9 Tips For Novel Writing

Stephen King wrote that even if you're not writing on your novel, it's alive as long as it's inside your head, as long as you're thinking about it; and I think that's the case with Ella. Although I'm in no mood to write it's always in the back of my mind, and I'm considering how to continue scenes, how to add material, how to make things add up, and so on. Even while doing so conscious thought mostly isn't the answer to how to make a plot that works... at least, it never was for me. Hell, I've gotten the best ideas while dreaming or in my first conscious thought of the day - as if the novel itself feels more comfortable that way, building itself up from scratch in my subconscious. I'm not objecting. I always thought stories did better when they were in charge, even when it didn't turn out at all like I'd expected. On Ella I did write around 600 words the other day, so it's not standing completely still progress-wise, but somehow it feels like the text isn't quite keeping up with the pace the story is evolving with inside my mind. Hopefully, that will kind of work out by its own accord.


I don't by any means intend to come off as arrogant, or professional either, but since I've been thinking a lot about writing lately I thought I'd just randomly share my best writing tips. For your sake or mine? I'm actually not sure, but hell - does it matter?


1. Write in intervals
Set a timer on a certain number of minutes - personally I find that seven or thirteen minutes are good intervals - and do nothing but write in that amount of time, even if sometimes that means staring at a blank document. When the timer rings, stop writing and look at your word count. It's an easy way to make fast progress and it's more fun than long sessions. It's also easy to fit in a few intervals a day. In Nanowrimo context this method is called word wars and can be done by yourself or together with other writers just the same.


2. Don't. Press. Delete.
When you're writing the first draft, the story itself, think of it as a block of marble that you're going to sculpt. There's no need for every detail to be right in the first round. First write the main body of the text and save the editing for later. Make notes directly in the document if you have doubts, but never, ever press that tempting Backspace key, it is known to kill pace and make you doubt yourself. This method encourages writing on the spur of the moment and can boost inspiration and your enthusiasm for the art form. Sure, sometimes you will know you're writing crap, but other times you'll find that on the read-through, there are actually some gems hidden in the text that would otherwise have gone lost. And besides, if the crap stays crap, you can always delete it later.


3. Write for word count
This is basically what Nanowrimo is all about. I was sceptical at first to weigh your writing in a number of words, but it's actually a pretty good way to measure progress. It will feel more eligible to look at your text and say, 'Hey, I wrote 643 words today', than to look at it and say, 'Two hours work and Helena and Jack are still having the same boring conversation that isn't taking the story anywhere'. This method doesn't suit everyone, but then again, none of these methods really do.


4. Eliminate distractions
It won't work to write while you are cooking, talking on the phone, watching TV and checking your Facebook status all at once. Close all browser and chat programs. Only keep your word program and possibly a music player open. Music by the way is a great way to get into writing, and isolate yourself from possible disturbing surroundings, all at once. Choose whatever works for you to listen to, or experiment - sad music for sad scenes, and so on. You get the drift.


5. Ponder!
Even if you don't have time to write that day nothing is keeping you from developing your characters while standing in line for the ATM or sitting on the bus. Keep your story in mind when you can. You don't need to think of new, inventive ways to use verbs or come up with the new epic ending scene for your story; small things, like considering which hair color your character has or how that character would act in the ATM line is enough to keep your imagination alive.


6. Reward yourself
Set up goals, for example in connection to word count - maybe for every ten thousand words you write you get to go buy yourself a video game or a really nice bottle of wine or whatever tickles your fancy. It works better than you might think. For the final goal, set up the biggest reward so that you have something to strive for other than word count and personal development within writing. The average novel is approximately 75-100K worth of words, so you can adapt your goal after that. For some stories, shorter ones perhaps, or stories that don't need any particular length, this isn't really needed. For those stories instead set up a goal for when your first draft can be said to be finished.


7. Don't overexpose
Write on your own until you have grown sure of your story. Giving samples or short stanzas to fellow writers is fine, as is talking about plot problems or characters - but don't let anyone read the text in its entity until you have a rough first draft that has an ending and that feels good to you. Otherwise you'll be easily affected by feedback and might entirely lose focus from the original story.


8. Have fun!
Writing doesn't have to be dead serious, quite the opposite. Don't expect to write a novel worthy of Tolkien or Hemingway on your first try. Have fun writing, and don't be afraid to throw in deus ex machinas and random spoofs. Even if you tried your hardest to write a really bad novel, you'd be surprised at how good it would turn out, and you could probably use big portions of it to turn into a pretty good story. Enjoy your writing, and don't take it all too seriously. That could set you off into a writer's block.


9. Believe in your work
Sometimes I've felt like what I've been working on isn't original enough, or that it is just a copy of all the other millions of stories out there, that perhaps it even has been told before, but don't get caught in that trap. Don't listen to what people may have to say about your ideas or what they might compare it to. Even if the story has been told before, YOU haven't told it before, and that can be enough to make it entirely unique. The important thing is that YOU believe in your story, or writing it will feel meaningless. Don't be intimidated - encourage yourself.


That's all I've got for now and come to think of it, I think I wrote it for my own sake. I feel strangely encouraged to go write now. Funny how that works, sometimes.
POET IN THE JAR

