There you have it. More proof that the best stories are not made up, but tells themselves to the writer, who scribbles it down. Thinking of my novel last night, in a slightly panicky way seeing I hadn't written anything all day, suddenly I knew the answers. Knew how to fill those two little plot holes that had so irritatingly occurred, blocking all my further writing.
Amazing, aint it? How sometimes when you just think about things late at night, it's like the solution just pops right out to you, and it feels right, like it's the answer that's been there all along, just without you realizing.
I wanna throw myself over writing... And I think, after this post and a bit of something to eat, I will.
Luckily for me, the auction I'm trying to win on the net (I'm bidding for a train ticket to Stockholm) hasn't quite worked with me, and I've had to start bidding on a later departure. Good, cause I aint packed nothing at all yet, and besides, it might mean I'll get some time to write.
Dad's gonna be here in forty minutes, I suppose what I really should be doing is dressing and fixing myself up. But I just had to slip by.
Glad to say I'm waltzing off to novel-land. See you on the other side.
LOVE, THE PONDERER POET
Wednesday, February 27
Tuesday, February 26
Conditions (I Don't Mind)
Did you ever ask me?
No, you never asked me
cause I was there before you knew you
had to ask me
Did you ever let me?
Yeah, you always let me
cause I was there before you knew you
had to let me
I don't mind watching you in my mind
As long as you follow
These conditions
As long as you mean to
As long as you give me those eyes
every once in a while
I don't mind
I don't mind
As long as you mean to
As long as you thank me for being there
from time to time
I don't mind
Did you ever fall down?
No, you never fell down
cause I was always there to catch you
before you fell down
And did you ever break down?
No, you never broke down
cause I was there to console you
before you broke down
Every time around
I don't mind watching you in my mind
As long as you follow
These conditions
As long as you mean to
As long as you give me those eyes
every once in a while
I don't mind
I don't mind
As long as you mean to
As long as you thank me for being there
from time to time
I don't mind
No, you never asked me
cause I was there before you knew you
had to ask me
Did you ever let me?
Yeah, you always let me
cause I was there before you knew you
had to let me
I don't mind watching you in my mind
As long as you follow
These conditions
As long as you mean to
As long as you give me those eyes
every once in a while
I don't mind
I don't mind
As long as you mean to
As long as you thank me for being there
from time to time
I don't mind
Did you ever fall down?
No, you never fell down
cause I was always there to catch you
before you fell down
And did you ever break down?
No, you never broke down
cause I was there to console you
before you broke down
Every time around
I don't mind watching you in my mind
As long as you follow
These conditions
As long as you mean to
As long as you give me those eyes
every once in a while
I don't mind
I don't mind
As long as you mean to
As long as you thank me for being there
from time to time
I don't mind
Imagery
Got my critique back pretty recently, a few days back, and it's high time to share.
Geez, first of all, gotta tell ya I never thought it'd come out that positive. You know, I was thinking it would just be a load of hints and tips or even remarks on stuff that I'd gotten wrong, but do you believe it? There weren't that many of those! Those that were "remarks" or whatever, were more like tips, in all, it was like, splendid reading. Has to be my best investment, ever. One of the tips she gave me, the critic, was hand in hand with something she thought I was good at, and still it was one of the best writing tips I've ever received. I'm definitely gonna think about it while I finish the rest of the story.
Just for my ego's sake, as much as for your curiosity, I'll go over a few things she brought up. For example, my title is "catchy" and she was "impressed with this choice of title" which by the way "conveys the information in the manuscript". My opening sentences are "powerful" and makes "an excellent beginning". My dialogue is "nice work" and "sounds natural and appropriate to (my) characters". And here's a thought, for me who figured I'd get a lot of remarks on punctuation and stuff: "Your grammar, spelling, and punctuation are all quite satisfactory. Congratulations!" Well, I'm not saying I didn't get any remarks on this, but it just isn't fun for any of us should I tell you my misspellings. All these remarks, however, barely even filled one page. That's pretty good for a 100 page manuscript, right? If all the mistakes in it barely fills an A4 in Word? Well, I sure think so. Other than this, she carried on to tell me about how a standard manuscript is often required to look like, what margins there should be, and chapters beginning on new pages, and that there should be a header on each page with the author's last name and the title of the novel. Really good tips, I'm glad I got them; soon as the story is underway I'll go through the process of fixing it up like this.
