Post-Happiness Infusion

Are these my real thoughts
My actual ideas put in words
Or are they just a product of depression
A post-happiness infusion
A post-happiness display

Everything was so stable
Until I was murdered
By sentimental happiness

Have you ever felt it's impossible to learn
That you always fall back into your own past mistakes
As if you set a pattern for yourself that you must now follow
It's in your blood and carved in stone
Forged from your fear of the comfortable
And from your fear of being alone
In combination

Everything was so stable
I had pieced together everything I could find
Every little piece of paper, pieced together with glue
Forming the most delicate of statues
I had waterproofed it
So it would sail safely
In the rain
In the gutters

Had I ever expected the glue to dissolve
Or for the sun to kill its way through the darkness
Had I ever expected all these connections
All these encapsuled memories
Trapped in my mind
Escaping in laughter
And in tears

Why can't I embrace the unpredictable
Why am I dependent on scenarios in my mind
I relive them always, chasing the undeniable
And creating new ones from time to time
The plausible, the impossible, the improbable
They all struggle in my mind
And when reality strikes
I realize

It never matters what wars go on inside of me
When I only struggled for show and for comfort
Forcing my demons to believe my sugarcoated whispers
In promises about tomorrows I had no right to give away
Tomorrows that were never mine
They were only mine to borrow

Mumble Jumble

I wish I could put my thoughts down in poetry, because I currently feel pretty poetic and deep, but there's just random lines floating about in my head that don't make sense, don't correlate... I'm a little confused and very tired and my head is filled with recent moments of laughter and timeless bubbles cut away from the rest of the world... I wonder if there's something remarkable about certain people. I feel like the people surrounding me daily just fill me with energy and it's like I had forgotten what that felt like, forgotten what people like that could do, what difference they could make. I guess the conclusion I can draw from that is that I really feel like I'm at home and it feels like I would never trade these days for anything. I think I'm going to miss these times a lot when it's all over... I'll try not to think about that, for now...

So at the same time why is everything so depressing? Everyone's feelings, my own feelings, how they clash, how they rebel, how they go into war. All the thoughts jumbled in my head mixing the hopes I have about the future while being absolutely convinced that future will never appear before me, I'll never live to see it...

It was a long time since I felt so split, but it may be a good thing. It can be turned into words. Into art. Into determination and ambition... if only I learn to catch up properly on my sleep...

POET IN THE GLASS JAR

Details

When will I stop reading things into every detail
Things that only flickered by in the minds of others
But to me they are enlarged and deemed important
Deemed vital for unknown reasons I'm sure will show
Reasons I'm sure will save the world or the universe
Or at least save me

I wonder if the insight will eventually break me down
When I realize there was never anything grand
about all those small things that no one ever noticed
Those small things that I lived for
Those small things that I breathed for

When will I stop hoping for the naivest of dreams
And when will I stop nurturing that little knot in my chest
That only unties at certain occasions
At certain inclinations

Are you even aware that I'm breathing
Are you aware what I read into everything you say
What would you say to me if you were able to read me too
Like I was an open book, kind of like you

Let's pretend I don't recognize this feeling
Pretend I don't know what path I'm going down
The highway to my own destruction
Neatly laid out under my feet
By my treacherous heart

I thought I had told myself I could be rational
I could listen to my own logic, reason and rhyme
But it seems I keep being unpredictable, untameable
Time, after time

When will I stop reading things into every detail
Stop intercepting every imaginary message
Sent down the imaginary tubes
Signed by the invisible
Signed by you

POET IN THE JAR

A Word Or A Feeling

Let's pretend I've grown out of disappointment
Let's pretend I'm too old to be naive
That I embrace the rational
Let's pretend that's me

Is disappointment a word or a feeling
Does it have meaning
Is it nothing but the bitter taste in your mouth
The taste of sour on your lips and on your tongue
Is it just the air going down your lungs
Every time you breathe
Just a little less air

Can you say your heart was painted by the feeling
From the inside and out, drowning in paint
Can you say you understand me
When I try to describe how I feel
Or are you just a portrait on the wall
Without thought or feeling at all

Did you smell those chrysant flowers
Did you smell the ocean waves
Did you ever expect more than the world
currently had on display for you
And did you see them,
when they tore it all away
Under your feet

Or did you read about disappointment in a dictionary
Was it explained to you in descriptive words
Did they show you pictures, and play you interviews
With everyone who had ever had the feeling
And do you remember what they said to you

Aren't they just whispers when they whisper from the dark
Aren't they just drifting sound that you interpret
Aren't they just screaming voices in your mind
When you try to silence them, every time
They resurface

I can't embrace what reason and rhyme tells me to believe
I only believe what I see and what I feel as real
When my heart burns and aches with pain,
born and raised in the disappointment game
My mind can tell it to quiet down and to control itself
My mind can even convince my heart that the mind is right
But I can't change what is felt in the heart
When logic and chaos crash together,
and fall apart

Let's pretend I've grown out of disappointment
It's a fun game, isn't it, built on lies
One of the games that every adult plays
A game that doesn't improve with time
Let's pretend I've embraced the rational
But I can't agree

That sense alone is enough
to silence me

The Death Of Dread

I don't remember my heart ever being this full of dread
Filled to the brim with plausible and impossible scenarios
I don't remember when I last felt this heavy
Like every step I took weighed me down
Like every streetlight I passed by
Provoked a chain reaction
And made me feel
every possible emotion

I don't remember when I felt relieved
Except for the times I escaped into my heart
and rearranged it to suit my temporary wishes
Rearranged it so I could pretend it was different
That everything was different

I don't remember when I last felt so small
Like all the buildings towered up around me
Making me insignificant, making me insufficient
I'm so small, in comparison to the sky
To the world
To everyone

I try so hard to convince myself nothing comes easy
And to live the the life you've always dreamed
Requires sacrifice
I try so hard
I'm good at giving advice to myself
Advice I never follow
Things are too comfortable
Too easy and simple
To change

What if things really were different
What would it matter to the world
It's far too busy to stop, and see me
And in the long run, what would I prefer
Fulfilling guidelines of the universe
that I never understood
Or following my heart
Even though it breaks me

Even though it breaks me
It won't break the world
I'll still live
I'll still be
Even when no one else
Can see me

They Always Fall Down

I can feel them burning, burning like fire in my eyes
I can't let them out, can't let them escape
I can't unleash the waterfall
and the waterfall always starts
with just one drop

If I succumb to them what happens to my anger
To my conviction that this was only to be expected
I'll only fall again, and become the sacrifice needed
To avoid confrontations and ill words
To feed my feeling of being safe
And cradled

but some things aren't worth what they cost to achieve

No, I can't let them fall, I can't
If only there was another way to channel them
If only I could send them back and pretend
they never burned in my eyes like fire
Pretend they never blurred my sight
But in the end they always fall
And there's only one way to fall
Down

They always fall down

Mindtricks

Have you ever tried to embrace the cause of your sadness
Holding it to your heart in a treacherous caress
The last time you can read eachother
The last time you'll live in bliss
In one last embrace
In one last kiss
Have you ever experienced this

You spun lies out of spoken words
And almost fell for your own deceit
Learning to mask yourself so skillfully
That everyone was fooled
Including me