Longest Shortcut To Misery

You haven't changed, have you

Although you traded small town angst and hate

for countryside indifference and ignorance

You're no different, have no other goals

No other wishes or dreams

On the outside you look just the same

You haven't changed, have you

Don't look down on me, don't you see

That I'm the one laughing at you

You have no ambitions or aspirations

To become anything or anyone

To improve your current conditions

A few key matters still are the most important to you

How to be adored by your friends and local establishment

Your so-called friends have back-stabbed you so many times

That you've forgotten that you used to think it hurt

Now it's your everyday situation

You don't know how to feel, anymore

You tell yourself it's what you wanted

For self-preservation

Did you circle any of the ads in the paper

Did you ever get an interview

You didn't, did you

Barely finishing school is still the highpoint

of your life as you remember it

You haven't changed, have you

You're still the same

You still take the same walks

Still walk the same road to the same bus stop

Still live in the same house with the same ignorance

The same fights and same mess and same piles of junk

What can I do but laugh at you, pity you

You haven't even attempted to leave

Every same day of neglect has become a shield around you

Without any love from those around you, you had no other choice

You seek it out elsewhere, wherever you can get it

But you confuse love with admiration

And admiration is temporary

You have a role model, a hero of sorts, to inspire you

Letting you know you could always move three miles away

and hook up with the first loser you see

So you can still stay in range of what you know

The same fights and same mess and same piles of junk

Just in a different house with different faces

You haven't changed, have you

Should I stop laughing now, or stop pitying you

and actually lift my hat off for you,

and congratulate you

You found the longest shortcut to misery

That's always something, isn't it

Congratulations

If you ever rediscover how to hate

How to discard the empty and apathic

Let me know, hell, I'll buy you a coffee, or a beer

You'll deserve one after your time in the desert

I'll still be the one laughing at you

Hopefully I won't choke on my laughter

Coffee Cups And Stars

I dream of a big white house with wooden panels and old bricks on the exterior, a big white house with a big garden and only a grassy slope from the mossy lake. It will have an entire room just for writing, a big room with bookshelves lining the walls and a giant stereo that can play my favorite songs really loud without disturbing anyone and a giant desk with a typewriter and plenty of room for spare pages and coffee cups, and behind the chair there'll be a big window facing towards the lake so that when inspiration ceases to come I can spin the chair around and look out into the sun or rain. There will be a washing machine in the kitchen and a tub in the bathroom that is built inside the floor and the walls where I can take long bubble baths after long walks, and there'll be gravel roads and narrow paths throughout the forest where I can go for long walks with my German Shepherd called Max that I've always wanted to have. There'll be other houses around the lake at a convenient distance and I will know everyone who lives there and we'll go to each other's houses for dinner parties and barbecues or for cups or tea and talk about life and about books and about the great that was, and about the great that is still to come. I dream of a big white house with a big kitchen where the refrigerator is always filled with fresh food and with a cold pantry where I can store cans of jam and lemonade and carbonated water. Down by the lake I'll have my own little bridge out into the water and on the rainy summer days I'll wrap myself in rainwear and watch the drops hit the surface of the water and cause thousands of ripples before my eyes. And there'll be a big living room with many different kinds of sofas and stuffed chairs and a fireplace for when I invite people over and there'll be at least two guest rooms where they can stay the night when they are visiting. I dream of having a four wheel drive jeep that I take into the city to buy groceries or go to the café or stock up on paper for that typewriter and the city isn't more than twenty minutes away. And when night falls the lamp posts in the garden will light up and keep shadows at bay, and we'll sit in the garden and talk about everything until the sun has finally set and then a little longer still until the stars light up the sky as light bulbs against black silk, far, far away from where we are. A big white house that will be everything and nothing, and that nothing that is everything, to me.
POET IN THE JAR

Harvest Safety

I don't want to know how you harvest safety

Spare me your instructions, please

They serve no other purpose to me

than to make death and aging tangible

You remind me that our days are short

With all your talk and bureaucracy

Please, leave me to find my own peace

when it's not dependent on plans for my future

that you have created for my own good

Seriously, do all your words make you any happier

or any less vulnerable to pain

I'll let you take care of the numbers and recommendations

while I savor the moment, while I stay sane

_____________________________________

Yeah, I promised myself to start putting away money for my retirement by the time I hit twenty-five. Maybe... hopefully... if I have any income by then... honestly... well, we'll just have to wait and see.

POET IN THE JAR

Ultimate Selfishness

Was this the dream you wanted
You claim to be different, to be special
but what are your words worth,
your empty promises, whispers of gold
when every aspect of your life was carved from the ordinary

What does it mean to question everyone around you
for having become spectators of their lives
when you too watch yourself from a distance
If your name hadn't been written on it
you would have ridiculed your own life
What does that say about you

You took those vows for your own sake
and said you would never be living in the shadows
you said you'd never hide away your true core
and you'd never conform to fit in the big picture
It was for your integrity and for your soul
not for your protection, really
Protection was exactly what went wrong in the first place
it became a bubble of denial of who you were
You said you couldn't live that way
You said you'd die fighting, taking your last stand
rather than rot away in indifference

Take a look in the mirror now
Ask yourself how a stranger would view you
Would they really see all the complexity under the surface
Would you?

To everyone else, and even to yourself
you aren't different or special or complicated
They only see those basic things, those highlights
describing your life in five short words
Without having read all the poems you wrote
And they dismiss you just as easily as you dismissed them
on first sight, based on those short words,
based on their listings in this world
Isn't that the ultimate selfishness

Couldn't you please stop trying to be above the rest
Trying to fight the conventions residing in your very bones
Couldn't you ever settling for being, for existing
Doesn't sometimes ordinary do the necessary trick
but I know the answer before you even reply
you're a visionary and a poet, just as I
and to us the regular just doesn't comply
Don't I know, because I have been where you are
I am there now, without knowing if it'll ever change
I've managed to find some comfort in the smaller things
A breath, a whisper, the sun on my skin
but every now and then the realization breaks me down
I am no special, no different, from anyone else
Maybe it would be easier to bare if I didn't care
but I set out for extraordinary
I set out for the world

There's still some part of me that believes
if you aim for the stars, you could land in a tree
And from there it's closer for shot two and three
should you want to, you're free to try it with me
Maybe I'll even tell you you're special

Temporary Antidote

You can't kill tears with laughter
It's just a temporary antidote
And shallowly, it cures you
But it leaves a hollow inside
Filled with emptiness
A home for your sorrow
A safe place
Where time cannot repel it

Doesn't it feel safer to keep it
You know that it's there
Even though you pretend it's gone
Who was the exorcist of your grief
Someone who agreed to take the blame
Agreed to maintain your shield
But it weighs heavily on your heart
To carry

Is it too late to dream
When all the voices that whispered to you
Were banned from your mind years ago
All those whispers that were passionate
That told you about wonders of the world
Beckoning you to follow
Is it too late to awaken them

The walls you've sealed yourself in with are too high
Habit and denial keep you from tearing them down
There'll be no catapults to attack you here
All they need to do is wait
While you corrode
While you rust away

The damage is done and you're the maker of your own disaster
You were too blind and young to make the right decisions
It could have been undone if you had opened your eyes
But you drove yourself towards destruction
And now you have to pay the price
Pay the price for pride and self-deceit

You can't kill tears with laughter
And you can't afford to be selfish again
Selfishness was what got you here
It's too late to listen to those voices
And it is too late to aim for dreams
They'll always remain improbable, and silly
But in secret you cling to your dreams
And visualize a better existence
When you cry, at the end of the day
And no one sees you
You can lay off the antidote, if only for a while
And let the poisonous childish wishes rule
Aware that they will never come true

And you tell yourself, tears are better
Than emptiness

Ode To Manic-Depression

Don't I longingly speak of you
Glorifying you after you died
I make you swirl with butterflies
And place you in the sunlight
Where you never actually were

Don't I somehow miss having you
Although you chained me down
You opened my veins and let me out
You became my channel for despair
The only way to create the great art

Is there something hollow in my words now
Now that you're no longer my driving force
Don't I admit that it's different now
Doesn't that make any difference

I tried in every way to kill you
While simultaneously clinging on to your presence
Every ounce of you, of your darkness
While I fought you, I would have died
I would have been burned by all the false lights
The lights they turned on me in mutual understanding
Didn't I live, even with my burned skin and my scars
Didn't I prove them wrong, didn't I try