So, very positive this far in the critique, but there's more to come. Here're the sentences that just blew me away:
"I feel that no illustrations are needed for this adult fiction manuscript. The text provides a clear image of characters, settings and events. Nice work. The imagery is fantastic."
And here follows her conclusion:
"I believe you can turn this into a marketable story. It has all of the necessary elements: good characterization; interesting (and well-described) settings; and authentic-sounding dialogue. This is an interesting piece of work and I can see it becoming great. The characters are strong and I like the plot. I am impressed so far. I sincerely wish you luck with this endeavor."
Even now, when I've read these words more than a million times, it almost brings tears to my eyes. Finally, it feels as if all my writing through all these years is finally going to pay off. It simply means so much that someone who doesn't even know me as a person, someone who simply has read the text, but whose job it is to evaluate texts; has graded it this good. I can't even explain it. I feel as if I've won a big trophy or something, like I wanna go out and shout and just celebrate...! And suddenly all I wanna do is throw my schoolbooks out the bloody window and get started again. I have so much to write, so much to give. And I know that if I sit down now, without planning anything, but just throwing myself into the writing, it'll be like back in Nano. The most spontaneous bits are amazingly, the ones that are the best, those I've struggled to scribble down is like a spit in the sea in comparison. But in any case, a certain critic somewhere out there thinks my imagery is fantastic, so it can't totally suck even in those bits of it.
One of the best parts about this whole thing is that both the critic and my agent (cause I've finally been assigned one of my own! No more automated emails!) agrees with me in that I'll be able to do my own editing based on the critique. Some of the authors the agency embraces have to spend loads of time revising it along with a professional editor, which, to be honest, costs a lot of money. When i got the email from my agent, she said I could choose myself whether I wanted to do it on my own or go through the manuscript with an editor, and when I told her I wanted to finish the story off before editing it, she agreed with me. And then went on to saying that it would probably be fine in my case that I edited it myself. (Note: having done a professional edit gives you slightly more credit in the marketing process, but does not give you any guarantees. I read a reject letter on a script that hadn't been edited this way but it was really crap. Full stops missing and stuff. I've always had a good eye for those kind of things so I think if I go through it very slowly I'll find most my errors myself. Then there were some spelling stuff the critic remarked on, that they're spelled differently in like, the UK and the US, and I'll have to alter them by looking at her list. Gotta be consistent. Though not that easy for someone not native.)
Right. If I wanna get anything done I better leave you at this. Phew, feels good to get it out of me.
SiNCERELY, POET iN THE jAR
Ps. Can't help but almost shiver all over. "Fantastic imagery"... I'll be able to live on this for months. And finally, no more nervousness. DS.
Ps, 2. I had no idea it was "adult fiction" that I was writing. Guess I never really gave it any thought. Still, it somehow satisfies me to know that she wouldn't like, say it was a children's book or something. Haha. Ds, 2.
Ps, 3. And I mean, seriously? I impressed a critic! I never saw that coming! How do you impress a critic? Geez... I should start having more faith in myself! Ds, 3.
Geez, first of all, gotta tell ya I never thought it'd come out that positive. You know, I was thinking it would just be a load of hints and tips or even remarks on stuff that I'd gotten wrong, but do you believe it? There weren't that many of those! Those that were "remarks" or whatever, were more like tips, in all, it was like, splendid reading. Has to be my best investment, ever. One of the tips she gave me, the critic, was hand in hand with something she thought I was good at, and still it was one of the best writing tips I've ever received. I'm definitely gonna think about it while I finish the rest of the story.
Just for my ego's sake, as much as for your curiosity, I'll go over a few things she brought up. For example, my title is "catchy" and she was "impressed with this choice of title" which by the way "conveys the information in the manuscript". My opening sentences are "powerful" and makes "an excellent beginning". My dialogue is "nice work" and "sounds natural and appropriate to (my) characters". And here's a thought, for me who figured I'd get a lot of remarks on punctuation and stuff: "Your grammar, spelling, and punctuation are all quite satisfactory. Congratulations!" Well, I'm not saying I didn't get any remarks on this, but it just isn't fun for any of us should I tell you my misspellings. All these remarks, however, barely even filled one page. That's pretty good for a 100 page manuscript, right? If all the mistakes in it barely fills an A4 in Word? Well, I sure think so. Other than this, she carried on to tell me about how a standard manuscript is often required to look like, what margins there should be, and chapters beginning on new pages, and that there should be a header on each page with the author's last name and the title of the novel. Really good tips, I'm glad I got them; soon as the story is underway I'll go through the process of fixing it up like this.
