Face Punches

Why is it always that when things seem to work out pretty nicely something simply HAS to come around and punch you in the face? Or stomach? Or any other appropriate place where a punch would feel appropriate. There was a reason I left this place, I'm not blaming anyone cause really it's nobody's fault and I know this. But somehow still it's just easy to see all the bad and not the good, see all the drama and all the bullshit rather than all the other stuff... though I haven't been away from here any more than like, two weeks, this city feels totally alien, it's just not me anymore. My new life and heart is in Skövde and that's where I'll stay, like honestly, after Midsummer's, if I'm going home I am going home to the countryside and not to this city. It's just full of people that I well have either a bad history with or they make me associate with bad history (yes I'm aware I'm a difficult person but yeah that's just who I am). Queen said the other day that I don't have the exclusive right to be depressed, and that I've been depressed since birth, ha. I was feeling pretty good, I am feeling pretty good, every  second that I'm in my new city and not here, every second that I'm there I'm just fine. Getting my own room is going to be simply awesome I can tell. My place is not here, my place is not there either probably, it's someplace either where I can well allow myself to be myself and just grow and well just be without all the bad shit that comes along with its wake.

Today I was packing out the last stuff in my old apartment, stumbled on some scribbles from my ex and totally broke down, I feel like a widow, I'm acting just the way a widow would and as if he had died rather than decided to walk out of my life and well nothing more to that. But he did die, part of me died, I guess something must have died in order to give life to this, my new life, my new situation? Something had to be really really bad in order to be good, and I really mean it was bad. You wouldn't know how far it went even if I told you.

Anyway waiting for my friends to come over into this borrowed apartment cause they missed their bus home, better get ready and make room for them. Tomorrow I'll be attending Pier Pressure for the first time since last time haha, well since 2007 or something, possibly 2008? Either way I don't care, tomorrow will be 2010 and that's all I really care about. So see you tomorrow among all the beers and awesome bands and the beautiful, wonderful James.

POET IN THE JAR

Cancer Growth

I am the voice of your whisper
The words on your broken lips
Lips turning into butterflies
Fluttering their wings
Into the ashes you sing

I'm the skin on your fingers
Between you and the world
Your shield, your illusion
Protection against
Everything

You're silent, these days
You don't speak
Even in whispers
No one that listens

You lost your touch
Your way with things
And all your grace
All these days

I'm here, waiting
For a word to be spoken
I'm here, broken

Cancer, dark poison, spreads
Shadows, visual echoes
Of the dead

Det döda i din röst
Det döda i dina ögon
I dina fingrar

Du finns ännu
Och du lever

Men jag, som är del av dig
Fick ge efter och dö
För din överlevnad

I'm waiting, broken
All unspoken
You broke me
To survive

You're cancer now
And you thrive

____________________________________

This is another hybrid piece with elements of both English and Swedish. It's simply the way it turned out as I wrote it off my head at 1 AM in the morning. The part in Swedish translates as follows.

"The dead in your voice
The dead in your eyes
In your fingers

You still exist
And you're alive

But I, who am part of you
Had to give in and die
For your survival"

POET in the JAR

Settling In

Moving always gives you some perspective on life, good or bad. When you're driving out of your old city, you suddenly remember everything that happened there, every loss you had, every kiss you had, every friend you had, everything. Every place you lived. Everything you did. A couple years of your life chucked on the garbage pile labelling it "Baggage".
The new place won't be much different. It'll have the same kind of drama and the same kind of everyday commotion. But it will be new to you, because you have never seen it before, and you see it with different eyes.
I'm seeing things with different eyes and everything here seems just better than before. I don't think it has anything to do really with the city, though this city indeed is pretty cozy; I think it has to do with this. Suddenly I have school and I find it so interesting that I long to go to school. It's five minutes away by bike, I live in a dorm hall where everyone is being social with eachother and making me feel welcome. And I don't have to spend my hours of my days going to a job that was supposed to be temporary and that I never really wanted to have.
I'm listening to Simon & Garfunkel, my mother's favorite artist, such beautiful songs, and writing this just as a little update for you guys. Though both sad and uplifting as it is I believe I will really come to love it here. Part of me already does. I will love it even more when I have my own room to decorate.
POET in the JAR

Throne Of Gold

Throne of gold
Would be yours
You'd climb the world
Turning your back on everything
All the needles
Every sin

You told me we'd scream
Empty our lungs
To all the world
I believed you, and your dreams
We could be great
Make our names

I was climbing the world
The highest mountain there was
Pursuing every hope I was denied
Because of your promises
But you lied

You're not going for the sky
You're not building that ladder
If that hope wasn't true for you
Were those dreams unreal
For me too?

Throne of gold
Won't be yours
You won't chase it
I'm all alone

With my dreams

Puppet, Doll

My sleep is calm,
And undisturbed
I don't look back
At your attacks
When I was hurt

This my cocoon, now
This the safest place, of all
Curtains closing, puppet
Curtains closing, doll
Come sleep here

That innocence I lost
So many times
Stabbing my heart
Raping my mind
I look away, puppet

I look away, doll

And I sleep

Calm and undisturbed

Imprints

These eyes, they're dead eyes
This smile's a dead smile
And I'm empty inside
A window pane
With the imprint

Of your hand

It shows in my eyes
When I slant my head
And repeat myself
With every spoken word
You can tell
With every whisper
From my hell

The rebel spark in me, is dying
The voice in my head is lying
I can't be anything
Can't have it all
That's the illusion
They built for my fall

These hands, are frozen hands
This knot, a rusted rope
And I'm empty inside
A window in rain
With the imprint

Of your fingers

My Bloody Hands

At first you had my pardon
While you were in shock, I pitied you
I was sorry for your loss
For disturbing you
With bloody hands

My wild collided with your calm
Ruining everything you knew
Stirring winds and storms
In your sky, so clear, so blue
Your innocence, doll, your smile
I run it down, as we collide

At first, I felt for you
The broken china, repairing you
I wanted to glue us together
I was healing you
With bloody hands

My wild collided with your calm
Ruining everything you knew
Stirring winds and storms
In your sky, so clear, so blue
Your innocence, doll, your smile
I run it down, as we collide

By now I fear for you
For everything you seek into
It was my blood, on my hands
You didn't see
My selfless hands

My wild collided with your calm
Ruining everything you knew
Stirring winds and storms
In your sky, so clear, so blue
Your innocence, doll, your smile
I run it down, as we collide

By now, you're in debt to me
Even while scared you should care for me
And be sorry for my scars
The devil applied
On my bloody hands

My wild collided with your calm
Taking away safe, replacing with harm
Stirring whirlwinds, and hurricanes
And burning the barn
Your innocence, doll, your smile
I run it down, as we collide...