Wasn't for once the solution to grasp desperation
I never asked for anyone to cure me
To lure me in, make me adjust to their standards
Provide me with their only answer, to conform
Do what was expected of me, forget the ghosts
They didn't see that they were killing me

Don't I longingly speak of you
Sometimes, when everything seems hollow
And I almost tip over, almost summon you to life
Just to make my whispers live again

I was only driven towards my fading dreams because of you
You were the only thing that kept me from drowning
Even though I was in your stranglehold
You were the only thing that made me struggle through
I wish I'll never find myself in need of you, again
But I'll be the first one to admit it's empty without you
And some of that fire that burned me, that drove me on
Is now gone

Don't I longingly speak of you
Glorifying you after you died
As so often happens
I owe my life and creation to you
And so I'll always hate you, but love you, too
Just because my whispers are emptier now
And the old desperation is forced by my own hand
Instead of forged by you and planted in my head
Maybe it's the same
Some would say it was
But it doesn't feel the same
It doesn't feel the same

Words, Words, Words

Things seem really terrific at the moment, it's almost hard to believe it. I got quite a few things to look forward to. The biggest, and best, thing is that I managed to get a part time job this fall... teaching writing. Writing! Creative writing! I feel so lucky. My employer sounded really positive, already when she first called me up, but I still wasn't expecting to actually get the position even as I went to the interview. And the interview was more of a so-how-would-you-prefer-to-plan-these-writing-sessions and here's-how-much-you're-going-to-get-paid than your traditional interview. I really had no need to be nervous. The position is at an open form of school, where people of all ages and backgrounds pay to take courses in various subjects. The job stretches over a couple of weeks and I can't wait to get started. I'm really inspired and want to get started to inspire the others, too. I'm also excited because the pay will definitely help me get to London over New Year's. I'm so looking forward to that (although I could do without the winter that inevitably follows).


I got into the 3D-sculpting summer class, meaning I'll be learning some well-needed extra 3D modeling during the summer while also trying to work a little bit; and I'm the 8th reserve to get into a writing class in English that would be perfect to take before I start to work. Hopefully, people will have found other things to do during the summer and decline their spots so I can spend parts of the summer writing. It'll be nice preparation and hell, nice fun too. Also, I read about some kind of Nanowrimo camp where they are going to arrange a Nanowrimo outside of November, which I might take inofficial part of. We'll see. I definitely have enough projects as it is, hell knows that. But just in case summer and all this sun I'm so unused to would bore me, ha, ha.


We're taking a class currently called Digital Cultures that has actually made me stop and think (who knew?). We've been discussing the idea of creating worlds, in which multiple, complex and related stories can take place and together make up a whole, rather than creating a single, one-way story. Worlds with multiple stories within it can cross platforms, and play out in different medias, but still be part of the same universe. I've found this thought so enticing that I've thought to experiment a bit with it in my current novel project. Overall I'm thinking to do some changes to the story after some late night thinking a few days ago - I will no longer tell it from first person but instead from third. This is because telling it in first person will reveal much more about the main character's thoughts and feelings, without even me intending so, and I want to twist the story a bit more into the cryptic. Secondly, I won't tell it entirely chronologically, but rather explain some events as I go, to the extent they need to be explained. Thirdly, I will try to create the universe and the idea of the universe, style and intention of it, and then let this story be one of many that take place within it. The real challenge here is to create a world so believable, yet different, and at the same time rich enough to provide a wide network of possible side references (this, to a non-writer, or even some writers, may seem a bit too intricate, but I actually do find it interesting, and challenging). Who knows? Maybe I'll put something together out of bits and pieces of old gems. Or create it from scratch. We'll see. All I know right now, is that Terry Grant is one of the important sub-story characters, that there will be some element of broadcasting (an invention of mine rather than the traditional sense of the word) and that Five-Eyes will be present, at some point.


In fact, I think I'll head off for some world-creating right now.
Cheers,
POET IN THE INSPIRED JAR

Pseudo World

I have to get my emotional fix
Drench myself in the depths of the sound
Blasting my personal cures to the world
I'm not fully healed,
sometimes it even breaks me down
but the fundamental stays
The fundamental state of mind
And sometimes it's the only way
to drown out the sorrow

I'm sorry if I didn't hear you or even listen
I was in the pseudo world where I belong
The state where I can make and create
Where everything builds up to the greater art
Where everything is about passion, emotion
Where you can feed off air and forgotten love
And you're covered in silver mist and door knobs

I have to get my self-medication
Type in a trance until I drown
Shut out the market of the world
And only feel
Sometimes thought is overrated,
and underrated at the same time
You're not supposed to think
but you're not supposed to feel either

I'm sorry if I didn't hear you or even listen

I was in the pseudo world where I belong

The state where I can make and create

Where everything builds up to the greater art

Where everything is about passion, emotion

Where you can feed off air and forgotten love

And you're covered in silver mist and door knobs

I'm sorry, I know I'm supposed to give of myself

Portion after portion of unconditional love

But I'm a poet, lost in mind, lost in time

Half my heart has to stay mine

Or I might run out of words

And become a copycat, a mime

Or am I lying?

I have no control of my heart

It's a wild creature, intended to fly

But I've let everyone chain it down

And instead I'm stuck with a pretense integrity

Saying I did it on purpose, when I didn't

It was the world that happened to me

and it wasn't self-inflicted

But would you believe me?

Don't you all create your own darkness,

you say, don't you all do it to yourselves

And feel sorry for yourselves as you do

Expecting someone else to repair the damage

We don't

I don't

I can't control the damage

Crucifix

You tell me to be strong but I defend my right to cry
Why should I go through this short life in pretense
Without giving in to my immediate reactions
Do you really know what's behind the tears
Have you tried to live life with my eyes
Have you ever tried to be me
Or see me

I can't control my stormy emotions
I never could steer them my way
They're part of my muse and what makes me
Part of my inspiration, my desperation
And depression
I won't be altered
Just so I can say I was strong
Just so I can say I died inside

I think you're as prone to weakness as me
You are just too stubborn to ever admit defeat
And to keep away the depths of the dark
You shield yourself with a layer of laughter
Reduce everything to silliness and games
I know, because I used to be like you
I used to act the same way

My crucifix was episodes of comedy
Or songs that ridiculed life and the world
It was to keep the biters away, the fangs
And I kept the flickering screen on through the night
As if it was the defense that would do the trick
Against the old demons
In case they returned

I can't control my stormy emotions

I never could steer them my way

They're part of my muse and what makes me

Part of my inspiration, my desperation

And depression

I won't be altered

Just so I can say I was strong

Just so I can say I died inside

I guess in the end neither of our methods work
And neither of us is near perfection
Everyone has their own way to deal with their situations
And it's not in my interest to make you any different
Just don't change me either in the end
And I'll defend my right to cry
Even when you're right
And I won't question you
If you don't question me