So, very positive this far in the critique, but there's more to come. Here're the sentences that just blew me away:
"I feel that no illustrations are needed for this adult fiction manuscript. The text provides a clear image of characters, settings and events. Nice work. The imagery is fantastic."
And here follows her conclusion:
"I believe you can turn this into a marketable story. It has all of the necessary elements: good characterization; interesting (and well-described) settings; and authentic-sounding dialogue. This is an interesting piece of work and I can see it becoming great. The characters are strong and I like the plot. I am impressed so far. I sincerely wish you luck with this endeavor."
Even now, when I've read these words more than a million times, it almost brings tears to my eyes. Finally, it feels as if all my writing through all these years is finally going to pay off. It simply means so much that someone who doesn't even know me as a person, someone who simply has read the text, but whose job it is to evaluate texts; has graded it this good. I can't even explain it. I feel as if I've won a big trophy or something, like I wanna go out and shout and just celebrate...! And suddenly all I wanna do is throw my schoolbooks out the bloody window and get started again. I have so much to write, so much to give. And I know that if I sit down now, without planning anything, but just throwing myself into the writing, it'll be like back in Nano. The most spontaneous bits are amazingly, the ones that are the best, those I've struggled to scribble down is like a spit in the sea in comparison. But in any case, a certain critic somewhere out there thinks my imagery is fantastic, so it can't totally suck even in those bits of it.
One of the best parts about this whole thing is that both the critic and my agent (cause I've finally been assigned one of my own! No more automated emails!) agrees with me in that I'll be able to do my own editing based on the critique. Some of the authors the agency embraces have to spend loads of time revising it along with a professional editor, which, to be honest, costs a lot of money. When i got the email from my agent, she said I could choose myself whether I wanted to do it on my own or go through the manuscript with an editor, and when I told her I wanted to finish the story off before editing it, she agreed with me. And then went on to saying that it would probably be fine in my case that I edited it myself. (Note: having done a professional edit gives you slightly more credit in the marketing process, but does not give you any guarantees. I read a reject letter on a script that hadn't been edited this way but it was really crap. Full stops missing and stuff. I've always had a good eye for those kind of things so I think if I go through it very slowly I'll find most my errors myself. Then there were some spelling stuff the critic remarked on, that they're spelled differently in like, the UK and the US, and I'll have to alter them by looking at her list. Gotta be consistent. Though not that easy for someone not native.)
Right. If I wanna get anything done I better leave you at this. Phew, feels good to get it out of me.
SiNCERELY, POET iN THE jAR
Ps. Can't help but almost shiver all over. "Fantastic imagery"... I'll be able to live on this for months. And finally, no more nervousness. DS.
Ps, 2. I had no idea it was "adult fiction" that I was writing. Guess I never really gave it any thought. Still, it somehow satisfies me to know that she wouldn't like, say it was a children's book or something. Haha. Ds, 2.
Ps, 3. And I mean, seriously? I impressed a critic! I never saw that coming! How do you impress a critic? Geez... I should start having more faith in myself! Ds, 3.
Wednesday, February 20
Second Promo Pic -08
Hey fellas!
Playing around in Photoshop yesterday resulted in a new promo pic (already sick of the last one). Let me know what you think, and feel free to pass it on.
Thanks!
Warm Greetings from THE POET
Tuesday, February 19
World's Longest P.S.
I'm writing again, writing away, and it's glorious. It's about believing in prose, in a way, believing in the imaginary world a novel presents, both while stepping into it, observing, and putting it in print, and while exploring it in reading.
There was this school book, quite dull, that I've been trying to force my way through lately. Novel, of course; but that's not the point, since the novel in question pretty much failed to arouse my interest most of the way through... but there was this part of it, following a writer, that really appealed to me. This writer, he's like, seen the best years of his life and has given up on writing fiction in order to land a better paid job writing some famous family's chronicles. And he goes to see his old publisher, the fiction one, and what follows is the most extraordinary conversation on the topic of the novel.