Bricks & Pillars

Oh, you felt guilty for everything
That's weighed you down
And you have felt like the tower
Now crashing to the ground
I don't blame you for your love
I don't blame you for what was

Come closer, I can pass my love to you
What little I got left, we could split in two
Come closer, I can give you my hand
Lead your way, through your day

And I'll help you build
Your golden bricks, and silver pillars
And I will lift you up
Don't give up, yet
Don't give in, my friend
Though I know this feels like the end
I know this feels like the end

I know you feel selfish, for mourning
All that you were given
And you have felt like a dying stream
I don't blame you for your love
I just won't let you drown,
let you down

Come closer, I can pass some love to you
What little I got left, we could split in two
Come closer, little angel made of dust
Don't stay there in the rain,
I won't let you rust

Now we build your golden bricks
and silver pillars
And I will lift you up
Don't give up, yet
Don't give in, my friend
Though I know this feels like the end
I know this feels like the end

Of us

____________________________

A song meant for my Karoliina Piispa.
Hang in there.
POET IN THE JAR

Idiocy - I'll Be Truthful

Just a few weeks left and I can leave this place, seems like so many of the people here, even friends, are total idiots! Everyone is either hurting everyone else, making nothing out of big deals, and making big deals out of nothing. Everywhere you look it's just complicated and hurtful, even among your friends, among people you knew; everyone carries dark secrets with them that you don't see by first glance. Why do you always happen to get in the way of idiots when there's so many good and trustworthy people? I don't understand, and I don't understand some of the things that people can actually allow themselves to do to eachother.
I could just sit by quietly and watch all of it, and shut the fuck up about it, but that wouldn't be me. It would go against everything I've ever encouraged others to do, everything that I stand for. I will hold back slightly, out of respect to my friend. I will mention no one by name, I will not go into exact detail out of respect to my own integrity, but I'm going to tell you what happened.
This weekend I had too much to drink and ended up being approached by my friend's partner in a very inappropriate way, while I was sleeping. It stuns me that someone would cross that line. I'm angry and disappointed, and worried about my friend, and how she's taking it. I told her what happened, I think she already knew it, but it doesn't matter. What friend would I be if I didn't tell? I hope she understands that I have no reason to lie. I've been her friend for a few years now. I don't want her to be angry with me, don't want to lose her. I don't know how to patch things together, I feel like it's my fault even though it isn't, and it makes me angry too, I'm supposed to be a strong person and no one has that right, to cross that border. You just don't cross it. No matter if you're drunk, you should be able to think, you should be able to think somewhere deep inside that this is not okay, this is taking it too far.
I wish I'd been more sober myself and I would have left as soon as it happened, but I could barely even lift my head up without the room spinning. This just sucks! And what an end to an otherwise perfectly nice night? I don't get it... it's not fair!
Phew. There I got it out of me. Those of you who haven't heard about it already, now you know, at least shallowly and that's a good thing. Because no one tells me to shut up. No one tells me what to say or not to say, what to write or not to write. No one tells me who I am - and no one, absolutely no one - has that right.
POET in the JAR

Hunt That Word Flow!

The idea is spinning uncontrollably in my head and I can't breathe, every waking second it's on my mind, it's in my blood, racing. The story is telling itself inside my head, sometimes in slow motion, other times in ultra rapid speed, always altering, always revising, always coming up with better ways. It ties itself together as it spins through my subconscious, when I least expect the solutions to appear is when they pop out and seem... obvious. I wonder why I never thought of it before.
My fingers are itching to act out on this, to type, to turn this imagery and world inside my head into letters on a page so that someone other than me can see it. Can grasp how beautiful, how sorrowful, it is; even though my ways of describing it in words will never be quite enough to mediate what it's really like.
Alarm clocks go off inside my head telling me I have the previous novel to revise, a poem collection to finish, an apartment to clean out, course books to read, cats to feed, a tattoo machine to fix and a painting to make but I put them on snooze, shutting out those that aren't immediately important in favor for those that can possibly afford 10 minutes more of snoozing... because the idea is fleeting, the world is fleeting, and I have to grasp it while I can. These flows don't happen often. Not even during Nanowrimo, when all you do is write, putting less crucial things such as personal hygiene aside; do you often see them. They hit you sometimes in the madness around 3 AM on a week night when you can't sleep, or when you're nowhere near your word processor and you have to jot it all down on a coffee machine filter for the time being; but this is a flow, and a major flow, and I have to catch it until something dams it up and blocks it off entirely. Like a beaver (I am convinced this will amuse a certain someone) building a dam across the river bed stopping the water from running wild and free.
Patience dears, I'm getting there eventually, but for now Jake & Maddy need me,
and I have to catch that flow.
Hunt that flow!
POET IN THE INSANELY PRODUCTIVE; EFFICIENT AND SLEEPLESS JAR

Chasing Ella

Jake and Maddy are two brothers accidentally ending up in a fight with a couple of older boys. The situation is half salvaged by the old man Ellis walking in on the fight. When paying their respects to the man months later, at his funeral, something strange happens involving the graveyard's gravedigger, and the brothers find themselves in a completely new and sinister world. Ella's world. With the idea of finding Ella weighing on Jake's mind he continously zones away from reality and retreats into himself - counting on Maddy to keep them both out of the worst trouble.

Maddy is the narrator in this Alice-inspired tale, landing you in the middle of a dark dream world as far from any children's story as you can get.

Alice & The Caterpillar

A slanting sign post
Slanting arrows
Which to follow?
Which to trust?

She's a little girl in a blue little dress
A question mark, a game of chess
She's Cheshire, she's Lancelot
The giant mushroom,
in the parking lot

She wanders on, sign says Here
The other sign points her Over There
Maybe she should take neither,
and just walk across the grass
Some of Caterpillar's grass

I'm Caterpillar, in my cocoon,
I'm everything from sun to moon
I'm a man of riddles, a man of smoke
She senses my fumes
I make her choke

I will stroke your hair, Alice
Your dark blue curls
Blow little smoke rings,
Over your head
Then leave you with the mushroom, instead
And the slanting signs
The cookies in the glass jar
And the Drink Me wine

I have to go now, Alice
Leaving my cocoon
Hate to leave you guideless
And lost, so soon

But follow those signs, Alice
They'll lead you the way
Anywhere they take you will be
Some other where than here
And some other where than here
Will be some other place than now
Some other time or no time at all
Tea time, doubly so!
Now hurry on,
You never know

Keep your hat on, Alice, and bow
To yourself
And to no one else

Bow to no one else

Tea

I don't want to be
your bitter flavored tea.
I want to be the lemon slice,
all the sugar, all the spice,
the scent of safety
behind the void.
Stir me like you stir your tea,
have me like you wanted me,
good and pure,
and then destroyed.
I'll be bitter,
I'll be sweet,
all of what you want from me.
But you will choke on me.
You will choke on me.

Gunsmoke

Where is your desire
The fire in your eyes
Your lust, your greed
Your bullet time,
Slow motion speed
A heart by hire
All you need

You build a world of mirrors
Never look in the glass
And follow the train tracks
Without looking back
You never stop,
You never breathe
Never to take time for me

Where is your desire
The fire in your eyes
Your lust, your greed
Your bullet time,
Slow motion speed
A heart by hire
All you need

You lost your hope in the funhouse
Lost among the aisles
Chasing your demons,
Chasing your vial
You never cease
Glass from lips
Always have that wine

At ready

Where is your desire
The fire in your eyes
Your lust, your greed
Your bullet time,
Slow motion speed
A heart by hire
All you need

I'm not the heart by hire
I'm gunsmoke, burnt out fire
I can see it in your shallow eyes
You rule out fire for cold ice
I'm not what you're looking for
Don't you realize?
I'm not your replica
Not your copy
Not your lie

Where is your desire
The fire in your eyes
Your lust, your greed
Your bullet time,
Slow motion speed
A heart by hire
All you need

You've done your work with me
Leave me in my bed, go home,
Fall asleep
In your own sheets,
With your own scent
With your own replica
Paying your rent

Where is your desire
Where is your greed?
Ignore connections,
And attraction
Heart by hire
All you need

A heart you're leasing
might not bleed

Magic, Cynic

Could it for once be something... more? Something that wasn't entirely schemed, planned out and calculated from every direction? Couldn't there be that look across the room, across the road, the sound of her light steps on the floor, on the pavement? Could there be an honest smile? Could there be gentle eyes? Wiping away every inch of me that is cynic and tough. Wiping it away with the magic.