I can't control my stormy devotion
I never could steer it that way
It's part of my muse and what makes me
Part of my inspiration, my desperation
And isolation

Park Ranger

This is the last time I'll pity you for falling into your own traps
You were always good at poaching, setting it all up in advance
Then walking into them on purpose, as if you wanted to
As if the only thing that kept you breathing was the pain

Could you buy yourself some time if you walked away
Maybe that would keep the demons at bay
If you listened to that voice that told you,
This time you don't need to walk into the trap
This time don't let the jaws slam down on you
And immobilize you

I used to uphold your comfort zone
Where you could curl up and tend to your wounds
Where you told me this time you would heal
I could only see it was a lie on the bandages you threw out
And left like a trail behind you
Stained with blood and sweet deceit

If everything's really that dark why do you stay around
Why do you let yourself be hit and raped
Why do you stand the jealousy and the abuse
Why don't you just take your car and drive
And go far, far from where you are

There's nothing that roots you to the spot or commands you
Nothing but that old shiny bear trap that you made yourself
And you walk into it time after time after time
How can you even believe things will be different this time
Or that you'll be treated like you should because there's a ring
On your finger that you didn't have to pay

I used to say you were the most wonderful girl in the world
The most wonderful girl who just made the most foolish decisions
But you've surpassed all that as you don't even answer anymore
And you probably blame me for not calling although you never pick up
Blame me for living the life I wanted for myself and forgetting about you

How can you think things like that, with what we had together
In the comfort zone where there was just you and me
Against the world and against everyone that hated us
I could never forget you, hell, even with these words I'm writing
I'm worrying about you
Even though the connection is old by now I can still feel it sometimes
And instinctively know when something's wrong
And something is wrong here
Even more than it usually is
Maybe you walked into your final trap
And this is the first one you couldn't get out of again
This is the first time you wouldn't heal up again properly
Inbetween your self-inflicted wounds

How should I know what's happened
The link is old and doesn't tell me things
Like it used to
How could I resurrect the zone of comfort
When it was a long time since I last pitied you
For your own mistakes
Maybe I'm selfish
Maybe I'm inhuman
But I can't feel for you anymore
Not when you set this up yourself
Don't you know how much it hurts to watch
I can't be your park ranger
You're outside the park now by far
And other rules are valid there
Rules I can't control

You were always good at poaching
I can only hope you had enough sense
To not set them all off yourself
To leave one, only one
For who's chasing you

Gatekeeper

Maybe the downfall is just what I need

The downfall into thoughts and doubt

Maybe it can help me break the blocks

Of rock that pile up ahead

And make everything seem impossible

Maybe I could harvest that power

And turn it into something useful

For unforeseen situations

Maybe I decided on the wrong color

For the paint that breaks into dry flakes

On my walls and become like chains

Telling me who to be, how to react

Why would I need a makeover

To fit into your every twisting need

To transform myself, and dance along to your music

Dressed in the colors you chose for me

Why should I tone myself down

Lower my voice so my whispers won't disturb you

When I just wanted to speak my mind,

Regardless if anyone was listening

I prefer not to conform to what you might want

And not to respond to your every wish

There are greater things than the trivial and daily

I want to be there, for when it happens

Pack my every brown paper bag

And drag them on the train

Maybe I'll go when the sun's out

Maybe I'll go when it rains

I tire of you and your grasp on me

I defeated you once, and more

Isn't that enough for you

Aren't there others you can possess

So your voice can be driven out of my mind

I want to welcome the light, the underwater dream

But you always come back to block me, to stop me

Maybe all you want is to be taken down again

Is there a thrill in the downfall

A thrill in the fall

Maybe I could harvest that power of yours

And turn it into something useful

For unforeseen situations

Maybe I could manage to imprison you

Instead of always trying to kill the immortal

Would it be impossible for a prisoner to turn the table

And switch places with the one who put me here

Maybe if I did that I would stand a chance

And maybe it would be your turn to tire, of me

I can't even say that I fully hate you

Without your hold on me I wouldn't write these words

I wouldn't be able to create other worlds

Is that why you are still around

To work in the silence

To enable the gates to stay open

To make me the gatekeeper

To visualize the keys

Jewels

I've felt strangely wary for a few days, since around Wednesday, a wariness that won't seem to let go of me. I'm aching to create, to write, to paint, to do anything, and still it's like I can't settle down and focus on it, as if my mind is somewhere else. I think I can easily pinpoint my writer's block - a combination of lack of time, and lack of ideas. Also, I have this big idea that everything I write have to come out awesome right away, or it's crap writing, an idea I have to work with getting rid of. It hasn't helped any of my novels to think in these ways and I'm aware of that. So how come it's so hard to get rid of the thoughts now?


To get back in prose I tried a few different things. One was opening my oldest novel for editing, which it needs anyway, but after spending some hours on it I suddenly felt it wasn't worth my time. I then started to look again at Ophelia, which I feel is the best novel I've written, and stumbled upon the draft of its sequel in the folder. It was pretty good. Even though I always felt Ophelia doesn't need a sequel, and never was meant to have one, it might work well to get me back into writing. Ella waits patiently. She is my little jewel. She'll wait until I'm ready for her.


As long as I'm not writing prose, I might as well be writing something. I got a poem written down earlier that's been in my head for a few days and that's at least something.


I'll be off now to check what food I can manage to find in my kitchen and also to possibly check back in on Jake and Madden.
POET IN THE JAR

Shining Letters

There's an overwhelming sadness in me
That not even your laughter can drive away
It came from the depths where I had deported it
Returned from where I had banned it
That sadness and that pain

It spreads through my heart and my eyes
And forces me to see the world
In a different way
It tells me this is the naked truth
I must trust and follow
It tells me all my smiles are worthless
What do they mean, at the end of the day
When the shadows appear out of nowhere

Can you hunt down your demons with light
And turn them into defenseless things
Can you chase away the sadness
And all the tow it brings
Is that why you always leave the light on

When I wake from a faceless dream
And the contours of the room aren't still
What good will it do me with light
What will be changed
If the room
Is kept bright

I was always told to forget about things that have been
To shun away what I've seen in my dreams
How do I explain that I dream in the day
And that the past just isn't willing to go away

Can you hunt down your demons with light

And turn them into defenseless things

Can you chase away the sadness

And all the tow it brings

Is that why you always leave the light on

Can the smoke in this room become the air that I breathe

Can everything be tiring, everything I see

Maybe the words were right, the words that stood out

In shining letters

Maybe this is really how dark things are

And you can never get rid of the undertone

You can never really reach for bliss

Not even when ignorant, like this

So take your comfort in your muse

And cling to it in the darkness

Use it to channel the subconscious

Into images and words

Isn't that how it was always done

Isn't that how it will always be done

Can you deny that once it's gone

When it's gone and you realize you miss it

You miss the demons

Without the demons you aren't alive

And they were right when they said

You lost the meaning of your smiles

Head First

How did I manage to drown my own optimism
Drown my waterfall, that I carefully built
Out of dreamscapes and more fragile hopes
Than was allowed to exist
How did I manage
How did I achieve