Now we're starting to get closer to my point.
See, they talk about fiction, about the novel, how it represents something as old as mysterious as life itself. How writing fiction is to be naive, although at the same time you can fit into it shades of the most unpleasant reality. How the novel is the ultimate art form, the ultimate fantasy world, the ultimate amusement given to man, once acquainted to the phenomenon of reading. The phenomenon of words.
It might have been this, it might have been something else, but it doesn't matter. As long as it fuels my writing it might as well be anything.
P.S. I've got fever for the last two days, resulting in me having the most peculiar, and nasty dreams. Nightmares. Last night, or morning, or whatever to call it, I had the most strange dream in which I entered a very, very old and small house, hanging from the cliff of a mountain, reaching out over the wild and untamed sea. And in that house, there were two, just as old, creaking doors, out of which the right one swung open as I approached. Inside was a hatch in the floor, and shelves all over the room containing various diving equipment... I got into a diving suit and the hatch sort of, took off, lowering us down towards the surface of the sea, being torn by the heavy winds on our way down. I don't know how it happened, but suddenly, we were thousands, and I mean thousands, of meters down in the sea, and everything was so dark, so incredibly, unbelievably dark. Below me, in a sort of, research station, my diving companion (who took the face of my old high school friend) was tearing through the remains of a dark ship, a sunken ship, a room in it, that is. And she handed me two pairs of shoes, a pair of black ones, and a pair of purple ones. Feeling cold, and a bit intimidated by the dark, I signalled that I wanted to go up, and she just waved at me, impatiently, suggesting she'd stay behind for a while, but that I could go on up if I wanted to. I looked out the windows, into the depths, into the massive, enormous wall of water separating me from the safety of the land above. And I saw something move.
Something larger than what is even perceivable by man, was moving past the station, with incredible speed and agility for its size. As it got closer, I realized what it was, an underwater monster, like an eel, gigantic, and hunting, and it had spotted me.
Desperately I tried to tell my companion about it, and I think I actually did, that in some way we could talk to eachother, even though we were wearing these diving suits and barely being able to breathe by the pressure and weight by the water as it was. She told me back, that she knew about that, but as long as I timed my departure allright, it would be fine.
And so I went outside, left the station, trying to make myself invisible, even with my lantern steadily clutched in my hand. As the monster approached me, glowing eyes fixed on me, and enormous jaws opening, readying itself to swallow me, I knew it was the lantern that drew it closer, but if I threw it away I would never find my way back up to the surface, or down to the station, again, and I would drown out there anyway when my oxygen ran out. So I clung on to the lantern, even as the giant eel opened its jaws and I was absorbed by the foul darkness inside the creature's mouth.
Over.
It was over.
But wait.
Wasn't there a streak of light somewhere ahead of me?
I tried to breathe calmly, saving my precious oxygen reserves. In my panic, my body and its survival instincts seemed to have acted while my mind had blocked down. I was hanging inside the creature, one hand grabbing some sort of unidentifiable part of it that was dangling on the inside of its, what to call it, cheeks, or whatever. And the light ahead of me was nothing else than the light of the station, vaguely sippering through the slowly opening jaws of the monster. It was about to swallow something else, and not knowing when another chance would come, I pushed off as hard as I could against the wall-like cheek, using all my power and energy to kick and swim my way closer to my exit point, the opening mouth.
I slipped out, just in time before the jaws shut close again, on some other victim of its hunting streak, but only for it to spot me escape.
It was far from over.
Bouncing and kicking my way downwards along its body, in a sort of Super Mario kind of way, I managed to make it dive after me, plunging downwards into the depths, closer to the station, saving me the long stretch I could never have gotten by myself.
Almost there.
I threw myself inside the hatch in the exact last minute, with the very last of my energy, my body screaming of pain and exhaustion as the adrenaline made my veins throb so badly I could hardly see my hand in front of me. The monster didn't give up, banging on the windows the hardest it could, and I knew we would have to get out before it smashed the glass.
Finally, she would listen to me, and somehow, this time, we were dragged upwards in the blink of an eye by rescue workers pulling us up.
This is the worst part.
Once up on dry land, panting of the exhaustion and of the panic, and of the gratefulness to have gotten out, I realize that she's not with me. That she is still down there, and out of some strange reason, so is my father, having replaced my spot down there with his own.