I'm not a romantic in person. Not in the way of pink glouds (yes, glouds), glitter and a big fancy marriage in a church, or getting so attached to your other half that that's exactly what you become - half a person. Two people joined together as one, losing all identity and touch. Not in the way of believing that love is something that gets stronger over the years, rather than losing all of its introductory charm. I know that what you feel for someone can be strengthened by the day. I was there, I've felt it, I know it. And it was different from other things I known. But the deep part of me, the one deep inside that doesn't act like me, speak like me, think like me; that part didn't disappear. There were still feelings of being chained to the ground. It was because I hadn't found the right one. I had found someone I let very close, someone who it hurt to love. But it wasn't the one. Couldn't been.

If there is such a thing as a soulmate, how does it work? Can you really just find one person that is that mirror of yourself, without becoming your replica; and if it doesn't work out that's it? We've blown it? I doubt it, it just doesn't feel right, but when did life feel right? When was life fair, last time I checked? And if there are indeed odds that we will find that one person who's completely right for us, the odds that it will last seem to shrink beside it, in comparison.

I'm not looking for something perfect, something magical, or something that was meant to be. I just wish I wasn't looking at all. And if indeed I wasn't, I'd accidentally stumble upon something small, that was real. Something that was not calculations made on a match making site, an assumption of attraction only based on our sexual identities, something that wasn't a random and shallow encounter in some bar just to be left the day after. Maybe I'm just not cut out for it. I make it out to be as though I was left and hurt while friends of mine don't find it odd at all to be thrown away like a useless rag after use. Some call it casual, that we all have needs, that it's all done on equal demands.

But is it?

We're shallow people, we've lost our faith in romance. I don't remember what it's like to cast a look across a room and meet a pair of eyes and you just instantly know that there's a connection. I don't remember what it's like to kiss someone sober, in a magical moment, a first kiss full of anticipation and desire. I don't know what it's like to have someone close to you that doesn't feel like a burden, that gives you energy rather than taking it away.

Why am I up at this hour, why am I like this again, will things never turn back to normal? I want to be the person I used to be, I want to believe, I want to feel there is something out there for me, someone, someone with those pretty shoes. Someone witty and smart, and reassuringly odd, an Alice, a little girl. I don't wanna be up at 4.11 AM on a Saturday night staring at a screen at words that feel dead to my eyes even as I type them. I don't want to feel like I'm dead, like I'm dying away from everything that's worth living.

I don't wanna wait. I don't wanna wait for everything to work out eventually. I want things now and I want them good, I want it all, I'm done with substitutes, which everything that's trivial and doesn't matter. I want this month to race by because in a new city I can have a new start and a new life and who knows maybe just a grain of something that resembles love.

Something that's real.

Just a look. With those sparkling eyes.
I want to know when I will find you.
When I will find her.
So I know if it'll be worth my wait.

POET IN THE JAR

Your Hour Glass

I see your hour glass
With time that's running out
Time is running out for me
With all the seconds passed
I'm still the same as I used to be
Caught in all my old routines

Pour your sand over me
I'll still be your reflection
Take your hand off your creation
I haven't changed at all
As you can see

Use your open eyes to convey me
And try to face the different light
With all that's left of your dishonesty
You've built your life on a lie

Pour your sand over me
I'll still be your reflection
Take your hand off your creation
You are the one who's been changing me

You have been blinded by the grains
While you've been busy counting time
And every wound that you've inflicted on me
Takes the same form in your mind

Pour your sand over me
I'll still be your reflection
Take your hand off your creation
I haven't changed at all
You've made me

Starting with nothing
You gave me all
From empty pockets
To a heavy heart
Starting with nothing
You made me fall
From empty eyes
I'm now sore

Compared to nothing,
Pain is more

Pour your sand over me
I'll still be your reflection
Take your hand off your creation
Look what you have made, of me
A doll of pure desperation
Stitching eyes to see

Pour your sand over me...

Low

Hitting a low, wasn't going to take my pills for today but in the end I found myself in the bathroom scrambling up some anyway. Listening to Abney Park to try and take some of the edge away. It's working alright. His voice usually soothes me.
Today I had a strange idea about writing a kid's book about UFO's. Maybe I'll do that sometime. Meanwhile I'll just have to spend tomorrow on the poem collection, my deadline for that is on Saturday. I got today off so no worries.
Sigh Robert's voice really helps.
Now maybe for an episode or so of Red Dwarf before bed so I can die away laughing.
POET in the JAR

Sugar Bowl

You're the silver spoon,
In the sugar bowl
The pale full moon,
Without a soul
Will you light my way?
Will you be dim and gray?

I'm the sugar slave,
Addicted to you
I don't want to crave,
I want to be true
Will I make my way?
Will I be freed and saved?

I'm putting you out, fire
I grew to a storm
While you were away
You're no longer a burning star
Pile of ashes, is what you are
That's how you will end,
Old friend

I will end you
And strangle you
Take you down,
And put you out

I'll do it all
Without a doubt

Without a regret

So why haven't I done it yet?

Umbrella Man

I can point you the right way
Help you take those first, faltering steps
Avoid the landmines, and the landslides
I'll tell you where to step next

But I won't be your constant guide
Won't be on your coaster ride
Buy your own golden ticket
Buy your own train
I can't stay around forever
Through your rain

It's my turn to deny you
To take my hands off my own creation
I invited you to scar me, and to use me
As part of my rush, of my sensation

But I won't be your constant guide
Won't be on your coaster ride
Buy your own golden ticket
Buy your own train
I can't stay around forever
Through your rain

I'm done with being your umbrella man
Always letting you heal, before I can
My core is open, I need to be shielded
I need to wash your blood off my hands

I won't be your constant guide
Won't be on your coaster ride
Buy your own golden ticket
Buy your own train
I can't stay around forever
Through your rain

It would be in vain

Anarchy

Today is the third day someone random in Anarchy Online has given me valuable items, even while I haven't asked for them. I went out with asking if anyone could give me a pistol buff, and ended up with two level 90 guns and one million (!) creds - relevant is that on my own so far, buying precisely what I needed to survive and nothing more, had managed to scrape together 33,000 creds. Imagine what a difference that made for me. Either I'm simply very friendly or I'm a very lucky bastard.

Anyway, to stop geeking around. I better head off to bed now, I got a cold and aint feeling like I oughtta, and anyway I need to get up at around 8AM if I wanna have any reasonable chance to make it to work on time. I am so, so tired of working weekends. But soon it will all be over, I'll leave this hellhole of nothing behind me and build my life someplace else, someplace where I will really be able to live...