I'll keep my own mindtricks at an arm's length away
Hoping I'll protect myself that way
I told myself I was making the right decisions
Keeping my own impulses at bay
Now I can't tell if I did it out of convenience
Or out of self-preservation
And cutting the bonds with desperation
Requires motivation


You spun lies out of spoken words
And almost fell for your own deceit
Learning to mask yourself so skillfully
That everyone was fooled
Including me

Could you teach me, please
How to look beyond the shortest moments
While keeping remembrance of myself
Of who I always wanted to be
Can you teach me, please
You seem to know

You spun lies out of spoken words
And almost fell for your own deceit
Learning to mask yourself so skillfully
That everyone was fooled
Including me

Why couldn't you hold up a mirror shard to me
Forcing me to face what stared back at me
Why couldn't you confront me with my monsters
Maybe that would have scared me back on track
Or at least raised my defenses, spurred me to attack

I spun lies out of spoken words
And almost fell for my own deceit
Learning to mask myself so skillfully
That everyone was fooled
Including me

Sister Time, School, Writing And Watching Documentaries

Nanowrimo is nearing with huge steps. It's in fact just one day away (not counting today), and I intend to spend that day in glorious vacation spirit together with my sister. She's visiting me over the day and I can't wait to see her. I love having visitors, I've missed her like crazy, and some sister-and-sister time always cheers me up. We're going to go swimming and get a nice sun treatment (we people in Scandinavia need these things when the sun decides to go into hibernation for half a year - and yes, that's totally what happens, I've always been such a scientist) that will hopefully cheer my tired body and mind up. I've prepared for making both tacos for dinner and blueberry pie for dessert. Sometimes even a student has to award themselves with a bit of luxury, and what better timing than when your sister visits? We calculated it a bit earlier today and we think that the last time she was here was during the spring, so it's really not something that happens very often. The more fun it'll be, hopefully!

On another, university-related note, I've now submitted all of my assignments and all I can do now is cross my fingers and hope they'll be well received. I spent a few hours of today worrying that I won't pass until I told myself to get a grip and simply stay put for the results. It's kind of hard though, this is one of the courses I've been the very most enthusiastic about and the impact of the grade will therefore be the bigger... I really hope I won't have to redo anything. I'll just cross my fingers and now forget about it.

I can't wait to start Nano. I'm lucky in the way that after Thursday, we're lesson- and homework-free until November 7th, so if I'm just disciplined enough I can try and get a head start for the rest of the month. After all, there'll be no deadlines in November as far as I know; the final submissions will be at the end of the course, and that's not until January. But if Nano interferes with my school results, I'll have to drop it. I'm reluctant to, I have a great idea, and even the most clear and vivid idea of my characters in my head - I might even go ahead and draw them after I write this post. Oh, I should get on with writing the Lovecraft story as well. I was hoping DJ might show up and do some word wars with me so I could finish it, but I haven't seen him around yet, so maybe I'll just do a few on my own. I'd love to have that story sent in so I can really focus on Nano. I don't think I'll be able to do that until the story has been sent in! It's a pretty interesting story, about a man who stays awake because he's afraid of his nightmares. Little does he know that he has very good reasons to be (that is yet to be revealed, probably on page four). It's overall a story about the mare, that gave the word 'nightmare' it's name; the version of it that can be found in Nordic mythology. At least I find it interesting myself and I think it's a pretty Lovecraftian mood over it, but then I'm not one of the judges. It'll be great once I finish it and submit it - it will mean that so far this year I have kept my promise, and entered every writing contest I've found, with only one exception: the Umeå annual contest, which is aimed more towards established writers. I didn't participate in it because A) there was no theme or limitations in the instructions, which strangely generated absolutely no ideas in my head, B) they only approve submissions by regular post which gave me less writing time and C) I had too many other stories going on anyway. I still feel pretty proud of my achievement and I plan on collecting all my produced stories in a little anthology and give it as a Christmas present to my grandparents, and to my mother, the three people who have supported me the most in my writing. I can't wait. Another good thing about November is that two contests will announce the results and the winners, and even though I didn't feel like I produced anything unique for either, I'm still excited to see how it goes. Who knows? I have been wrong before in situations like these. I just really don't want to get my hopes up. There are plenty of good writers out there who are quite the competition so I'm not counting on anything.

Today I've been watching various documentaries most of the day, mostly due to the fact that I'm now 'free' (with the exception of our other course, but I've worked as hard as I could on that today as well, so). I've watched everything from Norse runes found in America, experimental surgeries in the Roman empire, the artwork and film-making of Salvador Dali, the life and deeds of Mother Teresa and very briefly looked at a documentary about president Nixon. I feel twice as informed about the world as I was before, ha, ha. It's a good sign that my brain didn't fry and that I could actually focus on something that wasn't cartoons for more than ten minutes - something I'm not quite able to do when I'm stressed and hyper.

Anyway, that's about all I had to say for now, I should really get to vacuum cleaning and finishing Lovecraft.
See you in the glorious Nano Land!
POET IN THE JAR

Monster Walk

Seems like the only thing I can write right now are random blog posts, but who cares, since I'll have all the writing I'll ever need come November. Not to mention that Lovecraft contest entry that I'm meaning to write but haven't gotten the chance to. Honestly I don't know when I might get the chance to, since we have all our animation deadlines on Sunday, and all our storyboard deadlines on Monday, and I'm far from done with either. Typically for me I was going to fix up one of my previous animations today, in which the character is only supposed to try and open a heavy, locked door; but ended up playing around with giving him a monster walk. If I was at least a little bit responsible I would let the monster walk wait until I had at least made him try that door but there goes. My mind is a little messed up lately despite all my efforts with studying schedules and whatnot. And that just reminded me I should go look at my studying schedule. There, I have now looked at it. Oh, so that's what it says about tomorrow. Two hours of animation and the rest of the day for Storyboard - and if the Storyboard work doesn't take too long then two times two hours of animation. Wow, I have really covered all possibilites. I like looking at my planning of the week, more often than not I am surprised at how cleverly and neatly I have structured my time (now let's just hope I can keep up with that).


But enough about boring schedules and studying.
I'm so excited about Nanowrimo! It starts in just a week, luckily just when all the deadlines have been submitted. My main character Madeline attempts suicide and fails. Afterwards, she finds it impossible to remember the real reason why she wanted to die. It bothers her to the point that she goes to a hypnotherapist, Doctor Ava Lynn Gardner, in order to find out, and hopes the good doctor will be able to help her deal with it if she nears another breakdown. And so her journey through hypnosis begins. She'll be travelling through five different areas of her mind, all influenced by different traditional fairytales. The first fairytale is a dark and twisted Little Mermaid spinoff, where Doctor Ava Lynn to her great regret is forced into the shape of a human with a fish's head. Since she physically remains in the office where she sends Madeline into her own mind, the good doctor can only enter the fairytales with her voice, and her body takes on different shapes in each area. I'm currently trying to figure out what shape she will take in the Thumbelina area but that, in essence, is a whole different cattle of onions.