It takes them hours to pull them up.
I can't for the life of me understand what takes them so long this time, when they could pull me up so quickly...
I wait, wandering around the old creaking house, discovering an old and half rotten bathtub, along with the most wondrous little room, full of the most beautiful little pieces of rainbow-coloured furniture.
Finally, after a lot of anxiety and fear, they get them up, and they're both okay.
I wake up, sweating from fever and from the nightmare, and then fall asleep again almost right away, my fever making me drift in and out of shallow sleep. The dream goes on with me stating, I will never set my foot anywhere near an ocean ever again, not in my life. And one of the rescuers tells me, "Don't worry. There's another room." And this time, it's the left of the two doors. And as the door slams shut behind me, I see that it's exactly the same as the other room, in every little detail, and someone says, "Don't be sad all your things got messed up. We've managed to restore it all again for you to dive some more."
And the dream repeats.
Worst nightmare, ever, all categories. Laugh if you will.
DS.
There was this school book, quite dull, that I've been trying to force my way through lately. Novel, of course; but that's not the point, since the novel in question pretty much failed to arouse my interest most of the way through... but there was this part of it, following a writer, that really appealed to me. This writer, he's like, seen the best years of his life and has given up on writing fiction in order to land a better paid job writing some famous family's chronicles. And he goes to see his old publisher, the fiction one, and what follows is the most extraordinary conversation on the topic of the novel.
Now we're starting to get closer to my point.
See, they talk about fiction, about the novel, how it represents something as old as mysterious as life itself. How writing fiction is to be naive, although at the same time you can fit into it shades of the most unpleasant reality. How the novel is the ultimate art form, the ultimate fantasy world, the ultimate amusement given to man, once acquainted to the phenomenon of reading. The phenomenon of words.
It might have been this, it might have been something else, but it doesn't matter. As long as it fuels my writing it might as well be anything.
P.S. I've got fever for the last two days, resulting in me having the most peculiar, and nasty dreams. Nightmares. Last night, or morning, or whatever to call it, I had the most strange dream in which I entered a very, very old and small house, hanging from the cliff of a mountain, reaching out over the wild and untamed sea. And in that house, there were two, just as old, creaking doors, out of which the right one swung open as I approached. Inside was a hatch in the floor, and shelves all over the room containing various diving equipment... I got into a diving suit and the hatch sort of, took off, lowering us down towards the surface of the sea, being torn by the heavy winds on our way down. I don't know how it happened, but suddenly, we were thousands, and I mean thousands, of meters down in the sea, and everything was so dark, so incredibly, unbelievably dark. Below me, in a sort of, research station, my diving companion (who took the face of my old high school friend) was tearing through the remains of a dark ship, a sunken ship, a room in it, that is. And she handed me two pairs of shoes, a pair of black ones, and a pair of purple ones. Feeling cold, and a bit intimidated by the dark, I signalled that I wanted to go up, and she just waved at me, impatiently, suggesting she'd stay behind for a while, but that I could go on up if I wanted to. I looked out the windows, into the depths, into the massive, enormous wall of water separating me from the safety of the land above. And I saw something move.
Something larger than what is even perceivable by man, was moving past the station, with incredible speed and agility for its size. As it got closer, I realized what it was, an underwater monster, like an eel, gigantic, and hunting, and it had spotted me.
Desperately I tried to tell my companion about it, and I think I actually did, that in some way we could talk to eachother, even though we were wearing these diving suits and barely being able to breathe by the pressure and weight by the water as it was. She told me back, that she knew about that, but as long as I timed my departure allright, it would be fine.
And so I went outside, left the station, trying to make myself invisible, even with my lantern steadily clutched in my hand. As the monster approached me, glowing eyes fixed on me, and enormous jaws opening, readying itself to swallow me, I knew it was the lantern that drew it closer, but if I threw it away I would never find my way back up to the surface, or down to the station, again, and I would drown out there anyway when my oxygen ran out. So I clung on to the lantern, even as the giant eel opened its jaws and I was absorbed by the foul darkness inside the creature's mouth.
Over.
It was over.
But wait.
Wasn't there a streak of light somewhere ahead of me?