Today Rebel asked me if I want to take over her dorm room when she moves out in August, which sounds like a nice idea. Over the summer we can share it, that's fine by me. I'm getting even more excited to leave now! Just one more month and I will know if I got accepted to the summer course. Hold your thumbs for me, and that even more importantly, I get into fall's classes.

Love you guys.
POET in the ANARCHIST JAR

Dandelion

There's the Reaper,
harvest emotion
Luring under the darkest tree
There he is, the sweeper
Pulls the ground away
From your feet

Tumble, dandelion
When you're in bloom
When your petals scatter
Towards your doom
Tumble, lion

There's your tomb site,
patch of darkness
Where no eyes can ever see
Stone set, for your slumber
As you die, away from me

Tumble, dandelion
When you're in bloom
When your petals scatter
Towards your doom
Tumble, lion

Little dandelion
You were brave
When you were dying

Flames & Sea

In the water
You're distorted
Facing your own guilty eyes
Wanting to drown
Want to go down?

Into the cold
You're distracted
Thousand needles, all of ice
Taking you down
Want to go drown?

In the sky
You see yourself
Like you never saw yourself
In the water
In the sea

You see yourself,
as a part of me

In the fire
Is where I am, these days
I've hidden from view,
Hidden from you
In this desolate place

As you trace another ocean
Another sea to die
You'll never find my fire,
Never find my lie
Maybe, for the better
Flames don't go too well with sea

But they'll always keep wanting eachother
Like I'm still craving you
And you're looking to die
Because of me

Transparent

You're that scent in the wind
That whisp of smoke that always disappears
When I reach out to touch
You're the fog that clouds the night
That clouds my eyes
And I'm transparent

You're that memory I lost
That melody, familiar, that always fades
Before I remember what it was
You're that drop of blood
Falling from my fingertips
And I'm transparent

You're that invisible power
Invisible emotion
That I can't stand living without
You're what drives me towards pain
When I can't stand life without you
When I can't stand being plain

I have a million reasons to leave this place
Besides from the obvious, in you
A million reasons to just start over
Aren't you tired of this city too?
I tell everyone how I look forward to leave
While everyone easily sees through to me
I'm transparent

You drove me away
You don't get to regret it
You don't get to follow
And I don't get to come back

Bye Bye, Ophelia

It's tradition by now to stop by here whenever I finish a novel, and this one I hold very near and dear to my heart. Today I wrote the last chapter, and epilogue, of my beloved Ophelia's Photograph. She even managed to surprise me in the end, and I was very close to bursting in tears. Because of what happens, because of how it ends, because of the sad and melancholic beauty of their world. It doesn't feel like I've created it. It feels like they told the story themselves. And as far as I know Cade, he'd need to get it off his chest.
I borrowed my Grandma's printer to get this first draft (filled still with plot holes, typos and incorrect depictions of eye colors) out on paper. 243 pages it turned out to be, too many to even bundle together in a single bunch. I simply had to cut it a break after Chapter 8 and pretend that it was meant to split there, ha ha. I also made damn sure to put the manuscript on a CD, I will make another proof copy tomorrow (and yes, I'm aware that I'm being paranoid).
Tonight me and DJ finally managed to call eachother using Skype (damn that MSN into the wall and back) and I love that. It's just proof of how well we know eachother by now and how good friends we are that we were on the phone talking about nothing and everything for 4 hours and 45 minutes. Roughly. My only regret is that he lives across the globe. I want all my friends to come live closer!
Anyway, I'm dead tired and should stumble into bed. I just wanted to let everyone know, who doesn't already, that the novel is finished, and that I'm panicking in lack of a new novel project to throw myself into at once. Holding those pages in my hands was bliss. I've never felt as much as a real writer as in that moment.
I love all you guys. Without you, I wouldn't have hung around for this long.
POET in the JAR

Pretending To Live

And all I'm doing is just surviving while I'm

Pretending to live
Pretending to be untouched by
Your uncertainty
Pretending to love
As if the feelings of my
shard of heart's enough

It's been so many days
I'm trying not to count them
And keep me occupied
But I fall anyway
With every word I hear
And song that reminds me

I'm pretending to live
Pretending to be untouched by
Your uncertainty
Pretending to love
As if the feelings of my
shard of heart's enough

My sleepless nights
I'm trying hard to fight them
Dozing off alright
But I'm wide awake
With every word I hear
And song that reminds me, I'm

Pretending to live
Pretending to be untouched by
Your uncertainty
Pretending to love
As if the feelings of my
shard of heart's enough

And all I'm doing is just surviving while I'm

Pretending to live
Pretending to be untouched by
Your uncertainty
Pretending to love
As if the feelings of my
shard of heart's enough

Cade On The Loop

Crossing my fingers right now for something very important, or at least it is to me. In case it doesn't work out I'll keep quiet about it for the time being.

On other matters. Thinking constantly about the novel and about what happened this week, hoping it'll repeat again soon. We'll see. If it's supposed to be... it'll be. And I'll try not to let it distract myself anymore, although that smile is etched onto my mind. As concerns Cade he's getting very close to the end of his story, this time around. I don't know yet if I'll be writing a sequel to his story, it simply seems to be this one story with him; but I can't tell for sure until I've written the last few vital scenes. I was thinking how cool it would be to hit 100K before the story's over, but I'm currently at 81 and I doubt I'll last even all the way up to 90. Anyway, besides the obvious Nano-addict talk, what matters is that I'm getting near completion.

I have no idea what to do with my life when it's done, uh. Maybe I'll have to fill it with a social life outside of my characters. Hmmm. Seems impossible.

Cheers, be back in writing business on Monday by the latest.
POET in the JAR

Necronomicon

Just came back home after last night's adventures. I feel like shouting it out to the world what happened and what a good time I had, but seeing I'm supposed to be broke that's maybe not the best option. Realized that I had spent 400 crowns of the money Dad gave me at the pub rather than at the grocery store... ehh. Yeah. Waking up today was a bit of a shock (especially seeing I didn't even wake up in my own bed) but it was a very nice shock. I'm not complaining. I hope I'll get to see her again sometime soon, trying not to get my hopes up.

All my time lately is going to the novel. It takes all my time and all my energy. I'm close to finishing it, not sure what I'll be doing once I do; but probably dig out my old Playstation and play through some of the classics like Resident Evil or something. I had a strange urge to play it over the last few days although I know myself well enough to assume I'll play it for 20 minutes and then give it up again and abandon it for something else. I might sit down by the tv and get some Final Fantasy X done though. Yeah I think that's a good way to cure a hangover.

I'll be off to work in a couple of hours, things there will be slow as hell but I'll live. Probably flip through Necronomicon by Lovecraft for another round of horror short stories (already late for the library but what the hell. The book is a brick) and just try to pass the time, really.