Well, that's that for now, I think. I need to get to bed early if I want to be anything remotely close to efficient while working on my assignments tomorrow. Good night for now and I'll see you in the various November posts about how Nanowrimo is going that the Poet is predicting. Oh, and she says hi, by the way.
POET IN THE POETRY JAR

Writing And Thinking And Going Haywire

I'm pretty sure this song wasn't in the playlist I just chose, but that's just secondary, and not really what I was thinking at all. Listening to some Shinedown while thinking about stuff. There isn't even anything for me to do in the apartment because I already cleaned and did the dishes yesterday. Odd feeling, there's always something I should be doing but being in front of the screen; but now there isn't - and to top that off I have even spent my planned hours on studying too today, so I've been quite ambitious! Still, my mood swings up and down like the pendulum in a grandfather's clock. It has been pretty stable since I heard Elton John sing I'm Still Standing on the radio when I was taking a drive over to the supermarket, but before that it went haywire. I really felt like just taking the car and going home to Mom and Dad and my sister, even though I wouldn't have arrived until after midnight, which I doubt would have been very popular... still, it's quite tempting to do it tomorrow morning and just surprise everyone, and to, I don't know, just get away from everything around here. It would be cool taking a drive just over to the gas station, stop there, fill up the car, have a coffee and then drive back. I think I might just do that, who knows. I really don't feel like being here tomorrow, there's even a big party planned which will probably be fun, but I'm broke and yeah... a little tired of partying, at the same time as it's the only thing I want to do. No, correction. Drinking is something I want to do, partying - not as much. I kinda miss the times when I was just sitting at home in my little apartment, writing away or watching stuff like Red Dwarf or reading Stephen King, drinking wine and being creative. It's in some ways incredibly depressing to be around the same parties with the same people all the time. I really want to meet new people and maybe make some new friends just for a change, but I always end up with the same people and just, blah. I don't know, it's not that I don't like the people I hang out with because I really do, I appreciate them all a lot - I'm just looking for some people who might have more stuff in common with me. Even though we have our school in common, well... it remains for people to realize that a person is more than what school they attend and well, I have a lot of hobbies that would be interesting to discuss with someone. I think that I might try to go to some write-ins, or maybe even arrange some, when Nanowrimo is here. I'm not sure I'll be able to do the full 50K since I've got both school and I need to squeeze in two more working weekends between now and New Years (already have one scheduled) but I'll be damned if I'm not going to WRITE. I have a pretty good idea too, so I'm quite excited for it! I've posted in the Nanowrimo forums for people in my area who might want to meet up, so far no replies. If no one is active in my area I think I will ask if I can join the Gothenburg people. They're probably friendly and I don't think they'd mind another Nano on board. I could really use some change of scenery - seriously. I don't know exactly why that feels so important right now.


Yesterday I think I made a huge mistake by violating one of the great Stephen's many rules about writing - keep the door closed. I even think I've blogged about it myself, but I couldn't resist. I had just finished a story I call Grammofonen for the Bonnier Carlsen's horror story contest and I really wanted to get some feedback on it. The feedback I got was: "It's well written and I got curious - but then I got disappointed. I don't understand the story". I didn't want to explain too much because I'd like people to read it and start thinking about what it means and what really happens in it; but it didn't work all that well. And now I'm stuck in doubt about this story. Did I make it too cryptical? Does the reader really have to read the other three stories connected to it in order to make sense of it? Is it too poetic, is it too abstract? I don't know, and I'm having such doubts. I'm letting the story rest for now and we'll see how I feel about it when I look at it a bit later on. Bonnier Carlsen accepts multiple stories for their contest so it doesn't really matter, I can always send in another submission if I should feel like it; but still... I don't know. Every writer doubts, I know that. I just wish I hadn't been so eager to show it to someone, because now it feels like the story has a wounded leg and can't walk properly; and I was actually happy with it when I'd finished it. I think in the end I will send it in as it is, because of one simple reason - it was a story I'd been thinking about for a long time that links together some vital things from other stories. I just thought that it would work as a stand-alone story. Maybe asking someone else to read it might also work, if I can get another perspective on it perhaps. OR, that would be repeating the deadly mistake. This close to Nano - don't let anyone make you doubt your writing or you're doomed! Ahhh, it's so easy to give advice to yourself, you just never listen to it properly. Sigh.


On another note I'm quite unusually broke (yes... probably the fifth-hundredth post about lack of money!) and I put up some stuff on this auction site for sale and hoping someone will pick it up. One auction for a bundle of band T-shirts and tops that don't fit me anymore and one auction for three of my prettiest dresses, which I can't wear anymore either. They're just lying around in the closet anyway so what's the use in keeping them? Still it feels a little sad. I wish I had something better to get rid off that would actually give me some money. These are really just pennies and nickles. But it's better than nothing. It's actually come down to the point where I'm going to exchange my leftover Euros from Vienna tomorrow. They're worth far less when they are exchanged back into Swedish money than they were before they were exchanged into Euros but I need every penny I can get to last me until payday. The reason I'm so broke right now is that I borrowed money from my London fund to pay for Vienna, and I had to pay that money back on the following paycheck. In worst case scenario I could borrow again from the London fund but that just ruins the entire purpose of having it. It's not an emergency-fund, it's the London fund; and I'd still have to pay that back again next paycheck so it's really a Catch 22 as far as that's concerned.

Really, really hoping I will get that job for the university, working at the Gamex game display in Stockholm! We got the chance to sign up for it last Monday and I signed up right away. Two or three days standing in the display case marketing the Computer Games Development Programmes - there are harder jobs, and more boring ones as well. I'm waiting to hear back from the teachers. It would help me a lot because it would give me some of the London money I had expected to gain with the writing job that didn't happen (a subject I'm only touching on lightly because I don't want to think about it and be all disappointed all over again).


Right, what are you standing here for, back to swabbing your decks and so should I. I have a long day of doing nothing mixed with possibly some storyboard drawing and possibly some alcohol later on in the evening.
POET IN THE JAR

Constellations

How great it feels to see your dreams break
To lose that little ounce of hope
that you had just managed to conjure
out of many long and sleepless nights
You drew dots of hope in constellations of stars
while blocking every other thought away
As if you could paint a better life for yourself

How great it feels, when that bubble bursts
The illusion that the circumstances might someday change
That someday you might be that person you wanted to be
That you would have done everything you wanted to do
That you had opened your eyes to everything you wanted to see

How great it feels to see all those grand plans
Abruptly and recklessly torn from your hands
instead of slipping slowly through your fingers
You're left with that feeling of surprise and confusion
And it clings to you and lingers

And it hurts, doesn't it
When everyone told you, you were too naive
Doesn't it hurt when they turn out to be right
Doesn't it hurt, doesn't it hurt
When everything breaks
And you break

