever I look at you
You will have forgotten me
Forever encapsuled
Where you can't abandon me
I kept our photograph
Carried with me, always
Whenever I look at you
You will have forgotten me
Forever encapsuled
Where you can't abandon me
I kept our photograph
Frozen, dancing, in a kiss
Ever silent, and I'm missing you
Whenever I look at you
You will have forgotten me
Forever encapsuled
Where you can't abandon me
I kept our photograph
Carry on, walk away
Forget all of the photos
From back in the days
Do you remember
When this one was taken?
Mislead my way
Run from all of our memories
Back in the days
Do you remember
I was shaken?
Whenever I look at you
You will have forgotten me
Forever encapsuled
Where you can't abandon me
I kept our photograph
Saturday, August 15
The Biggest Gift Box In The World
Extremely excited would be an understatement. It's almost being as excited as before meeting with POTF, but just almost! Today is Dad's 50th birthday party and what I'm looking forward to the most is seeing his face when we give him his present. See, we thought of this brilliant idea a few weeks ago. It sounded somewhat like this: "Hey, know what'd be cool? Like, really awesome? If we tried to like, build the biggest gift box in the world!" And the answer to that was somewhat like this: "Oh, and we could like, build it so that Dad can like, walk upright inside of it and search around for the gifts, we could plant them inside!"
And since we Ferms are people of our words, so be it. It has taken us a few days to finish it, but now it is finally done; and it's only missing the last few presents to be slipped into it from the back, where we left a handy little present-hiding hole. Haha! It takes a trailer to transport the thing. I gotta make sure my cam batteries are all charged, cause I don't wanna miss this for the world. And no forgetting it is filled with 350 balloons and inflatable toys of various sizes, and the fact that he'll have to cut his way in, which will make some pretty awesome and entertaining noise, I gather!
Feel like I need a sheesha right now, calm my nerves down. It's gonna be like 40 people at this party and they're basically all family (counting in-laws) and old friends to Mum and Dad, so I'm counting on hearing a lot of "Wow! You've grown!" throughout the evening. Pass me a joint! I want to avoid all questions about what I'm occupying myself with these days or why I'm not studying, or what I want to do with my life, etcetera. I hereby holy promise that every time I get that question I will have a zip of drink alternatively propose a toast. It's pretty awesome to be able to drink this time around. When Dad had his last great party at age 40, I was just 11, so. This will make a nice change of scenery. By the way I heard that one sheesha is equal to 16 packs of smokes. Is that true? Hmm.
Mum even made my bed and folded all my laundry while I was away. She must be really keen to make a good impression or she wouldn't dare step foot in my room. Especially not since that sign John gave me to "Keep Out".
POET in the SHEESHA-NEEDING JAR
PS. Also post-Finland and novel excited. Think that contributes? DS.
And since we Ferms are people of our words, so be it. It has taken us a few days to finish it, but now it is finally done; and it's only missing the last few presents to be slipped into it from the back, where we left a handy little present-hiding hole. Haha! It takes a trailer to transport the thing. I gotta make sure my cam batteries are all charged, cause I don't wanna miss this for the world. And no forgetting it is filled with 350 balloons and inflatable toys of various sizes, and the fact that he'll have to cut his way in, which will make some pretty awesome and entertaining noise, I gather!
Feel like I need a sheesha right now, calm my nerves down. It's gonna be like 40 people at this party and they're basically all family (counting in-laws) and old friends to Mum and Dad, so I'm counting on hearing a lot of "Wow! You've grown!" throughout the evening. Pass me a joint! I want to avoid all questions about what I'm occupying myself with these days or why I'm not studying, or what I want to do with my life, etcetera. I hereby holy promise that every time I get that question I will have a zip of drink alternatively propose a toast. It's pretty awesome to be able to drink this time around. When Dad had his last great party at age 40, I was just 11, so. This will make a nice change of scenery. By the way I heard that one sheesha is equal to 16 packs of smokes. Is that true? Hmm.
Mum even made my bed and folded all my laundry while I was away. She must be really keen to make a good impression or she wouldn't dare step foot in my room. Especially not since that sign John gave me to "Keep Out".
POET in the SHEESHA-NEEDING JAR
PS. Also post-Finland and novel excited. Think that contributes? DS.
Thursday, August 13
Edit Session
I reread, and I start thinking. This idea, this thought. It's been here before. I ponder it, I go over it, from a million different angles. Every line makes my thinking go further. And I just know that when I wrote that line the first time, two years ago, I was already thinking, already wondering. And now I'm thinking all over again, the same arguments I had with myself last time, the same train of thought. It's quite interesting, actually. Never thought a rewrite would give me this much! But then again, my old rewrites weren't very extensive. And I didn't pay as much attention to the writing itself. Now that I know the story by heart, I go like, woah. It's so deep and meaningful.
Can't wait to get it in print,
POET in the EDITING JAR
To some I know, I'm known as "Poet in Hejar" xD Ds.
Can't wait to get it in print,
POET in the EDITING JAR
To some I know, I'm known as "Poet in Hejar" xD Ds.
Sunday, August 9
Falling Through The Ice
Falling through the ice
Swept off by the streams
Seeing through your fading eyes
Fighting the urge to dream
Wake me up, try to pull me out
Of the water surrounding me
And closing in on me
Say the name of your sacrifice
And die with me
Drowning, hard to resist it now
Lost in remembrance
Lying, yours weren't hard to find
Wishing I could take back mine
Wake me up, try to pull me out
Of the water surrounding me
And closing in on me
Say the name of your sacrifice
And drown with me
Empty, I left all behind me
Nothing staying to guide me
Lonely, drifting to be free
Sinking, you're sinking with me
Wake me up, try to pull me out
Of the water surrounding me
And closing in on me
Say the name of your sacrifice
And die with me
Die with me
________________________________
These lyrics have a very special meaning to me, and I like the way the melody goes. Much inspired by music I've been hearing lately and things I'm going through at the moment. I will ask someone very close to me to try and put the acoustics to this song.
Meanwhile,
POET in the DELICATE, BREAKING, DECAYING GLASS JAR
Swept off by the streams
Seeing through your fading eyes
Fighting the urge to dream
Wake me up, try to pull me out
Of the water surrounding me
And closing in on me
Say the name of your sacrifice
And die with me
Drowning, hard to resist it now
Lost in remembrance
Lying, yours weren't hard to find
Wishing I could take back mine
Wake me up, try to pull me out
Of the water surrounding me
And closing in on me
Say the name of your sacrifice
And drown with me
Empty, I left all behind me
Nothing staying to guide me
Lonely, drifting to be free
Sinking, you're sinking with me
Wake me up, try to pull me out
Of the water surrounding me
And closing in on me
Say the name of your sacrifice
And die with me
Die with me
________________________________
These lyrics have a very special meaning to me, and I like the way the melody goes. Much inspired by music I've been hearing lately and things I'm going through at the moment. I will ask someone very close to me to try and put the acoustics to this song.
Meanwhile,
POET in the DELICATE, BREAKING, DECAYING GLASS JAR
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