See you later, alligator.
POET in the JAR

Insignia

I break the branches of an early fall, leaves sogging in the pools of dark water under my feet. The branches snap with a loud crack, tearing through the sound of the rain.
Up on the roof, it feels like it's raining even more than on the ground, the wind tearing at my hair and at the collar of my leather jacket.
Under my shoes there's pieces of gravel. The kind small enough to get caught in the pattern under your shoes, the kind that are strewn over the snowy streets in winter and emerge like an undiscovered shore at the turn of the tide. A few of these tiny stones are in my hands now, edges on my wet skin, marked by dirt and rain. I let go of one, watching it fall heavily towards the ground below from here, disappearing out of my view before it reaches its final destination.
I look up again, my attention caught by the opposing rooftop, the white flag with the familiar insignia flapping, and raging; in the stormy wind. It glares at me, eerily; I don't return its eager stare. That is not what I came for.
I get up from my knees, when the last knot has been tied, and it's my turn to fall down towards the asphalt far below. From above, all you will see is the white fabric, mocking the flags and their insignia back.
But above me, there is nothing.
Below me, is the whole wide world.
POET in the JAR
(A sort of novel idea, or something, that just popped into my head. I couldn't get it out in any form of poetry so here it is, raw and unedited for later uses. Enjoy meanwhile.)

Magnifying Glass

This is the sun,
in the magnifying glass
Burning your bridges,
without looking back
This is your life,
Set in flames
Until it's all the same
To you

You lost the big picture
You only saw the puzzle
I painted it in dark red,
like the inside of my head
You got lost in the picture

Hold your hands now steady
For the rays
All your pain will go away

This is the sun,
in the magnifying glass
Burning your bridges,
without looking back
This is your life,
Set in flames
Until it's all the same
To you

Your salt is your salvation
The answer to the riddle
I made you scream, and cry
Led the well to your eyes
But your salt was your starvation

Hold your hand now steady
For the rays
All your pain will go away

This is the sun,
in the magnifying glass
Burning your bridges,
without looking back
This is your life,
Set in flames
Until it's all the same
To you

You're blind in the light
Lost, you're deaf,
And lost, in greed
I can't guide you, anymore
I can't die for you, and bleed

You set your own sun on fire,
Magnifying glass

Pieces Of Glass

When I find you in a lie
You break down
You're broken,
In a thousand pieces of glass
Your voice is broken
Your fingers shaking
And you whisper

You whisper, finally,
The truth in my ears
A shattered truth
As broken
As you

It's so easy to believe
Your whispered silver words

The last word falls from your lips
The last honest breath
Taken, from your lungs

And I break down
I pity you
Who has to lie,
Even of truth

But I don't, really
I pity me
Even for a second
I can't be naive

I break down
I'm broken
Falling to the floor,
In pieces

Just like your lie

My Shell

I can't get up
My eyes won't open
I turn around, and keep sleeping
It's another thing to add
To all the things I can't do

Like leaving here
Like leaving you

My alarm rings
I toss it away
I turn around, and keep sleeping
Another nightmare to add
To all the dreams I had,
About you

Like leaving my shell
Like entering hell

All these songs,
Just one more time
Please
Just one more listen

Why did I have to grow up?
Why can't I just lay down and sleep
Until it all has gone away

Until you've left my dreams

Small Space

Just went out for a breakfast downtown that I don't actually afford (but I'm sure I'll work things out eventually). Back in my small space, that's at least my very own space, I'm listening to some Kina Grannis songs and thinking about things.

I had an appointment at the therapist's today, and I didn't go. I didn't even call in to cancel, I just turned around and went back to sleep. Now my bad conscious is haunting me, although I don't need any lectures that I should and would need to go there; and I can't let go of it. I just called in and left a message on her answering machine to call me back, I hope we can work something out. Every time we talk we work something out and we agree that I should come down on a certain day and a certain time, and then when that day comes I still prefer to turn over and keep sleeping rather than stumbling out of bed and going down there to spill my guts out. Thing is, the more times I don't go there, the harder it feels like it will be once I actually do. I'd really need to talk there I think, since everything around me right now is just so... fucked up, or rather inside my own head... and still I can't fucking manage to get down there. Well, at least I've called her now, and that's a start, I guess.

I'm so tired these days. I'm tired because of everything going on, because of working this much, because of mine and Happy's daily workouts. I fall asleep like someone had hit me in the head with a club and constantly tend to miss my alarm clock. I cherish sleeping like nothing else, as if the lack of sleep I've had for the past months has finally caught up with me and made me totally exhausted. We've been doing the workouts for a rough month and a half by now and the results are starting to show, and I'm starting to feel them as well. I still wish I hadn't been woken up this morning though, because I'd love to feel as rested in mind and body as I did when I woke up yesterday on my own accord.

I'm freaking out slightly about moving. I know that it'll most certainly be better than here, I know that there are many things I'll be better off without. But it's all intimidating too, and there are things I have here that I'm just not ready to lose.

I'll just try to forget about that stuff and focus on what's going to improve.

Now if you forgive me I'll take an endeveour into novel land before getting ready for work. Sigh...

POET in the JAR

Temptation Desire Delicious

Sweet temptation
Lined by silver
Sweet desire
Wrapped in gold
Sweet delicious
So I'm told

Give up all restrictions
I don't want to be forbidden
I don't want the shadows
Of your call
Give it in
Give up all

Oh fascination,
Cloudy sky
Desperation,
Lullaby
Liberation,
Gone awry

Give up all restrictions
I don't want to be forbidden
I don't want the shadows
Of your call
Give it in
Give up all

Sweet temptation
Is my pride
Sweet desire
I will hide
Sweet delicious
To let go

To let you know
I told you so

Polaroid

Her hazel eyes
Her fiery red lips
Her brown curls
Falling gently,
Around her face

Framing her

The way my photograph was framed
By the white edges of the polaroid

___________________________

Just an extract from my novel in progress, here in poetry form.
POET IN THE JAR

I'll Type On My Deathbed

Yesterday it worked, today it won't. One hour of drawing and I haven't forgotten what time it is, I haven't come up with anything whatsoever useful. I tried to draw Satine in Moulin Rouge and came up with some square-looking shemale with fake lips and fake hair. It's one hour of wasted work for nothing, and I can't use this piece of shit for anything.
Changing the topic.
Today the therapist called and asked me why I have kept cancelling my hours lately. I told her the truth, that I've just haven't had the energy to come on in and have those one hour sessions. She sounded concerned and my bad conscious gave me a sting. I don't even really know the lady, but she's always very kind and something about her warm ways just always pulls my sadness trigger. I can sit in her little office and not be able to stop crying and not even know why. Sometimes even the way she'll pat my back and send me on my way can make it worse. Why? It's not like I haven't met nice people before. Yeah, I don't know.
I should be relieved that the Queen is back again, but I can't make myself feel it. It's odd. Whatever I learned from her it is to never trust what people say, even if they swear it on their lives that it's true, because in the end all sworn truth is a lie. And although sometimes my heart will ache for her, my heart will break with hers, there is a bitter flavor to the whole endeavour that I can't explain. It's... complicated. I want to blame myself for feeling the bitterness, for being selfish in this whole situation but it's impossible to rid myself of the feeling. It still tastes like salt. It doesn't taste sweet, not at all.
What am I so afraid of, really? Apart from my obvious fear of dying. Seems every step someone else takes towards growing up I feel like I want to shrink away and disappear into the safe arms of youth. When I hadn't yet learned about life, about death, about it all. While people around me hook up, break up, move in, move out, get engaged, marry, have children, buy fucking apartments in different cities; all I want to do is crawl away, close the door, type. Type. TYPE!
I swear, I'll be fucking typing while I'm on my deathbed and you will be the ones fetching me paper and ink. For once it'll be the roles reversed. And you will be there for me.
You will do all the hard things for me.
POET IN THE JAR