Horror Show Halloween

Even though there's a lot of things currently on my mind, most of them having to do with school assignments; most of today I've been unable to focus simply because of what I dreamed during the night. It was so unsettling that I can't shake the feeling, even though I've been awake for hours now. The details have blurred up a bit, but in the dream, me and my friends had acquired an old, creepy mansion to have our Halloween party in and spent hours decorating it until it looked like your average horror mansion. Then, we went shopping for alcohol in a huge grocery store which didn't make sense at all, all the items were sorted by some obscure logic that took forever to navigate around. When I'd finally found some bottle of red wine we headed on to the mansion and for some reason we were now going to sit down and feast with all of the mansion's staff which had magically appeared. When we got the mansion earlier, it had been abandoned for ages. But that wasn't the weird part - the weird part was that all the staff was me. Different clothes, but they were all still me. It was like in that scene in Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End where Jack Sparrow orders around a bunch of versions of himself on the Black Pearl; except this was the mansion and I was ordering around me. I also switched perspectives constantly between the different versions of me, and soon the guests were all me, too; I was everyone who was at that party. The party was going to start with a dinner and the snobby guest-me told the butler-me to go get more beer, and I became butler-me, gave a huge sigh and thought that there wasn't any more alcohol to get because the store was closed, and that I'd have to give her one of my beers, and that I didn't want to do that. But I did it anyway and made sure to take the snobby guest-me's change while I was at it (it was over four hundred, not really change but her entire wallet). And then every meal I put out as the staff I didn't get the chance to finish it as the guests before we were all lifted up by some invisible power and placed on the balcony on the floor above, complete with guests, chairs, the tables, the dishes, everything. And we just kept climbing floors and I realized that no matter how much I drank from my glass as the guests the wine never came down my throat, it vanished in my mouth.

I can't stress enough how freaked out I am by this dream and it's one of my worst nightmares in a while - even though to you it probably sounds silly, even peaceful, no action. But the environment was enough. It was completely surreal. I wish for better dreams tonight.
POET IN THE JAR

Your Shallowness

Were you always this shallow
Or have you perfected your image with time
A transparent compensation for past actions
A transparent bandaid for your past wounds
Your past scars

At what point did you lose your depth
And everything that made you interesting
Everything that gave you appeal
And satisfied your own hunger

At what point did you turn your back on the world
The world that was inside your head

Is everything that counts now notches on your bedpost
Your rank among people you never cared about
Is popularity the eighth virtue or the eighth sin
Have you given that some thought
Did you let it sink in

Have you gone over your priorities just yet
Have you looked back and remembered
Remembered the reason you came here
Remembered why you chose it
Why you fought for it

It's not going to match up with your current ideals
Isn't it sad and sentimental how your values always change
And how still the core of things seems to stay the same
And everything's rooted in the past,
no matter how many branches reach out
Everything can be tied to the day
your childhood and naivety died away

Wouldn't it be great if we could brush it off
like dust from our shoulders
Wouldn't it be great

Let's pretend it's possible to run
Possible to settle down
That the demons never follow you
That you could trick them
Let's pretend

I'll let you take care of the pretending
I'd rather take the harsh truth than live in a lie
And I've come to realize what's important to me
And I don't need to feel included in your secrets
I shouldn't feel like I was the one who was left out
Just because I value what goes beyond the most basic
There's a poet inside of me screaming to get out
What's your place to tell me to quiet down
Have you ever had screams
Tearing at the inside of your mind
You have no right to tell me
I'm anything less
than what you are

And I am nothing less
than what I'm capable to be
I don't expect Your Shallowness to see
I don't expect Your Shallowness to agree
But you can turn the tables a dozen times and still find
You're not venturing like me
You're not venturing like me

Jack's World Of Hypnosis

I'm sitting here passing some time before grabbing my coffee thermos (Achievement Unlocked: Caffeinated) and heading off to school to start on my character rigging assignment, and I'm thinking about an idea for a story that I thought of the other day, for now called "Jack's World of Hypnosis". It's about Jack, a man who's been playing with irresponsibility all his life. When his whole life situation reaches a point where every way out is a dead end, Jack is sent to a therapist specializing in hypnosis. To the good doctor, Jack is an interesting subject because he, unlike every other patient, remains present while under hypnosis. In the story we follow Jack as he submerges in the world of hypnosis and is forced to face different metaphorical creations from his own past, confronting past actions and neglect. The story to me feels very alive and caught my interest, but so far the story isn't anywhere but in my head... it seems I can't find the right words to put it down on paper. But who knows? Maybe I need to think about it for a while, letting it slowly brew and finally becoming the ingredient I need to get started. Maybe some wars'll do the trick (whenever I'll find some time for that...).

Off to school now, though, and for a completely different kind of mental challenge.
POET IN THE BUSY BUSY JAR

Different Dark

I think you raped me
I think I never gave you my consent
I think that it never occurred to me to say no
I think that it didn't matter to you
That you never thought of it,
from my point of view

So go on then, do it again
You're welcome to hurt me
To rape me, to scar me
And make every little flame of life
Slowly die, deep inside

I think you stabbed me
when I wasn't looking
when I thought I was in safe hands
And you were everything but safe
How could I convince myself
you weren't dangerous
How could I convince myself
everything was fine
when it wasn't


So go on then, do it again
You're welcome to hurt me
To rape me, to bruise me
And make every little flame of life
Slowly die, deep inside

I'd love for you to tempt me again
To grab onto me and lure me in
As I've always loved to be run over completely
I've always loved to be scarred that deeply

So go on then, do it again
You're welcome to hurt me
To rape me, to bruise me
And make every little flame of life
Slowly die, deep inside

I want you to know that I'll be secretly laughing at you
Are so you pathetic that you have to force your love on others
Were you always forced to those extremes
Treading on everyone else's will and dreams

I think you raped me
I think you betrayed me to the descent
And now I'm the one who's become decadent
I'm the one who can't even focus on daily things
You've forced yourself further, you're in my head
And because of you I can't even think

So go on then, do it again
You're welcome to hurt me
To rape me, to cut me
And make every little flame of life
Slowly die, deep inside

I'd like to think that it didn't have that big of an impact on me
But who am I trying to fool when it changed everything
It even changed the fundamental me
Even though you weren't the first
To stain my innocence
Taking it for your own
It changed how I feel about things
It changed how I see them

I'm done with turning my cheek the other way
And done with pretending you and I are friends
I guess this is the turning point
Where all the pretense ends
For the first time I can see you clearly
See the effects you had on me
You thought I had forgotten,
but I had just repressed it
And it was bound to resurface
I was bound to view you in a new light

Or should I say darkness
You really should be viewed in darkness
For darkness is what has engulfed you
And it's a different dark than mine
It's a different dark than mine

The Capital Report

So I thought I'd give you the full report from my little trip to Stockholm on Monday. As I've told you before I went there to accept the prize for winning the Metro 2033 short story contest, but I had no real idea what was in store for me, except that I was going to a bookshop. I could barely sleep the night before, being nervous for all kinds of things; but as it turned out I had no need to be nervous at all, and I was very well-taken care of by the publisher people. I went up on the afternoon right after school, taking the X2000 train which doesn't stop at many places and makes good time. It took around two hours to get to Stockholm's central station, where after a while, I found the meeting spot, and where I in turn was picked up by the guy the publisher sent. All well thus far. I was asked whether I wanted to take the subway or walk and I chose walking; I didn't regret it. I'd apparently left the rain and wind back home because in Stockholm it was sunny and beautiful over the old parts of the city where we were headed. We stopped by a Chinese restaurant on the way to the bookshop so I could get some food in me, and then proceeded to Gamla Stan and to the final spot, the Science Fiction Bookshop - and its theme for the night, "Post-Apocalypse".