When did I chain myself to the ground
And sink myself into the river
With cement blocks on my feet
I couldn't even move
I couldn't even breathe

Your words all made sense
It couldn't be the things you said
And your thoughts were rational
Parts of my own suppressed ones
So why suddenly did I take a turn for the worse
And dive into the darkness, head first

Was it the only thing I had to cling on to
The only remnant I had of a muse
When all my other canals had dried up

Although by now I am chained to the ground
I haven't given up on the dreams that I found
And I know there could be more sinister things
I just need to save up for stronger wings

Drown yourself in self pity and desertion
Maybe that way you could run away
And all the problems that surrounded you
Will magically disappear, with the snap of your fingers
But didn't anyone tell you
It doesn't work that way

As long as you won't face what's ahead
And as long as you don't brace yourself
Against the truth
You won't last
And I won't last,
with you

Wound Up

It's been so hectic all day that I can't even be exhausted. I'm all wound up and I can't really get myself to relax. I don't really understand how I managed to time everything so badly and stress myself up about things, but at this point I guess I shouldn't be getting surprised anymore. Luckily, in the middle of all this stress, there's a couple of good news. For one, I found some missing files that I thought I'd lost, meaning I can hand in files for the project deadline that I thought wouldn't get assessed. That's good. Secondly, I handed in the keys for my old apartment today, and that's really a big weight that's off my shoulders. Even though somewhere inside I worry that they'll call me up and complain about insufficient cleaning, it's still good to know that I'll never have to live in the old place anymore. Even living here now, in the middle of a freaking war zone of cardboard boxes, it's still better than being split up in two different places or kind of leasing someone else's space for a while. As with all my apartments this one calls for a name and I knew directly it would be called The Lagoon. 


Moving on.


We're officially done with the game project but also we're thrown directly into the next course which, too, is pretty exhausting. We don't do much else but watch movies and attend lectures all day, but that's just the problem, there's just no time to do the actual assignments. But we'll figure it out somehow, I just wish there was more individual work involved. No offense, but... after the project you kind of don't want to be dependent on your groupmates, for once.


That's all for now since I'm in a stressed period of complete writer's block. I'm hoping to pick up an editing project quite soon to take my mind off things and that just might get me back on track again. I sure hope it will for the sake of Ella, who is currently just lying around in the drawer not being written and being quite bored.


THAT'S ALL, FOLKS
POET IN THE JAR

Glorious Stress and Other Things

Things are stressed like hell, the final presentation of our game is on Friday, and I have to pack my entire apartment during the weekend and miss school on Monday in order to move to the new place, while Monday is the day when our new courses start and we have to have the game and all the other reports and stuff sent in by Wednesday at the latest. It's hard to focus on anything really, when my mind is flying like this, I just can't concentrate on the slightest thing... also I am worried sick, not only for the friends of the family that I got news about yesterday, but worried sick because I seem to have lost my touch with writing. There's just nothing there, nothing at all, no ideas, no stories, no poems, there's nothing, everything I write sounds completely off... perhaps the first real case of writer's block that I've ever really experienced. It's not so much the time that's passed as that I have to force it, and when I do I'm not happy with how it sounds. I wonder to myself, when did I become so critical of my own things? I keep returning to the thought that rewriting one of my old novels for publishing purposes would be the best way to go about it. The poetry is fine, or theoretically at least. I can always force at least a couple of lines of that... but I miss prose, and I miss being so into it that everything else ceases to exist. Is this what happens when your focus is relocated to the visual media? Why in that case, has it never affected me this way before? The way it used to be, I used to find novelling a necessary escape, and a relief, even, from the real world, but now it just feels like it's another burden, and not even writing stories seems to be fun anymore.


My bet is that once the stress is lowered, around some time next week, and I get installed into my new place, the juices will start flowing and I really hope that is what's going to happen. We'll see. I don't really have the time to think very much about it (which probably is a sign of stress itself).


Either way, even writing these ranting entries at least keeps the language working, so you might be looking at a lot of these posts for a while, but it doesn't really matter since I'm not really writing them for your sake (you'll have to excuse me) and therefore you don't have to bother reading them. Just keep an eye out for some real material once that gets up here again.


Too much things on my mind...


Something cool though is that two of the promotional assignments I made for the game got chosen to represent it. Surprising but happily surprising. 


I really should be writing the log book or the report rather than this.
POET IN THE JAR

Clashes & Crashes

You were intimidated when your thoughts strayed

And decided to come and go as they wish

You tried to clear your mind,

but everything clashed, in violence

Everything crashed

And you couldn't control the images flashing by

Or choose what they'd remind you of

The faint nuances in that old song
That could only be read by you
They could only be read by you

They said it would take a while,
to clear your thoughts
That it would take a couple of battles
To win the war
You don't think they've ever been in your mind
Or known what it's like

Isn't it glorious to be misunderstood
And alone in your pain
Isn't it more grand and epic that way
Isn't it?
The way you've shielded yourself
And consciously torn away from everything

Everything that crashed

Time Flies

Tomorrow is Monday again, and there's loads of stuff coming up. It feels like time really flies by right now. On Wednesday there's the graphics session after school followed by friends performing at the pub. Thursday is the deadline for our individual assignments and Friday the unofficial deadline for the game. Saturday I'll be driving home to attend a dinner with old friends and Sunday I might visit my niece. By the end of this week it'll already be March 13th which is fucking halfway to April. May will be here sooner than I'll know, and I'll be arranging to move out, and it'll already be halfway to summer. Finally...


I managed to trade myself a working weekend in two weeks and that'll hopefully earn me a little extra money. I'll need it if I'm going to have money for the summer and to be able to do some of those things that I'd really wanna do. A bit of bad timing, perhaps, cause it's the last weekend before our final presentation, but hopefully it won't affect school. We'll see about that.


It's been a good weekend otherwise, had a nice time partying and whatnot, being around friends and people from our year. It's different here, much better and more fun than last time I studied when I didn't have time or took the effort to hang out with anyone really. I'm sure my years here will turn out awesome. And hopefully this happy sort of mood will follow me into the rest of the week, cause I know what I'm like and that my mood usually changes more often than I breathe, but hey, let's hope for it, anyhow.


I have a few ideas for that writing competition by now and think I can make something of it, but still haven't decided. The deadline isn't until May so I've still got time to crack that one.


Oh and I hope the Dark Tower will be kept standing.
POET IN THE happee JAR

Artificial Light

I'm listening to Shinedown and thinking about things, just got off the phone with Mum. She always manages to make me feel better about things. I had a rather weird headache attack earlier that freaked me out a little bit, but it's all settled down by now. I guess it was a stress thing. Stressing out about things that I don't even need to stress out about, really. I guess I just need to get it through my thick head what my priorities are actually about, and, maybe even more importantly, what they're not about.


