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...

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

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.

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

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

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.

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

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.

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.

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