Drop Of Blood

There is glitter in your blood
Slowly trickles down
And freezes
Like a snowflake

Is your drop of blood

There is life in your blood
Life of heart
Until it dies
It's so intense

Your drop of blood

I will cut you open
To see your blood shine
Only the few drops I need
To make that glitter mine

Like a snowflake
A dying flower
In your wake

Is your drop of blood

You can have my blood
And my stained knife
You can have my breath
My entire life

For you're in my blood, darling
And that's what makes it glitter

7.40 (Sometimes)

I'm sleeping again
Dozing off into slumber
And I dream, again
Many restless dreams

7.40
You wake me up
You're holding me too hard
Shaking me
It hurts
It stings

I'm smiling, sometimes
When I manage to forget
But some things we were
Just aren't forgotten yet

7.40
You wake me up
You're holding me too hard
Strangling me
It hurts
It stings

So what if I can sleep again?
When you wake me up 7.40 AM
And I can't get myself to move
I can't get myself to breathe

7.40
You wake me up
You're not holding me
Not shielding me
And it hurts
It stings

Field Of Dreams

There's a pattern
I should follow
A flight of stairs
I should take

Climb on upwards,
To the wake

There's a light
I should run to
Drawn to it
Like fireflies

Stagger forwards,
To the wake

There's a dream
I should let go of
Returning to
Reality

Stagger forwards,
To the wake

There's a field
Of imaginary scenes
A land of wonders
And silly dreams

Walk on forwards,
To the wake

There's a dreamer
Who's only real
Remembers it all
Her pain, her scars

Stagger forwards,
To the wake

There's an end
To her dreaming
It will set her free
But the end of dreaming
Is the end of me

Dream on forwards
It's not too late
Fall asleep
Inside your dreams

Don't ever wake

Indifferent Heart

There's an empty spot,
In your parking lot
Either you're out,
Or you've gone away
I'll never know
If you left or stayed

There's a dark window,
where the lights were on
Either you're asleep
Or you're not there
I'll never know
Why I keep my stare

I let you be a memory
A reminder of what I used to be
By now you've gotten hold of me
You're taking me over,
Entirely

There's an empty part,
Of my indifferent heart
Either it's dying,
Or it's wide awake
I'll never know
Until it breaks

I let you be a memory
A reminder of what I used to be
But now you've gotten hold of me
You're taking me over,
Entirely

I'm shutting out the images
Killing you with silence
But nothing ever really killed you
Or my one way romance

Every time I voice it
Every time I hear it
You're taking me over
Entirely

Definitions

You name your enemy
Like there was no tomorrow
Label them with ease
Judge them, as you please
But you own their sorrow

Life and love
Has no reason or rhyme
Why define?
Why define?

You are your enemy
You are what you borrow
Deceitful hands
Is what you see
But you're the scarecrow
You're the vulture

Life and love
Has no reason or rhyme
Why define?
Why define?

Let go of your cramping grasp
There's only smoke between your fingers
You can't catch your own presumptions
As you are caught by the others
Pulling the same tricks

Poking the same sticks

Life and love
Has no reason or rhyme
Why define?
Why define?

See you in the web of disaster
The net you strew around you
While insight flew around you
And over your head

You toppled over,
Numb and dead

Life and death
Has no reason or rhyme
Why define?
Why define?
You'll still be my love
Forever
For all time

Shard Of A Child

Your story is woven, before my eyes
It tells of truth and dismal lies
Shown in images and stills
It tells of revivals, and of kills

Flown here by the raven
Clinging still, to hope
Your thinnest rope
Your haven

This is your life
Intertwined, with mine
For better or worse,
We'll learn with time
This is your world now,
Shard of a child

Your story falters, along with mine
Breaking to pieces, it falls behind
Shows in the blood drops
When your heart stops

Flown here by the raven
Clinging still, to hope
Your thinnest rope

This is your life
Intertwined, with mine
For better or worse,
We'll learn with time
This is your world now,
Shard of a child

We're deserters, and deserted
The only ones who tried to feel
For this we were banned
For being real

This is your life
You're different now
For better or worse,
You'll learn with time
This is your world now,
Shard of a child

In the surreal of the wild

Bye Bye, Beautiful

I will find her
Walking through the waterfalls
The emerald fields
Gliding through the air,
Searching the ground
As if I had wings
I will find her

She'll wait for me
Sending out signals that I'll hear
Signal is stronger, when I'm near
She'll be there
She'll be whole
And waiting

I will find her

She'll have a fabric flower in her hair
It'll have the shape of a broken heart
It will be hers, worn on the outside
Inside she'll have a hollow void
And the key to her empty chest
She'll have thrown away

Into the waterfall

I will find it
Walking through the waterfalls
Breaking the surface
I will open every shell
And spontaneously combust
I'll burn, for her

The waterfall will burn
I'll be without a key
I will learn that without it
She can never be with me

I found her
Congratulations, and smile
I got to see her
A little while

Bye bye, beautiful
In another world
Another time

I will find her
And she'll be mine

Ending Light

I went back to where I met you
I've been there a thousand times
I tried to wash away your stains
To put a lid on all the pain

Every time, it faded in strength
Every time, returning again
Your echo isn't weak to me
I catch your trace,
Still frequently

Out where there are no sounds
I heard your whispers in the wind
I tried to run until I found
Your footsteps, weary
Dancing away

Every time, you faded in strength
Every time, returning again
Your imprint isn't weak to me
I catch your scent,
Still constantly

I went back to where you left me
I've been there a thousand times
In the cocoon of nothing you sent
Where there is no sense,
No reason or rhyme

Every time, I faded in strength
Every time, returning again
Your shadow doesn't flee from me
I catch your trace,
Still constantly

I may disappear sometimes
And not know where I am
In the mornings, in the nights
But something glimmers
Something bright
The ending light

Every time, it faded in strength
Every time, returning again
Your lantern isn't vague, to me
I'll follow you
You have the lead

Colorful

Things have changed, my dear
I feel it in the air
Something quite invisible
But clearly, it is there
It strokes you
Can you feel it?

Stay, please
Even if it's your words, only
Stay, please
I'm not lonely
With you

I can't fall in love anymore
As if I forgot
Should be quite natural
But clearly, it's not
It smothers you
Can you feel it?