Even the man in the moon disappeared, somewhere in the stratosphere...

I try pretty hard telling myself that I'm not affected by the long winter here, but it's getting pretty unbearable. I'm so tired of the cold, of the snow and ice, of the darkness. The sun isn't even out in the day, it's just cloudy and gray, gray, gray. I was thinking maybe to go to a solarium this week or the next, just to get some artificial light and trick my body into thinking it's summer, or something. I've heard spring this year is supposed to begin on March the fifth. I can live with that (if the weather people should happen to be right, for once). And again it is confirmed that I'd rather not spend the winters here in the future, whenever that future might be.


Since it turns out I could get that funding I applied for, I found myself buying the next novel in the Dark Tower series. I'm currently reading Song of Susannah. It's nice to have a novel to read again, and something to fall back on that isn't writing, or games.


Speaking of writing I found a local writing contest I really want to enter, but I'm not sure with what. I'd prefer to enter with some new material, maybe a short story or something. But I think you can submit more than one piece, so I might submit some poetry as well. But I can't really focus on that just yet, as long as we're still doing the game project.


I really gotta kick that up again soon though.
POET IN THE JAR

Delicate

Do you know how many times I thought I'd just let the car crash
Into the side of the mountain on the other side of that rail
Or how many times I stared into the sea
Wishing it would swallow me
Did you ever consider how much the sea at night
resembles the sky
Just without the stars
Just darker
Vaster

Inviting you

Do you know how tempting it is to listen to the voices
The silent ones, that seem to beckon you
Circling you like vultures that feed on desperation
Every drawn symbol on the gray surface,
disappearing on you

Do you know what it's like

Do you know that someone died that day
And how unbearable grief can be
When that someone was part of you
And had become you
And taken over you

Do you know how many times I had the thought
That it would be so much easier to end it
How many times I wanted to
How many times I tried

Do you know how much it scares me that I did
Do you know how relieved I am, that I didn't
Do you know just how much I rely on you
How delicately I have faith in you
How fragile you are

How I love you

How I love you

Delicately

Jackpot

So, it turned out that I did get that apartment, and I'm moving May 1st, at the latest. If someone's willing to take my dorm room earlier than that, I'll also be able to move earlier, since the new place is available from March 1st. I gave it some thought, and realized that it'll be the sixth time I move in five years. Restless? Not at all. I'm looking forward to it though, since I feel like I could use some change of scenery. And this place, in all its tinyness, is starting to make me wary. It works fine for a while, but if like me you're used to more space, it feels pretty claustrophobic after a while.
I went to the new place a few days ago to check it out, and it really spoke to me. I think I'll enjoy it there. I'm going to the landlord tomorrow to sign the contract, and then it will feel a lot more real, all of a sudden. I'll ask Mum to start putting boxes away already.


Other than that I haven't been doing much besides working with the game project for school, and I haven't had energy to do much else. I've applied for some job in Norway over the summer, hoping I could go there, work in some nice hotel or something, and get to see a new place with new faces and make money at the same time. There are tons of things I'd need to finance, mostly travelling and perhaps fixing up some old tattoos, but it doesn't seem possible at the time. If I land a job in Norway or not, I hope I can get something at all. Finances for the summer will be tough, otherwise.


Off to the world of laundry and games now, until something more creative comes along.
POET IN THE JAR

Modification

No, I'm not here to change man

For I have no desire to be changed

And made into something I never was

Made into a product of mind

That perhaps never was in existence

No, I'm not here for modification

There was a transparency in my words

Although I'd never want to be transformed

There's so many things I'd alter

Should I have the chance

Which is the greater one of us

When both of us wants the other to change

You said you fell in love with perfection

I'm not perfect, in any way

I'm aware of my own selfishness

I thought I'd use these years to dream

Of simplicity, and completion

When we can complete eachother

Without depleting eachother

I'll be at ease

I'll be at ease

Environmental

I just applied for a slightly bigger apartment, crossing my fingers that I'll get it. Somehow I have the feeling that it's exactly what I need, but then again I've moved every time I've gotten this feeling of restlessness. If not else, it's a temporary change of environment that'll hopefully make me feel more at ease with things. The cats sure would need some more space, and so do I... That's really the only problem with this place; that it feels like it's so small that the walls are closing in on me. This apartment is twice as big so it should help. It's also more expensive, but I'm hoping to get that apartment funding that I can hopefully get now that I've paid everything back of the old one I had; and in that case it'll actually be even more cheap than where I live now. We'll see when the landlord calls on Monday, I want to see the place for my own eyes before I accept it, as well as talk it over with Mom.
Well, this made me even more disinclined to clean this place.
Off for decadence now (the kind where you ignore the dishes)
POET IN THE JAR

Twigs

Do the beautiful ones stay awake at night
Do they starve like us
Do they bleed
Where are their thoughts
Are they ever distracted
Do they feel

Beautiful ones, do you ever get sick
Do you ever dwell
Do you have your own version
Of personal hell
Is there any depth
Are you just a shell
Beautiful ones,
Magic tricks

Do the beautiful ones fade
In comparison to us
As they grow old
The beautiful ones
Do they ever mourn
Do they ever worry
Were they all born with sixth senses

Do the beautiful ones stay awake at night

Do they starve like us

Do they bleed

Where are their thoughts

Are they ever distracted

Do they feel

Beautiful ones, are you ever sick

Do you ever dwell

Do you have your own version

Of personal hell

Is there any depth

Are you just a shell

Beautiful ones,

Magic tricks

Will you always be the beautiful ones

Even when age and life has taken its toll

Will you forgive us for tearing you

Unable to bear something so pure

And divine

Will you always be the beautiful ones

Even when we've broken your twigs

And you know there won't be any spring

This year

Beautiful ones, are you always beautiful

Do you ever dwell

Do you have your own version

Of personal hell

Is there any depth

Are you just a shell

Beautiful ones,

Magic tricks

 

You're going to have to forgive us

I'll struggle with the same ordeal

Why is it we can't keep the pure

And let it be free and wild

Why is it we have to enclose it in cages

Or make sure that it dies

And how is it we'll never run out of excuses

Reasons why it had to be done

Why we had to salvage

The beautiful ones

Beautiful ones

Beautiful ones

Daytimers

You've become a representative of hypocrisy
The same ideals that you used to despise
You've been blinded by the temporary
Until everything's been erased
What about all the dreams
And all the thoughts
All your takes on life

And yet you're quick to criticize others
Who didn't fall through with their youth
Who left their old grand plans for dead
You call them imperfect
You're the greatest cynic of all
At the end of the day,
Who was it who discarded their dreams