The evening was divided up in three parts; first a pretty non-serious debate on how to survive a post-apocalyptic disaster, and then two different author sessions. First out was P. C. Jersild who is a well-known Swedish author, mostly popular in the seventies and eighties. He was discussing the re-publication of a post-apocalyptic dystopy he wrote in 1982 - a book I got with me home, as part of the prize. After Jersild was the night's big guest Dmitrij Gluchovskij, who is the author of Metro 2033, the novel that inspired the short story contest, and its sequel Metro 2034. He spoke for around an hour and it was beyond any shadow of a doubt that it was to listen to him, that most people had come to the bookshop. It was insanely crowded all night, and there was no room to sit down; I stood up for like 4 hours crammed into a tiny bookshop with tons of other people making it very, very warm. People were using books as primitive fans to cool down. Interesting really, now that I think back on it, and I'm not focused on my aching feet. Anyhow - finally, after Gluchovskij had spoken about his novel and about writing (and despite standing up time just flew away), the publishing company Coltso went up to announce the winner of their short story competition (me). I'd greeted two out of three of the jury members earlier in the night and now they read out loud the motivation for the winning piece, my story Sagan om Viveka:

A well-written short story in post-apocalyptic spirit

that showcases independence, and with thrilling changes of perspective

depicts an important relationship

(freely translated)

And then they called me up and I went to the little writer's table and shook hands with Gluchovskij, who advised me to switch genres to crime stories because they sell better (DJ should recognize this phenomenon) and made some jokes about how I earned this little piece of paper. He hadn't read the story himself but said he was honored that my "career" should begin with a story inspired by his novel's universe. And a few smiles and photographs later it was time for him to sign people's books, and I looked around in the bookshop meanwhile. The Science Fiction bookshop in Stockholm is really something extra. I found all sorts of obscure literature, not only sci-fi but also tons of fantasy, and entire walls with Marvel comics; I even found the comic book adaptation of the Dark Tower lurking on those shelves, not to mention the whole glass cupboard of 'authentic Harry Potter wands' and other collectibles. After the river of people had died down a little, and I'd talked to some people in the audience (among them a guy who'd also been in the contest, and who I'm now going to switch stories with) I got my own copy of Metro 2033 which Gluchovskij also signed for me, so now I have his autograph on both the diploma, and the novel. His signature reads: "To Rebecca, the winner, with my deepest respect and warmest wishes", and when I flip the page, I find the addition "Hope to read your own books one day". It was really amazing and I had a ton of fun at the bookshop.

The night was topped off with a beer at a local medieval-style bar together with Gluchovskij, a couple of bookshop people, and a couple of publisher people. Some interesting and nice conversations commenced and I learned that Russians don't actually throw their glasses over their shoulder when they have finished the glass (that is just a myth in France), and that you shouldn't try enjoying vodka, because it's impossible; and therefore you shouldn't blend it out with anything, but just have it in shots and be done with it. At least that was Gluchovskij's opinion. I also met another guy here who had been in the contest and who had written about a teenage girl; although that is all I had time to find out. It was late already and I had to get going to the hotel. I was showed there by the most official of the publishing people and even though I couldn't sleep for more than just three hours or so before I had to get up again and board the train back home; it was terrific. My feet loved the fluffy bed and the fact that I was done with walking and standing up and my dizzily happy post-event head loved the long shower and the giant window sill where I could curl up and enjoy the view of the... alley (but still, it beats the view we had in Finland). It was extremely tiring to get up at 4.30 AM on the Tuesday and catch a train as early as six, but I had to since I had classes at 10. Either way the tiredness didn't really strike me until later. The train ride home was wonderful and free. My thoughts totally strayed and it was a special feeling to sit in the restaurant of the train with a hot cup of coffee at six in the morning and just watching the world pass by, thinking about the previous night. An adventure I won't soon forget! And if I should, I need only to look at that diploma now hanging framed on my wall.

Now off to sleep land or I'll never be able to get up in the morning;

POET IN THE DROWSY-HAPPY JAR

You Won't Silence Me!

Did someone say the word recognition? Did someone say there was a sweet, sweet smell of recognition hanging around carelessly in the air? Yes, I believe someone did say that, and that someone was me - hello, hey ho, hello, it's the Poet (a word that is difficult to rhyme sensibly with). Your good old Poet said this after placing well in the contest where I submitted Trygghetszonen ("The Safe Place"). But your good old Poet has some more news, and more things to say, and she won't be silenced!

My endeavour for 2011, particularly the summer (inbetween class and work, I was exceedingly bored), was to participate in every writing contest I could find, and so far, I've managed to keep this promise I made to myself. In fact I not only kept it but managed to achieve some of my underlying goals - practicing to write towards a deadline, and just maybe getting my name out there, in any way possible. To realize this endeavour I temporarily abandoned writing in English in order to enter Swedish short story contests, and one essay contest. To your Poet's extreme happiness - one of these contests went well, and more than well.

Yesterday it became official that I won first prize in the Metro 2033 short story contest. The prize is that I get to travel to the capital (Stockholm) on Monday, meet with Russian author of the praised novel Metro 2033, and receive a diploma from him personally. I'll also be rewarded with five books of choice from the publisher who has published the author's books. It's not so much the prize that amazes me - although it does, it's in fact one of the coolest things I've ever won - as the fact that I won, that the jury would deem my little story about Selma/Viveka to be so good, that it would win the entire competition... it's just a magical thought, it's just compelling, and I don't think I've ever felt so special as a writer. Perhaps it's the confirmation part, which is really what has been my driving force all along - the thought that someone would pick up something I wrote and just get it, just understand it, and if not understand it, well then think about it. To be meaningful in that way, to someone who's judging it objectively, and who isn't telling you it's great because you're close to them and you're obliged to do so. Of course this was a contest and perhaps different, but we're still talking about prose - prose, my lover, my best friend, my passion and companion through the darkness... to me, this is more than big.
It means the world.

I understand if all of these contests mentioned everywhere might seem confusing and therefore I have compiled a little list of the writing contests I've been part of, and their current status.

1. Icakuriren's annual short story contest
   Theme: "The key"
   Contribution: Trygghetszonen (roughly, The Safe Place)
   Status: Announced
   Placed in the category 4th-10th. I won an inspiring book package and publication in Icakuriren's annual compilation of the winners, along with the other 9 stories in the category!
2. Vulkan's essay contest 2011
   Theme: "Stereotypes"
   Contribution: Människan behöver stereotyper (roughly, People need stereotypes)
   Status: Announced
   Placed among the jury's favorites, and got published in Vulkan's essay compilation. This is despite the fact that I seemed to misinterpret the 'essay' part and wrote something very scientific and objective, completely lacking personal opinions, whereas what it referred to seems to have been a What-did-you-do-this-summer type of essay from grade eight.
3. Coltso's and Dmitry Gluchovskij's short story contest Metro2033
   Theme: Write your own short story, in the same universe as the novel Metro2033
   Contribution: Sagan om Viveka (the English working title for this story is Viveka's Tale)
   Status: Announced
   Won first prize, train tickets to Stockholm to meet with Dmitry Gluchovskij at the Science Fiction Bookshop and accept a diploma from Gluchovskij in person; as well as five books of choice from Coltso's published books.
4. Stockholm City Library and Sveriges Radio's short story contest
   Theme: Story must include one vampire
   Contribution: Drömsnö (roughly, Dream Snow)
   Status: To Be Announced
   The city library will announce the results in November 2011.
5. SKRIVA's annual short story contest
   Theme: Must be in genre/genres science fiction, fantasy or horror
   Contribution: Vangelis (English title is the same)
   Status: To Be Announced
   This year generated around 150 stories, that's all I know for now.