Stay, please
Even if it's your words, only
Stay, please
I'm not lonely
With you

I don't know you, my dear
Who you really are,
If you're really here
I'm the same, haven't changed
But life is less colorful

Less wonderful

Stay, please
Even if it's your words, only
Stay, please
I'm not lonely
With you

We've become a film roll
In only black and white
Muted, by remote control
Robbed of all our heart,
And soul

Stay, please
Even if you've lost your color
Even if you don't want to paint me
Any more

Long Oddity

It's been a very long and odd day, I'm happy that it's drawing to an end. Usually 10PM on a Friday would be nowhere near the end of the day, but I'm feeling incredibly tired. This is the fifth working day (before that I had one day off, and then before that another three work days) and I can't really relax since I know I still have all weekend, and Monday, left to drag myself out of bed and go to work. Then maybe I can let go, for a while...
I try not to think of it, but the thought hits me over and over again that I'm a failure. That I can't even keep a relationship, that I dropped out of uni, that I've done nothing at all, achieved nothing. I know it is not so, when I'm thinking rationally, but when these thoughts strike me there is no logic. There is only dark and logic. Had I been at home this time I would have gone to take my pills, but I was still in the store, and I remember thinking "not here, not now". I had to stop for a while to control my breathing before I could go on and leave the store, and by then I had forgotten half of what I was supposed to buy. Sigh. I don't know what it is that's bugging me, and that's the worst part of all.
It seems to me, when I look at my life, that I don't have very much to complain about, not when I compare myself to others. I can't understand why it should be so difficult just to live, I never wanted it to be this tricky. I saw myself as someone who loved life and what it had to give. Now most of the time it tires me. There are flashes of light, like when the sun comes out after two weeks of darkness and it makes the white world glisten in every corner; or when you read a really good book or really love a song, or whatever it might be. But soon as they appear they are clouded again, and I'm drifting away.
Anyway... there are a few things to look forward to... and I got some very welcome money today so I'm overall satisfied.
POET in the JAR

Where Is The Soul?

All these empty words. All these people, pretending like they care. It is to dampen their bad conscience, and their guilt, guilt for simply being alive, and in the eyes of some, having it all.
We are not willing to give up any of our own luxury. We have roof over our heads, food on the table, we have water available straight from our taps. In a perfect world that would be all we needed, but it isn't. We need our chocolate bars, our cigarettes, our movies. We imagine that shallow and material things will buy us happiness. Make the difference between surviving, and living.
Everything I've read so far of the Haiti earthquake proves this thesis. It doesn't matter how much money people decide to donate, sending text messages to certain donation numbers, or calling there during charity events. In the end the help is heartless, it has no soul. As well as most the articles of the disaster. The attempt to write in a solidary manner is so extensive that it falls flat, and becomes only mockery, ringing false. Where are the real portrayals? Where, among all the numbers of victims, charts over collapsed buildings, and Haitian history, are the human beings?
My co-worker said the other day what Darwin thought in his time - the strongest will survive. My co-worker's idea was to stop helping crisis countries with the argument that in time the strongest would remain, and the "weak" would have been sorted out of the equation. I'm reminded of the writer who wrote the ironic essay suggesting to eat infants in order to cure starvation. Where is the human being here? Where is the living and breathing person, with dreams of the world?
We are not the strongest. It was luck that we were born here. I doubt my co-worker would have the same arguments if he had been born in Haiti, or anywhere else where there is chaos, and where they need our help.
I understand that the world is over-populated. I understand that maybe, if you were utilitarian, you would argue to let some of them die. But that would break us. That would break everything we are and pretend to stand for. That would make us heartless. Perhaps the help that we give with our small donations, rarely more than we'd use on a single stop by the grocery store, is too little. Maybe it is to dampen our conscience, and maybe, many times, the help rings false. I can't decide which is worse - to completely ignore this crisis from the start, or give it tons of attention the first few weeks only to let it fall out of our minds and our medias when the first and worst part of the crisis is over. This is why it is false in my eyes. It is because scandals with famous people get more space in the papers than real news. Than news, that matter. Even if we can't help in any good way, then at least we should give it all our attention, and not look away as soon as it gets too painful.
The head of the Swedish Red Cross help organization holds a salary twice as high as the head of another similar organization, SOS Barnbyar (SOS Children's Villages). It would, as a reporter recently noted, be more accurate to announce "Text HELP to number XX, and we can pay our head's salary"; than to announce it will go to Haiti's earthquake victims. Where does our charity money really go?
Today the newspaper had an article about a radio station in Haiti which is now airing from the streets, after their studio was destroyed in the quake. While not many in Haiti are able to read, and even less own television sets; the radio has become a haven. Through this media people are told where they can find shelter, food and water. Through this media all official and semi-official announcements are recited for the people.
This is where the human beings are.
This is the soul.
POET IN THE JAR

The Mausoleum Of Fragile Objects

Alright, so, I changed the project title a little bit after my sis had a very, very good laugh about my first suggestion (therefore I won't mention it here), but anyway that's it, the project name of my new novel project. I am writing this for Forgefire Press and when the time comes - in perhaps a week or so - I will tell you exactly how you'll be able to follow the story from that site.

Here is a teaser for you (the current synopsis):

"The rumored beauty, long since gone, buried in a dusty mausoleum in the corner of a forgotten graveyard. Her tomb, sealed from the outside, as arranged. The man who loved her most of all, determined to last 38 days trapped inside her small enclosure, in order to make a statement to deaf ears, to walls that will no longer listen.

Every day is night.
Every breath, a knife.
Every step, an echo.
Every death... a life."

POET in the WRITING JAR

Forgefire Press

The reply was positive and landed in my mailbox today. I asked someone I know from the Abney Park forum whether or not they were interested in having new writers to their writing group, at www.forgefirepress.com. After sending a few samples of my writing (as it happens from Ophelia's Photograph) I've been cleared to go on and sometime during the next couple of days I'll be all set up and ready to go.

I was stunned what to write about at first. I have found that the easiest thing to do is to take one simple idea and play with it, and then whenever you stray from that you remind yourself of that one simple idea that it's supposed to all come down to in the end. As with Ophelia, the idea is "a man obsessed with a photograph". It has kept the novel surprisingly well on track. Either how, I was inspired by a friend for the idea I'll be writing at Forgefire: "a man in the mausoleum of his dead love". May sound very gothic, but I might make it a bit more yknow, not so literal. Anyway it seems to be an idea I could write endlessly about, which is good.

What is Forgefire, you wonder?

It's a group of writers posting weekly, either it's new chapters of a novel or if it's short stories. I will be writing something novel-ish, I think. We'll see how much potential the mausoleum might have!

POET in the JAR

Independence Day

Maybe I'm trying too hard with this whole thing. Just because this is a small place and there's a nagging part of me telling me I can't be honest. Not here, not with these people. But what a relief it would be, not having to tip toe around everything, not having to pretend, not anymore. Most of you who know me online already know this about me, and everyone who has ever asked me knows as well. And still it seems like it would give me some sort of relief to have it stated, to note it down. However slim a difference it would make.

It's tiring to keep my eyes and ears open for any opportunity that might stray me by. It would be so much easier if I could put a stamp saying bisexual on my forehead, preferrably with the additional ...and tired of men phrase following it, and then just sit around and wait for something to happen. I would prefer it to be like just running into someone by chance, meeting their eyes and then just knowing you were meant to be. But I'm probably much too romantic for this world, and much too naive. The friends or aquintances that I wouldn't mind dating I'm too shy to ask, and too afraid I'd lose them in the process.

I ventured onto some online place, stating what I'm looking for. A lovely girl that wouldn't mind falling asleep beside me, someone that wouldn't mind late night talking and a lot of hugs. You'd think that wasn't too difficult to find. Well, like I said, I'm trying too hard and I know it... but I'm tired of being alone and it's the only way I can think of.