And you said you'd never turn into one of them
You'd never become proud of the plain
Even the ordinary would be extraordinary
In your world

And everyone would know your name

What did you settle for
The same routines you avoided
And your nocturnal mind traded away
You've become one of the daytimers
Just like every other cog in the system

Forget the times you used to read Lovecraft
And cherish his dark imagery as art
Forget the times you were an individual
That hadn't yet been corrupted
By the moment

Live for the day, you used to say
And now your words don't mean anything anymore
No promises are meaningful
When you decide to desert them
I realize that life changes
But there's a core to things
That shouldn't shift

Yours did
But I won't be warped
Even when there's changes
That I haven't predicted
My mind is different from yours
I won't be warped

Because I'll still remember
Who I used to be
And what I used to read
And whenever those changes
Are about to hit me
I'll still cherish
The same imagery
As before

Horrifics

Listening to Shinedown and trying to be poetic, which doesn't seem to work. My mind is entirely blank. I wonder if that's what happens when you get a couple of days away from school for once. We've studied so much lately that I barely know what to do with a day that I don't have to study, and still I seem to be bored by virtually anything. But what the hell, some music and some writing always helps, and if my mind should keep being blank maybe I should novel rather than keep at it on the poetry side.
Other than that I'm looking forward to Saturday when we're having a back-to-school-party and I plan on getting as drunk as I can possibly get without the whole passing-out-part or the black-holes-where-the-memories-should-be-part. I was tempted to drink tonight but then passed. I've been in such a weird mood all day, pretty depressed for some reason or other, and I wouldn't wanna make it worse. Now I'm eating pineapple directly from the can and trying to withstand the horrific, I'm serious, the horrific meows that Zelda's making. I've booked her an appointment to get sterilized, but since she just entered her heat period thingy apparently we have to wait around a month... and that means there'll be no sleep for me at night for a couple of weeks. It's been a single day and I'm already fucking annoyed.
New course starts on Monday and we'll be doing our first game project, some random game in 2D, it'll be nice. Though with my luck I'll end up in a fucked up group with a fucked up game idea thanks to the designers, no, wait, I'm supposed to try and look at things brightly and sunnily. With my luck, that I make myself, like all the greats do; I'll end up in an awesome group with an awesome game idea. Wish me luck (that I'm supposed to make).

Me and Karo have taken up our poetry project again, and found someone to do the proofreading and stuff for us, so now we just have to find a good way to get it published and most easily available. There are a few alternatives so far. Time to start thinking about an appropriate title, since we seem to have forgotten the suggestions we brought up last time. There's a Swedish site that I know is reliable and good, I'm thinking about possibly putting my novels up there eventually while waiting for that big break or whatever.


I'm still as cynical as ever, as DJ pointed out, but at least things are looking a little up. I just gotta remember that they are and not fall into the same old shit that I used to.
POET IN THE BLANK, YET PONDERING JAR

Whispers

We whispered in the darkness
Does it matter who whispered first
The words still stood out like screams
When written in the night
Like fragile promises,
Despite self-preservation
Despite everything I had taught myself
And everything life taught me
About repossession

You said it was possibe to be reinvented
That I don't have to be limited by old designs
Was that part of your whisper
Inbetween the lines
Or was I just reading lips
Searching for invisible words

We whispered in the darkness
As fleeting shadows on the wall
After the lights had gone out

Will you still be here when I wake
And will you be the same
Remaining unchanged
In the silence, in the night
When the lights have gone out

Will you still whisper to me in the darkness

Silk, Oblivious

You were more appealing before your insight
When it was more important what you saw,
than how you appeared
Now you've framed your eyes perfectly
With charcoal and straightened hair
And to someone who was oblivious
Who didn't know what you used to be like
To someone who didn't know you
You'd be perfect

Is there anything left in those eyes
And are they still amazed at what they see
Is the world more beautiful dressed in silk
Than plainly, like you used to
When there were still strokes of paint
Across your face

Of course I know nothing of your pain
And nothing of what goes through your mind
All I'm implying is you were more appealing
Before your insight
Before you had to try so hard
You don't have to try so hard

Circle of Pretense

You think you're living in a dream, when you aren't
And it's so obvious to me, you're so transparent, and I see
I see everything that you worked so hard to hide
I've seen everything from the inside
And I was there when it all happened
You'll always deny you were thrown off track
How long will denial be there to have your back
It'll surely replace me you see
If you ever counted on me

What does it take to force that smile and that lie
To live in the middle of makebelieve
Maybe I'd accept it if you chose it
See, I live for dreams
But they're a different kind
Well anything goes as long as you survive
If surviving is all there is to life
Can you tell?

I don't mean to ruin your idea of things
Or bring this up after all this time
But it amazes me, how you pretend
All the energy that goes to your image of perfection
When there's no such thing as perfection
Will you be happy living in your bubble
In your perfect little world
Until it cracks
Until it's scratched
And you'll be like a record on repeat
And it's stuck on the same old song
Glitching and scraping

And I have no desire to return, no desire to go back
What would there be left for me, just a black hole
And thousands of reminders
Remember why you made that bubble
Remember that you did it because of that day
And of that trespass, of that betrayal
What hand did I have in it,
Except I happened to be in the way

And everyone covers for you
And everyone's friends with you
And everyone cowers behind you
Afraid that someone might break that bubble
Afraid that someone might blow your cover
They all said they were with me but what happened to that
Now they're all part of the same circle of pretense
And I'm left to myself and to my own defense
Cause if your bubble bursts, so will theirs
They might have to wake up and realize they're in the real world

The real world is much darker than you'd want to know
And that's the reason you're putting on this show
But what's the occasion, for this illusion
I'd rather hate truth than live in a lie
And in the end I'll be the one who can look back
Without regretting things

See I decided to make life about new memories
Rather than dwelling on the old ones
And suddenly life seems to go a little more my way
When I consciously let it
You'll still be blind
While the pain kills you from inside

I'd rather have the truth
Than live like you

Eye Condition

Do you remember what it was like
When you were younger and less apathic
Before everything gradually lost color
Before things seemed so fleeting
And meaningless

Do you remember that you were stained
By age and by the same repeating days
That you slowly forgot how to breathe

Do you remember that you put up with things
And that you weren't always like this
That you'd do everything you hated
Lacking any other choice
While waiting for another life
That existed in your dreams

Do you remember how anxious you were
At the end of every dull day
You never claimed to be a genious
But nothing new would ever happen
And you grew tired of when things repeated themselves
When the tired old faces never changed

Do you remember how a few simple things made you last
Like scribbling words and listening to the saddest songs
Do you remember that opening your eyes took the greatest effort
And that once you'd opened them you wouldn't close them again
Afraid you might die while sleeping and unaware
Afraid that you'd die before loving to live

Do you remember how you fleed to pain
That the sensation made you alive again
It's true that it was temporary
But it was better than the angst
And it led your thoughts away