I tried to breathe calmly, saving my precious oxygen reserves. In my panic, my body and its survival instincts seemed to have acted while my mind had blocked down. I was hanging inside the creature, one hand grabbing some sort of unidentifiable part of it that was dangling on the inside of its, what to call it, cheeks, or whatever. And the light ahead of me was nothing else than the light of the station, vaguely sippering through the slowly opening jaws of the monster. It was about to swallow something else, and not knowing when another chance would come, I pushed off as hard as I could against the wall-like cheek, using all my power and energy to kick and swim my way closer to my exit point, the opening mouth.
I slipped out, just in time before the jaws shut close again, on some other victim of its hunting streak, but only for it to spot me escape.
It was far from over.
Bouncing and kicking my way downwards along its body, in a sort of Super Mario kind of way, I managed to make it dive after me, plunging downwards into the depths, closer to the station, saving me the long stretch I could never have gotten by myself.
Almost there.
I threw myself inside the hatch in the exact last minute, with the very last of my energy, my body screaming of pain and exhaustion as the adrenaline made my veins throb so badly I could hardly see my hand in front of me. The monster didn't give up, banging on the windows the hardest it could, and I knew we would have to get out before it smashed the glass.
Finally, she would listen to me, and somehow, this time, we were dragged upwards in the blink of an eye by rescue workers pulling us up.
This is the worst part.
Once up on dry land, panting of the exhaustion and of the panic, and of the gratefulness to have gotten out, I realize that she's not with me. That she is still down there, and out of some strange reason, so is my father, having replaced my spot down there with his own.
It takes them hours to pull them up.
I can't for the life of me understand what takes them so long this time, when they could pull me up so quickly...
I wait, wandering around the old creaking house, discovering an old and half rotten bathtub, along with the most wondrous little room, full of the most beautiful little pieces of rainbow-coloured furniture.
Finally, after a lot of anxiety and fear, they get them up, and they're both okay.
I wake up, sweating from fever and from the nightmare, and then fall asleep again almost right away, my fever making me drift in and out of shallow sleep. The dream goes on with me stating, I will never set my foot anywhere near an ocean ever again, not in my life. And one of the rescuers tells me, "Don't worry. There's another room." And this time, it's the left of the two doors. And as the door slams shut behind me, I see that it's exactly the same as the other room, in every little detail, and someone says, "Don't be sad all your things got messed up. We've managed to restore it all again for you to dive some more."
And the dream repeats.
Worst nightmare, ever, all categories. Laugh if you will.
DS.
Everyone For Themselves
Everyone for themselves.
You know, I was listening to this song playing on the radio the other day, going a bit like this: "Give me love, love is what I need to help me know my name". What? You need love, or you don't know who you are? Well, that just tells me loads more about yourself than it does about love.
Think about it for a second. This guy, singing the song, he needs someone else to love him in order to feel complete. Meaning, he needs someone else to confirm him and see him, meaning he needs someone else to define him. Or else he's bloody lost.
I don't know. I mean, sure. Loads of people think like him, ya know? Think that if they're not seen and confirmed by others, they're nothing. Loads of people think that love is the ultimate thing, and they actually want it, dream of it, long for it, need it. And yeah, I know, sometimes it can bloody kill ya to be alone. To be lonely. But that does not mean that without someone loving you, you're bloody lost.
In order to love someone else, my sis always says, you gotta love yourself first. And I think she's pretty damn right. Pretty, damn, right. If I'm strong in myself, enjoy myself, like myself, if I know where I stand and who I am as a person, well, then I'm both a hell more interesting person than someone who isn't, and if love should strike me down (cause it does at times), it won't matter. I know myself well enough to bounce back into the old me the minute that happens.
Don't try to tell yourselves you need to be loved. Love yourself instead. After all, the only person you can be absolutely bloody sure you're going to spend every minute of the rest of your life with, is yourself, right?
And if I think about it, the more I'm convinced that I'm right. Even if I look out among my friends, right? The ones who are independent, got a strong personality, and won't change for other people's sake, those are the ones you just love the most. They've got so much depth and they always make things happen and you just go along smiling to yourself, knowing, this is good, right? These people know what they want.
I don't know about you, but how intrigued would you be by some fella sitting in a corner afraid to utter a single little word in case someone, oh horrible thought, might disagree?
Even as I'm writing this, I know there are people who'll disagree. But that's the thing. What, you thought you could just walk right on through life without ever, ever, disagreeing with anyone, or having anyone disagree with you? I bet ya, doing that diplomat kinda thing is gonna lead you down a more complicated, tip-toeing road than the honest, however crude, will ever do.