It would be a lot easier if my family knew. Sis might know, she might be guessing. Probably just thinks I'm experimental. I don't feel like asking. We don't talk about things like this with our family. I'm sure that once the news panned out and everyone settled, it wouldn't be a big deal, I'd be just as accepted as before. But I'm still not looking forward to stirring a storm, however temporary.

I have come to a refreshing insight as my parents are abroad and the phone has fallen graciously quiet. That I'm not supposed to care. Not this much. A friend of mine told me I'm too dependent on what my parents think, and that's probably true. It didn't keep me from quitting school that wasn't for me, or to decide for arts university; it didn't keep me from doing tattoos and piercings and living in collectives, but then again...? Didn't I do it just to prove that I could? Just to prove how independent I was? Doesn't that make me entirely lose the point of actually being independent?

I'm done with tip-toeing, with even bothering what other people should think. I'm tired of not being truthful, of pretending that I care about guys (apart from my guy friends this heart beats only for one guy, and he's not around anymore). I don't want any new boyfriend, come to take my soul away just like everyone else already did. Al calls this twist of my life as an obsession of girls, she has a point I guess, but there is good reason for it. Just maybe I just want to explore some bit when I'm single anyway, and have nothing to lose. Just maybe I'm tired of living in this delusion, when I could make everything easier for myself.

So, that was that part. Now for everything else, for example my synthetic dreads which are now ordered and paid for (just two weeks away from getting them!). Who cares if my mum doesn't like them? Really? And about art school, who cares if that's not what they would choose, who cares if they don't understand me? Who cares if people I know get married, get children, get houses, grow up, that doesn't mean that I have to.

I feel strangely left behind, like everyone is moving on with their lives and I'm just standing still, it's as though I've lived my entire life already. Nothing changes, nothing major, it's the same thing day after day. Same place I work, same tiny apartment, laundry every Tuesday. Rockstar used to love routines, I hate them, I loathe them. They get me out of balance and depress me. Life should be more than just this, life should be more spontaneous. It should be all, let's do this, let's do that, not care if any friends tag along or not, just do whatever. Just head out for the horizon whenever you feel like it, board an airship, fight some pirates, hunt some treasure (now my novelling mind took over, and a crappy novel it seems to be), do whatever you want, and not care.

I will make it out. I will stall here until summer, until July. Then I'll be out of here, and I won't ever look back. I'm not ever coming back.

POET in the JAR

Panic Attack

The panic attack that set in earlier tonight is finally wearing off. I can breathe again, although there is still a lump in my throat that wants me to pay it attention. I'm doing my best not to think of it. I don't know what caused it, it started very innocently. I told a friend of mine that I'm tired of fighting, that I just do not see the use, or the point anymore. She told me I need to pick myself up and keep going. Of some reason this filled me with panic. So many times I've picked myself up and gone on. So many times, that I don't have the strength anymore.
That I don't see the meaning in it.
I went to take my happy pill, swallowed it down, hoped it would keep the worst thoughts at bay. And then it struck, and I couldn't breathe. I got lightheaded. It hurt to draw air into my lungs. I tried to drink water to swallow, it didn't help. Tried a mint pastill for the throat, felt like I was throwing up. I tried to throw up as well, but all that came was thick slime, and it still hurt whenever I breathed. Went for some air, chewed some gum... nothing. Finally listening to some POTF songs and having some milk, then lying down and resting, made it untie. Now it feels better. And the panic has settled. I have eight work days in a row starting Monday and I know the only way to get through it all is to take one day at a time, right now all I know is that I have tomorrow off, and I want to make the most (read: least) of it. I'm just gonna hang around at home, sleep in, watch movies all day and be overall lazy.
Anyway... this post is sort of depressing me even more just by writing it, so now I'm ending it. I have some business to tend to before sleeping...
POET in the DIZZY JAR

Into Gere

I have no discipline whatsoever - cancelled the session to stay in bed this morning... although I know I should have gone there. Well, well. I'll just save my breakdown until next time.
Had a very disturbing dream involving Richard Gere who amazingly turned into James's father while we were staying at a cottage that looked like our old house. Hmm. Meaning? Don't think there was any.
Today I got my paycheck, 3 days ahead of time, meaning I can pay the girl making my dreads and they'll be on my head within the next two weeks. Awesome! And with my nerdy glasses the image will be complete. Should now just make to find a nice scarf and be done with the image, haha.
My supposed net dating isn't going all too well. I found a girl who was weirded out and who I blocked, another one that bombards me with "What are you doing?!" thirty times a day, and several men wanting to send me pictures of their dicks or similar. Interesting. Repulsive, but interesting. Last news is I started chatting to a beautiful red-haired girl although that is just on a very friendly basis so far. We'll just have to see how it goes, I'm meeting with the Bombarding girl this weekend, maybe she turns out differently in real life.
Wish me luck, with this, and with everything else as well.
POET in the JAR

Breakdown

I have therapy tomorrow and I'm freaking out, just like I do before every session. I drag myself there highly unwillingly, and then one hour just flies by insanely fast and I'm standing there wondering what it was that just happened. And then my heart opens up as if someone turned a tap open and everything simply pours out. I sense already it's gonna make me a mess just going there but I can't afford not to go. I need it. And I can't skip those sessions, not anymore.
Soon it's January 26th, and I'll be trying out my new geeky glasses (picked a 1960's style, huge black framed ones), and what's more than that I'll be paying the girl who is making my dreads. So in just over two weeks you'll see me in dreads and geeky glasses. Maybe then I'd look on the outside the way I feel like, on the inside. I wanna make sure I've got them inserted when it's time to start the uni again later this year. It'd be a nice first impression to make, haha.

I broke down yesterday. Entirely. Spent some four hours doing nothing but crying and feeling like a mess. It was something unexpected, some memory that just soared by I think. It made me just stop and think and wonder what the hell is going on, what the hell I'm doing. I can meet how many people I want, go on tons of dates, my heart still isn't ready. When I go to bed I see his face. It cracks me open, keeps me from falling asleep. He feels real, like he was just close enough to touch. Sometimes, when I'm at the very bottom, I calm myself down with a daydream. Tell myself it will be alright soon. That if only I fall asleep he'll sneak down under the covers and hold me and make all the bad go away. I miss sleeping in his arms.
And simply talking.

I look myself in the mirror, realizing why everyone I write about can't stand their own reflection. My red swollen eyes staring back at me, my dirty hair standing out in all directions, stained glasses in the way of the tears. I understand that he stopped loving me, that perhaps he never did. Perhaps he never knew how to love.

But who would love this wreck of a being anyway?
And again I break down, and again I cry, and it feels like only yesterday that he left.
POET IN THE WATERY JAR

Diamond Dust

There is the moon,
in her silvery glaze
And a thread falls down
for me to climb
So thin is the thread
So thin is my life

There, I see the stars
In their golden smoke
A ladder reels down,
for me to climb
Rickety steps
Rickety mind

Diamond dust
She's the moon
She's the angel
I pursue her, always
She's out of reach
Always

The thread breaks
So thin is the thread
The ladder breaks
Rickety steps

I fall down the steps
Away from her gaze
Away from all the silver,
and gold
There falls her promise
Her whisper,
untold

I die in her light
I die in her cold
Without her to hold

Without my diamond dust