Did you forget what it was like
At the darkest and furthest edge of the world
Not necessarily real other than in your mind
But your thoughts was all you knew as truth
And you were tired of lying
Tired of the world's charades

Do you remember what it was like
When you had to put a mask on to the world
And did you notice that there's still flecks of it on your skin
To cover half your face and one of your eyes

Do you remember that no one seemed to understand
And that you wouldn't let anyone close enough to try
It was easier that way, or so it seemed
So it seemed to the voices in your mind

And now it's invisible for anyone who glances at you
At first sight you seem to be undamaged
Some might even say you were at ease with life
Some might even say you seem to love life

You've tried to wash the remaining flecks from your face
And you've tried to see clearly with only one eye
Imagining everyone else was blind
You might improve your current condition
And some might even say you were close to perfection

But those few flecks will always stay
And some old things will never change
You just sort them from the newer ones
With the sense of priority you recently acquired
Label them as unimportant to the present
And try to learn how to love life again

Just trying to be alive again

Solutions

How can you be sure you're the one who's mad
Just because you happen to see things differently
When everything's shrouded in clouds of white light
Woven in silk strings and stained golden doorknobs
And the voices from your home whisper to you
From the chimney and the windows and the doors
That all you need to do is run away
Run away to the final solution

Did you see any visions before you knew they were there
Before you were told you weren't allowed to dream
And you weren't allowed to weave yourself a world
Where everything still existed the way it was
You weren't allowed to imagine things differently

How can you be sure you're the one who's mad
Only because your life was shattered once
And the pieces became your safe place,
the place you lived in inside your mind
And every now and then you pick out a shard
And return to it in your heart
Where everything replays like old footage
Except you always know what'll happen

Did you mourn death or did you long for it
As the claws struck down on you
And you were enclosed in the jar
Were you aware of yourself when you were hit
And your sanity left the back door ajar

How can you be sure you're the one who's mad
When you weren't the one to label your mind
And you'll never be able to fully compare
The only thoughts and emotions you'll know
Will always be your own

How can you be sure you're the one who's mad?

POET IN THE JAR
A piece inspired by Chasing Ella, my current novelling project

Alteration

Every word feels like it's already been spoken
And every time I redecorate it looks the same
I'm so keen to try and keep up with alteration
That some things never seem to change
Is this a paradox?
Perhaps

Perhaps it is

I feel like I've been to every place there is
And I know what you'll say before you do
I know we'll soon fall into old routines
How passionately I'll fight with you
Is this a paradox?
Perhaps

Perhaps it is

I'm independent, dependent on you
And I forgot how to fall asleep alone
I'm in a trance, while dancing with you
The confusion is exclusively my own
My own

Are there really little things worthwhile
Does it really matter how I spend my time?
I chose all the meaningful, over the trivial
Still something is missing from my life
Is this a paradox?
Perhaps
Perhaps it is

I'm independent, dependent on you
And I forgot how to fall asleep alone
I'm in a trance, while dancing with you
The confusion is exclusively my own
My own

Do you think of things the way I do?
Which one of us thinks the most?
Will I ever be able to really read you?
Or will I never really know?

I'm independent, dependent on you
The way I always wanted things to be
So why this confusion, entirely my own
Did you also forget how to sleep alone?

I'm not saying anything is perfect
And I'm not saying I'm ready to let go
Or to be dependent
But maybe this time it'll be different
Maybe it'll all be different

And I could take a couple of steps
In the somewhat right direction

Maybe

The Game

I can foresee how you will twist your lies
And show up when you think you're the least expected
Sorry to disappoint you but I had already predicted it
And you've ceased to be as dark and intriguing
As you wanted everyone else to believe

Still every now and then you manage to stab me
With a lucky shot, that you aim at me in spite
Can't say why, when you were the one to deny
Everything that felt even the slightest right
Everything that had to do with me

It's as if you're the one who can't let go of things
When you never lifted a finger to stop it
And as if you just had to kick me one more time
While I was lying down from the force of your punches
I had a feeling you would, I had a couple of hunches

But seriously, isn't it time to give it up and let me heal
Haven't you dealt me enough bruises already
Did you know that last time gave me a concussion
Isn't it time to aim that anger of yours elsewhere to
You were worse to me than I ever was to you

Why is it so hard for you to tell when the game has gone overboard
When you're the only one still enjoying to play
And who said you could decide the game's every fucking rule
That the world would just abide by your every need
Excuse me if I don't pay you that heed

You should have taken me if you wanted me
Instead of standing idly by
And only yourself to blame
When I decided I was out of the game


So you're on your own now, just thought I'd tell
You can sit up late at night with your book of rules
And lose another friend by every morning when you wake
At this rate you'll have lost them all
Before you realize it's too late

Fireflies

You'd think that I'd learn at some point
And that I wouldn't pace back in my tracks
That I wouldn't turn down the same roads
You'd think I learned that,
At some point

What would I have told myself years ago
If I could send a message back through time
And would I care to listen, care to mind
Would it make me change anything
Or would I find myself tiring
And ignore my own advice

I always push it to the limit
I can never turn back in time
I have to chase the fireflies
Although they burn me with their light
I crave the bittersweet desire
To remind me that I'm still alive
I can't resist the heavenly fire
So burn me, burn me, til I die
My smoking, burning firefly

You'd think that I'd know at some point
Enough to not repeat my old mistakes
And not fall into the same traps and graves
You'd think I'd know that,
At some point

What excuses will I lay out to the future me
Will I say that I didn't see the signs
Though they were displayed in bolded lines
What words will I believe, to cover up for things
Mythomania, ensuring
I won't see through my lies


I always push it to the limit
I can never turn back in time
I have to chase the fireflies
Although they burn me with their light
I crave the bittersweet desire
To remind me that I'm still alive
I can't resist the heavenly fire
So burn me, burn me, til I die
My smoking, burning firefly

So maybe I was taught to be indifferent
And survive by aiding selfish needs
Never hope for the dawn
In case disappointment would come
So?

So maybe I was taught to live and pretend
And never be the one to be abandoned
It's better to attack than to defend
In case disappointment would come
So?


I always push it to the limit
I can never turn back in time
I have to chase the fireflies
Although they burn me with their light
I crave the bittersweet desire
To remind me that I'm still alive
I can't resist the heavenly fire
So burn me, burn me, til I die
My smoking, burning firefly

So maybe I wasn't taught like this, but differently
So?
Maybe I don't care how I was taught
Maybe I want to forget what made me
And maybe I want to chase the fireflies again
Just to see what'll happen in the end

I always push it to the limit
I can never turn back in time
I have to chase the fireflies
Although they burn me with their light
I crave the bittersweet desire
To remind me that I'm still alive
I can't resist the heavenly fire
So burn me, burn me, til I die
My smoking, burning firefly

POET IN THE JAR