Correct me if I'm wrong.
Or by the way, no, please don't. Just absorb, dammit.
PS, I don't know if I mentioned it, but a while back we did a thing in school where we had like three hours to write an essay on 500 words? And the Nano part of me just threw myself over it, eagerly dissecting all the essay rules I could think of, resulting in the most sarcastic little piece of text I think I've ever written, all on purpose. And guess what? Got it back today with the highest grade. Only one remark: "Don't use contractions". Lol. I didn't see that one coming, but it sure as hell is a punch in the face of my old English Writing teacher. DS.
You know, I was listening to this song playing on the radio the other day, going a bit like this: "Give me love, love is what I need to help me know my name". What? You need love, or you don't know who you are? Well, that just tells me loads more about yourself than it does about love.
Think about it for a second. This guy, singing the song, he needs someone else to love him in order to feel complete. Meaning, he needs someone else to confirm him and see him, meaning he needs someone else to define him. Or else he's bloody lost.
I don't know. I mean, sure. Loads of people think like him, ya know? Think that if they're not seen and confirmed by others, they're nothing. Loads of people think that love is the ultimate thing, and they actually want it, dream of it, long for it, need it. And yeah, I know, sometimes it can bloody kill ya to be alone. To be lonely. But that does not mean that without someone loving you, you're bloody lost.
In order to love someone else, my sis always says, you gotta love yourself first. And I think she's pretty damn right. Pretty, damn, right. If I'm strong in myself, enjoy myself, like myself, if I know where I stand and who I am as a person, well, then I'm both a hell more interesting person than someone who isn't, and if love should strike me down (cause it does at times), it won't matter. I know myself well enough to bounce back into the old me the minute that happens.
Don't try to tell yourselves you need to be loved. Love yourself instead. After all, the only person you can be absolutely bloody sure you're going to spend every minute of the rest of your life with, is yourself, right?
And if I think about it, the more I'm convinced that I'm right. Even if I look out among my friends, right? The ones who are independent, got a strong personality, and won't change for other people's sake, those are the ones you just love the most. They've got so much depth and they always make things happen and you just go along smiling to yourself, knowing, this is good, right? These people know what they want.
I don't know about you, but how intrigued would you be by some fella sitting in a corner afraid to utter a single little word in case someone, oh horrible thought, might disagree?
Even as I'm writing this, I know there are people who'll disagree. But that's the thing. What, you thought you could just walk right on through life without ever, ever, disagreeing with anyone, or having anyone disagree with you? I bet ya, doing that diplomat kinda thing is gonna lead you down a more complicated, tip-toeing road than the honest, however crude, will ever do.
Correct me if I'm wrong.
Or by the way, no, please don't. Just absorb, dammit.
PS, I don't know if I mentioned it, but a while back we did a thing in school where we had like three hours to write an essay on 500 words? And the Nano part of me just threw myself over it, eagerly dissecting all the essay rules I could think of, resulting in the most sarcastic little piece of text I think I've ever written, all on purpose. And guess what? Got it back today with the highest grade. Only one remark: "Don't use contractions". Lol. I didn't see that one coming, but it sure as hell is a punch in the face of my old English Writing teacher. DS.
Thursday, February 14
Kill And Tell
I could.
I could.
I could.
But I won't.
I'm done with screaming,
done with cries.
With contemplating
shallow lies.
And my heart goes very well,
I will do a kill and tell.
Embraces by anxiety
You'd think it was for me
I could.
I could.
I could.
But I won't.
Save my breathing
to dissolve.
Save your lecture,
let me mould.
And my heart goes very well,
I will do a kill and tell.
Embraces by naivety
You'd think they weren't for me
I could.
I could.
I could.
Oh, but I will.
__________________________
These lyrics are about forgetting your past and what you may have dwelled on. "Kill and tell" is a play on the expression "kiss and tell", here referring to how I've killed the anxiety of my past and how I'm now telling the story of it with a song. I go from talking about how I could let anxiety engulf me, but that I won't let it, to how I could let naivety engulf me, and how I plan to. Naivety, pureness, innocence. That is what shields us from being wounded in life. Even if you stray from it for a long time you might allow yourself to move on, be happy again, if you embrace them. I don't wanna be sceptic anymore. Anticipate being hurt cause that's what mostly happens. I wanna just sway here, in the moment, enjoying every piece of it, without having to worry about what it's gonna lead to or what it's gonna do to me. I just wanna be like a kid, a naive little kid, enjoying love and all that comes along with it without ever having to think about the consequences.