I hope that cleared stuff up. There's one more contest to go but I haven't sent anything in yet, and frankly, after all this writing I am out of all ideas...
POET IN THE RECOGNITION JAR

Exit Signs

I promise, I'll take care of it tomorrow

Can't you see how those tomorrows glisten

They're full of promises yet to be made,

full of promises still unbroken

And they whisper to you in the dark

Telling you there'll be better days

Do you believe them?

Do you believe them,

dwelling in the dark,

covered in sugar-coated dreams?

What choice do you really have?

When it stands between the final solution

and fixing your eyes on tomorrows

What choice do you really have?

When the present chains you down

When it chains you down so badly you'll surely drown

Even if you never chose it yourself it will chase you

You know you couldn't live this way

Clear-sighted, in the night

You know you'd just fade away

Eventually

When did the demons return?

When did the nightmares start?

When did it become clear to you

That it was breaking your heart
That it was breaking your heart

I promise, I'll take care of it tomorrow

Or really any other day that never comes

I hear those are the best days to deal with life

I hear that running is always the best option

And I'm always running away

Always running away

Can't you see how those tomorrows glisten

Really, can't you see it

Exit signs in the darkness

Exit signs that are only detours

But you ignore it

You see those promises,

yet unbroken

Those promises you made,

to yourself

Timekeeper

You and I, we were born from similar conditions

And we carved our lives with similar decisions

In many ways we're eachother's reflections

but we've ceased to be eachother's voices,

over crackling phone lines

We don't make time,

we don't take time,

the way it used to be

Our conditions now vary

between you and me

I'm sorry I can't be of any more use to you

That I can't act like you expected me to

But what were your expectations, really

It's not my trade to cherish defeat

Congratulations for buying time

It's all still for rent,

it's all still on lease

As am I

I've tried to follow your every development

I've been your companion to your every dead end

I've overlooked everything and given my consent

It's not that I don't care anymore,

I just ran out of energy

and it's not enough for me

to just stand by and watch you leave

Our situations now differ

Our situations are unique

I'm sorry I can't be of any more use to you

That I can't act like you expected me to

But what were your expectations, really

It's not my trade to cherish defeat

Congratulations for buying time

It's all still for rent,

it's all still on lease

As am I,

my little firefly.

Ain't I Always

I'm troubled by money issues, hell, ain't I always. I'm not sure how I managed to mis-plan the summer's budget so badly and well this month ain't really any exception. It's a lot of fees and other stuff like buying books for school now in the start of the semester, so I really should have seen it coming, but I guess I'm not so good at planning. Also, this particular week eats money and spits them out again chewed-up-beyond-recognition because we're doing so many random money-consuming things, scheduled and non-scheduled... but hell, you only live twice, right. It just sucks though, there's such grand plans for everything stashed away inside my head and I can't make them happen because I'm a fucking student and live off student loans. And still I'm stubborn enough to stride against this and use my only earned money to travel when I actually can't afford it, but I'm looking forward to it so badly I wouldn't dream of it being otherwise. I guess that while I contemplate matters such as personal finances (or rather the lack of them) I can do poor-people stuff such as writing. There's no fee for poetry.


Speaking of which there's been a couple of lines ringing in my head lately. I might just go and make a poem out of it.
POET IN THE JAR

Oh, That Sweet Smell Of Recognition

Or that may be an exaggeration, but to hell with it, today I've reason to celebrate and I'll damn well celebrate, if only in the written word. And the written word is exactly what is celebrated. Today I received an email telling me my short story Trygghetszonen (The Safe Place) placed in the top 10 in Icakuriren's contest. This was the first contest I submitted to this year and now here are the results. I don't know my exact placement, only that it was somewhere between the fourth and tenth, but the good news is the prize. Half the prize is a bundle of 'inspiring books', the second half is publication, along with the other nine stories in the top 10, in Icakuriren's anthology of the winning entries. So! One baby step towards recognition! Really it doesn't matter what happens next - the confirmation is enough, for me. That maybe I'm not wasting all that time I'm "sitting on my chamber" typing away but that someone out there might find my words worth something. And publication really is the best prize I can think of. Congratulations to me! It's very rarely I get to be this bragging and selfish, but it's worth it. I feel like I'm invincible right now, and the news even made me go finish up that story that didn't seem to want to end itself, so that's yet another good thing that came out of this.
Now remains to see how the other contests go. I don't have high hopes for the fourth one, for which I've written absolutely squat, the prize money is ENORMOUS, and many established writers enter; but on the other two, who knows. One has been submitted and I'm waiting to hear about it, one is finished and will be submitted tomorrow, and the third has been half-finished - but since it's dependent on the events on the second one, I suspect finishing it will go pretty quickly. Let's all cross our fingers that this is not the last you'll hear from me as a writer.
ADIOS!
POET IN THE JAR

Mushrooms

My dream last night was just completely wicked. It started when I scratched my ears and discovered there was a small colony of mushrooms growing behind my right one, and when I tried to remove them they started bleeding, so I had to let them stay where they were. Everything was in a dirty and low-tech kind of future where most of the city was made out of quilts and patches of fabric. I was for some reason fleeing through the city landscape. I had woken up and no one knew my name, I guess I was trying to find it. I had the brilliant idea that I could signal to my grandmother by pulling out old rugs from a cupboard and hanging them out a certain window displaying a certain color code. With me for some reason was the old woman who's the nanny of my child in The Sims 2. My grandmother replied from her window with another color code and we hurriedly took off to see her. When we arrived, my grandmother, grandfather, sister, cousin and me were all wearing protective gloves while sitting down at the dinner table and we were apparently going to help them out on the big cleaning day, something we did every week. I started browsing through a magazine where I read a very moving article of two old men who used to be soldiers as kids until they inherited a fortune from a distant relative. It was so moving that I started to cry, at which point my grandmother said, "Oh hi John, what are you doing here?" and Rockstar entered the kitchen wearing a giant orange parka. They then exchanged formalities while I tried not to look like I had been crying and made myself busy trying to find that article again to show my sister. Rockstar turned his back on the table and dozens of chocolate bars started falling out of the back of his head onto the floor, something that everyone found to be a hilarious joke. Then he left the room and we left the house on motorcycles because for some reason we were now being chased. During our motorcycle ride I spotted some steampunk-ish aircrafts in the sky, including three of them looking not-quite-but-almost like they were police ships, and I said: "It's my old crew!", kicked off from my bike and jumped all the way up to the police craft where I was sucked into it, but no one else was on the ship. I took a moment to think about whether I was the police or if my ship had been cleverly masked as a police ship and if I was really good or evil. That's when I realized I had been betrayed by someone because the government agents appeared and begun chasing me. They chased me into a building full of parking lots where millions of small red dots started appearing on the ground. My allies still left on the ground called out, "RUN!" because they had spotted the man-size bunny bombs (yes. I'm not making this shit up) that was about to blow my ship to pieces. I jumped out of the ship, which hit the bunny bombs and exploded and I had to run as fast as I could across all those red dots, which were tiny laser bombs and blew up only a moment after I stepped on them. Amazingly I saved myself out of that floor and just like that I was in a hotel, learning my nanny had been the one who ratted me out; she had apparently taken a shot to look like an old woman but was actually a male agent and everything started to make so much sense (...). I summoned my allies from around the hotel's different rooms ordering them to put their costumes on and it turns out we were all kind of superheroes. The perspective was totally reversed and I became one of my nameless allies with long red hair and armed with those comforters you give to kids, but that were actually grenades. This way I could distract a blue-haired maid who discovered me as I tried to sneak out and then take the elevator down. Then I was magically myself again and back on the motorcycle in a landscape that looked like Nevada's. I crashed the motorcycle when I saw a flying man in the sky and realized it was Rockstar flying away. I lay on the ground motionless and I think I shouted things at him, but of course he was too far away to hear me.
And then I woke up.
Anyone wants my dreams?
POET IN THE JAR