And I will.
I could.
I could.
But I won't.
I'm done with screaming,
done with cries.
With contemplating
shallow lies.
And my heart goes very well,
I will do a kill and tell.
Embraces by anxiety
You'd think it was for me
I could.
I could.
I could.
But I won't.
Save my breathing
to dissolve.
Save your lecture,
let me mould.
And my heart goes very well,
I will do a kill and tell.
Embraces by naivety
You'd think they weren't for me
I could.
I could.
I could.
Oh, but I will.
__________________________
These lyrics are about forgetting your past and what you may have dwelled on. "Kill and tell" is a play on the expression "kiss and tell", here referring to how I've killed the anxiety of my past and how I'm now telling the story of it with a song. I go from talking about how I could let anxiety engulf me, but that I won't let it, to how I could let naivety engulf me, and how I plan to. Naivety, pureness, innocence. That is what shields us from being wounded in life. Even if you stray from it for a long time you might allow yourself to move on, be happy again, if you embrace them. I don't wanna be sceptic anymore. Anticipate being hurt cause that's what mostly happens. I wanna just sway here, in the moment, enjoying every piece of it, without having to worry about what it's gonna lead to or what it's gonna do to me. I just wanna be like a kid, a naive little kid, enjoying love and all that comes along with it without ever having to think about the consequences.
And I will.
Friday, February 8
Dreams & Orders
I had the most awesome dream ever last night! I dreamt of POTF! Haha! I dreamt that they came to this festival called Pier Pressure (which no one seems to know if it's gonna happen this year) and that I got to perform along with them, and they signed all my CD's and photos and so on. It was so cool! I think I'll live on this dream alone for like a month ahead, ha, ha. In the dream, I even dreamt I was appointed "female vocalist", I don't even know when that would come in handy, but still... haha.
And since you know me, I read signs into the dream, and so I've just placed an order at CDON.com of ALL the CD's, except for single "Sorry go round", "Locking up the sun", and of course, upcoming album "Revolution Roulette" which isn't even available for preorder yet. Wow, can't wait, can't wait, can't wait! *Jumps up and down* Since I gave away my LUTS single for a friend last Christmas, I'm kinda missing it, but it feels too soon to order another one. Maybe I'll do that along with newest album in March or something. Anyway, four of the CD's landing in my mailbox soon, I'm already excited (my bank account slightly less so).
Especially "Ultimate Fling" single is gonna rock my world.
So bless me, POTF, haven't sinned this time, instead rather sung a whole dozen of "Ave Maria" or whatever it's called in English.
Gotta study now, even turned down beer (!) in order to do so, so I better get to it. Lucky me that "studying" in my case means "re-reading Harry Potter series for educational purposes", which is the first step of my essay coming up. Wish me luck.
PS. Just got an email back from the critique firm, they say it'll take two weeks from now to review it. Nervous, nervous, nervous. You get the idea. DS.
And since you know me, I read signs into the dream, and so I've just placed an order at CDON.com of ALL the CD's, except for single "Sorry go round", "Locking up the sun", and of course, upcoming album "Revolution Roulette" which isn't even available for preorder yet. Wow, can't wait, can't wait, can't wait! *Jumps up and down* Since I gave away my LUTS single for a friend last Christmas, I'm kinda missing it, but it feels too soon to order another one. Maybe I'll do that along with newest album in March or something. Anyway, four of the CD's landing in my mailbox soon, I'm already excited (my bank account slightly less so).
Especially "Ultimate Fling" single is gonna rock my world.
So bless me, POTF, haven't sinned this time, instead rather sung a whole dozen of "Ave Maria" or whatever it's called in English.
Gotta study now, even turned down beer (!) in order to do so, so I better get to it. Lucky me that "studying" in my case means "re-reading Harry Potter series for educational purposes", which is the first step of my essay coming up. Wish me luck.
PS. Just got an email back from the critique firm, they say it'll take two weeks from now to review it. Nervous, nervous, nervous. You get the idea. DS.
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