Sagittarius!

Here I am again fellas, refusing to give up on my niche (completely random blog posts), the way that Karo refuses to give up on her niche (fan fiction) and DJ refuses to give up on HIS niche (various reviews). Perhaps it's like me and DJ discussed the other day, that we need these niches to kind of keep us afloat and give us a break from all that other, more serious writing; such as poetry and prose. My head has been crammed pretty full of prose lately and I think that if I spend another night dreaming about my own stories I will have start using happy sleeping pills or something.

Anyhow! School resumes on Monday next week, but for me, the Sagittarius; it starts on Thursday. Why is that? Didn't I say? Because I'm a Sagittarius and therefore I am overly fond of committing actively to hundreds of projects at once (I'm sure that Sylvi will recognize the syndrome) and I've got loads of stuff to attend and do before actual school starts, most of it having to do with welcoming the new first-years. On Thursday it begins with attending a planning meeting with teachers and a bunch of other involved students regarding next week's introduction; immediately followed by a planning meeting with the teacher responsible for my particular department (graphics); in turn immediately followed by the annual "fika" where students in the second and third year get the chance to meet with the new first-years before school actually begins. Then Friday, which is relatively free, and then we spin on to Saturday evening, where the, also annual, back to school festivity is held. Followed on Sunday by putting up the campus tents and meeting up with involved students for yet another "fika". Then, Monday, and not even then will I begin school; since I'm to be present at introductory meetings all day, including speaking to the new students in the graphics department and answering all possible questions they might have during the afternoon. Phew! You see why it's a little disturbing that I forgot my calendar at Mom and Dad's and can't write all these things down; but luckily I have a nice mother willing to send it to me by post.

I have a little mixed feelings about going back to school. I love studying what I do, yet I have a nagging feeling that I just don't have the motivation it takes to become good at it. I'm one of those people who had never tried any of this stuff before I got here and I'm still struggling with basic things. Passing courses will be possible, no doubt, I'm just wondering if I'll ever be good enough at it, to actually make a living of it. Only passing the courses isn't really enough within this branch. You have to really stand out and I have this impression that I'll never really reach to that level. What you'll think is, if it's just a matter of motivation, then make yourself motivated; but it's been proven before that it's not that easy, it can't be turned up from nowhere by a flick of a magic wand. Lately, all I have felt an urge to do is write. I can't even draw, whenever I sit down and try I don't have the patience it takes. At the same time, it'll be kind of a relief to get back to school and have a solid every-day life to revolve my routines around and not live as haphazardly as I have been doing all of this summer. Next summer I have to find myself a job, it hasn't exactly been ideal to survive the summer with part loans, part working under the table (and yes I'm not afraid to admit that has been the case). I keep thinking about that white house and about that typewriter and about having every day revolve around writing. I can't get it out of my head. It's impossible. It stresses me out beyond belief to know that I have three more writing contests to submit to still, and that at the same time I have to do all this university stuff; but hopefully I can pull it off. Hey, I pulled off Nanowrimo, and I think that's a bit (only a tiny tiny bit) bigger than writing a couple short stories, which are half-finished anyway and only need some additional work, the foundation has been laid down. I really, really wish I can take part of Nanowrimo this year, but I have absolutely no idea if it will be possible; I think it's at the time where we study our Animation Project and it's such an important course that I can't miss it for anything. I can't use the solution that I did back in Gothenburg where I could just skip some exams and redo them later. This university is quite different. Either how, I still wish there'll be time, and that I'll have energy for it; later in November. I'm convinced November will be pretty grey and boring in all other aspects... like every year. The whole reason everyone does Nanowrimo to begin with.

By the way it's totally cleansing for body and mind to sit down on my patio (that's what the dictionary says... but the word sounds much more fancy than the uteplats really is) with a big cozy blanket and a cup of coffee. I think that I'll have to make that a habit for as long as the weather allows it.

Off for what I hope will be the night where I finish translating Viveka's Tale and make some progress on my other writing, 

Sincerely yours,

POET IN THE BAR

...pardon me, that's supposed to be 'jar'

Viveka

I looked everywhere for you
Through every door, in every room
I thought I could conjure you to life
That you could be returned
That you never died


Everywhere I heard your voice
Everywhere I saw your eyes
Regardless of choice,
Regardless of mind
You presented yourself
To my memory
Ghost to be


I can't retrieve you from the other side
I can't glorify you after you died
I can't grasp my own dreams anymore
but I can fulfill yours
In your name
Even though it's not the same


I had to withstand facing your Reaper
I was forced to embrace
unpredictability
I confronted a mirage of you
That was really me


Everywhere I heard your voice
Everywhere I saw your eyes
Regardless of choice,
Regardless of mind
You presented yourself
To my memory
Ghost to be


They wouldn't let me be,
they chased after me
I ran for you, to save your remains
To save what I remember
from damage and stains


You couldn't face your Reaper alone
Isn't that why I was allowed to be
When all awhile I wouldn't see
that was your only ambition for me


And my dearest,
Everywhere I heard your voice
Everywhere I saw your eyes
Regardless of choice,
Regardless of mind
You presented yourself
To my memory
Ghost to be


My dearest
I don't know what I can achieve
I don't know why I do believe
I can change things or make them better
All I know is that I can't stay here
This heartless existence
is more than I can stand
but wasn't that your true intention
Wasn't that part of your plan
This heartless existence
Was created by you
By your hand


And my dearest
Everywhere I hear your voice
Everywhere I see your eyes
Regardless of choice,
Regardless of mind
You present yourself
To my memory
Ghost to be

Selma - God's Helmet

Hello again, it's me, your Poet. I've taken a temporary break in the writing of my short story in order to tell you a little something about it and above all in order to motivate myself to go on. Progress, as always, is slow; especially when you spend so much time procrastinating even though the chore in question is indeed not only necessary but also entertaining. If you're sensitive to spoilers, it might be best if you don't go on reading.

The story tells of teenage girl Selma, a descendant to survivors of the nuclear war in 2011, who now, in 2033, lives underground with other survivors. Selma is the only resident in the underground system of bunkers and tunnels who is immune to the effects of radiation. After her sister, Viveka, dies from radiation sickness, Selma decides to make a journey to the Surface to honor her memory. On her way to the Surface, Selma travels through five rooms, and it is her progress through these rooms that are depicted in the short story. In the first room she is forced to meet with her old guardian Samara, who is now suffering from the same disease that took the life from Viveka. In the second room Selma meets with underground inhabitants Checkered Hat Man and Tobacco Man, faces Checkered Hat Man in a game of dice and finally wins, enabling her to go on to the third room. In the third room Selma confronts the memory of her sister and has an unpleasant insight about her own mortality. The fourth room is where we find her now, and I'm slightly reluctant to keep telling the tale; mainly because the only notes I left for myself about the fourth room was "mission revealed, you are condemned" and that does have quite the alarming feel to it. The fifth room is the last before, or possibly the same as, the Surface, and is the final part of the story. Here Selma will unveil who her sister really is; the big twist of the story.

That's the main parts of it but not, at all, what the story is actually about. In fact it is framed by another story, one told by Viveka. When you get the chance to read it, this will become clear to you. As usual, if I don't have any success in the contest this story is written for, I will translate it into English and make it available to English-speaking readers.

That was actually enough to inspire me to go on writing. See you mid-war,
POET IN THE JAR

Wondrous Solution

What is there left for me now
As your life progresses, and mine
Always seems to fall behind
In a slower pace
What do you suggest I do
How do I close the rift
you tore open
With claws and
Silent screams

What is there left for me to dream of
I'll never run into your ghost anymore
I'll never lie awake at night
Seeing your demons, fly me by
You've gone to hunt for other demons
Or maybe, for the first time in your life
You're not looking for monsters,
out there for you to find
Maybe for the first time
You look around you
and it all makes sense
Crystal clear sense

Should I be mourning you still
Mourning old games of hide and seek
Those eyes, that you reserved for me
How out of place am I to criticize you
To ask of you to stay
I never said the words
Not to your face
Only inside my own mind
when I daydreamed

What is left to daydream of now
What is left but emptiness and grief
Gradually I've realized
I was never as meaningful to you
As you were meaningful to me

I'd like some of that miracle potion, please
That wondrous solution you drank with ease
That bottle of medicine, that vial
That has ensured your survival
That saved you from denial

What is there left for me now
But only flashes of remembrance
To feed on my subconscious

Hand me that bottle when you're done with it
Maybe we can share it temporarily for a sip
like we used to do
And maybe you could drug me, too
And have your eyes disappear on me
Passionately absent
Violently absent

Don't get me wrong, I'm not keeping you
Evidently, I lost you a long time ago
I'm only wondering, now that you're free
What is there exactly,
Left for me


POET IN THE JAR

Photographs

I took a picture of my newly dyed hair, looked at it and thought: one day these pictures is all that will be left of me. One day I will have been reduced to flat, two-dimensional replicas and gather dust in some drawer until no one can remember how I laughed or what I wrote or how I used to sing or who my friends were or how tall I was or what I used to wear or how I looked like while sleeping. Some day I will have left this existence and my name will disappear and the only thing left of me will be these photographs. And maybe that is why I strive so much to write, to immortalize my thoughts in words so that at least something can live on after I'm gone; and maybe that is also why I'm so destructive, all at once; maybe that is why sometimes I just feel like saying fuck it, life, and not care if I live or die. And the more I think about it now, the more it actually seems as the wish to never die is equal to the wish to be destructive, the more it seems like they are connected, like they are dependent on each other... as if it indeed is true, that destructiveness is how you learn to accept your own inevitable death, as a friend of mine put it... I've been thinking so much about death lately and I just can't seem to get it out of my head, which is probably the reason the short story I started to write for a contest has become an abstraction over my thoughts about mortality and overall something much bigger than I ever intended, and I'm not even sure anyone who reads it will even understand; there seems to be so few who can read between lines.


I kind of miss my old sarcastic self who knew all these things and would treat them with dark humor. It seems all I can do nowadays is look at them and feel the tears in my eyes. Everything has become impossible, everything's a hopeless case, I've given up all hope about people, about man kind, about this world that isn't going to last, about how it is even possible to LIVE without constantly fearing to die, how is it possible? Is it because everyone is blunt and prefer to ignore it, prefer to worry about bills and getting to work on time... because no one wants to realize how fragile they are, no one wants to realize they will turn into photographs one day and then be fucking forgotten?


How come all these insights tend to disappear and go dormant only to return, greater in force and twice as hard because you realize you've had them before and you realize you drove them away out of the same reasons that everyone else does?


You're no different, I'm no different, we're all just small ones afraid of the dark waiting around to die and turn into flat images
POET IN THE JAR

In Hiding

When I'm reminded
I wonder how I survived
Why I survived
When old lines, old words
Decide to reveal themselves
After all their time in hiding
They're like stabbing knives
Reminding, reminding

How could it be possible to overcome
How did I endure, what was my motivation
When I had lost everything that meant something
When I had lost everything that was me

How could I not have seen it coming
How could I not have known
Was I really that naive
Was I really that blind
To think that I would be an exception
To think that you would be
To never imagine you leaving me

Without explanation, without reason, without sense
You left me with an aching hole,
Left me with decadence
Left me to die
Left it all to die

When I'm reminded

I wonder how I survived

Why I survived

When old lines, old words

Decide to reveal themselves

After all their time in hiding

They're like stabbing knives

Reminding, reminding

Self-preservation told me otherwise
Told me I had healed, and that aching hole had sealed
Stubborn self-preservation, telling me lies
And the link hasn't worked for years
But it can still fuel screams
It can still fuel tears

When did I make the decision to live
When did I decide that one day it would be worth it
One day I'd look back and be grateful I was still around
When will it be worth it
When will the pain truly subside
When will I stop panicking
Because I'm alive

When I'm reminded

I wonder how I survived

Why I survived

When old lines, old words

Decide to reveal themselves

After all their time in hiding

They're like stabbing knives

Reminding, reminding

It tears the hole up every time

With every word, with every line

And again it aches, and again I break

Every time I wonder how I survived

I thought the first cut was the deepest

That I'd only be left with scars inside

It was self-deceit, it was all a lie

Carefully told

I was never meant to suspect

It would worsen with time

I was never meant to realize

When I'm reminded

I wonder how I survived

Why I survived

When old lines, old words

Decide to reveal themselves

After all their time in hiding

They're like stabbing knives

Reminding, reminding

Do I really want to fall asleep

What if I dream your voice to life

What if I revive your words, your lines

I can't do it all over, I can't do it one more time

I've managed to block out all their meaning

I've managed to blind myself to their power

I can't lose them one more time,

I can't lose them again

I can't lose you again

Even if it's only in my dreams

Even if you're only conjured by me