~ the draft ~

i'm kneeling on my soft coconut-carpet as i call it because of its cream colour and a bit worn-off softness. perfect for the floor enthusiasts of my sort. cosy in orange semi-darkness, the walls are covered in a shadowplay of the small round lamp, just as if a hand-granade of tangerine feathers, leaves and butterflies burst and paused in the mid-motion.

so the carpet and the orange leaf-feathers hung in a glimpse.
and me on the floor browsing through my sketch folder, re-discovering the to-be-drawn pics. expect some new stuff here when i'm back to sweden and to my sweet analog set.

[metathought #1: why am i always ending up BABBLING about non-importances while i really have a short core-thought to pixelize into this place?]

i feel very tender. at the moment. never before have i cared less about christmas. just because. a very positive state, maybe it's just priorities. maybe it's my heart overwhelmed by an unknown-yet-well-known sweetness.

[metathought #2: if you by any chance have noticed the concentration of hifens in this text, you can probably imagine how well the wallfrozen tangerine butterflies correspond with the liminal phase i'm going through]

so it's coconut, tangerine, sweet and inbetween. still the world of surprise ice. everything seems to be a draft, just like this fragment of a pic i've never finished.
my lovely december transition, please lead my steps.
because i'm tender and intuitional, and trusting - something i once was harshly criticised for and told not to. yelled for not to. hurt not to.

i'm longing with a direction and all clocks point midnight.

~ i never wandered down this road, i swear ~

to you i am a stranger
always a phone call or letter away
from another letdown

and this is how reception of music can cause a blog-overflow. hey, it's me again. it's just inevitable when i'm up here with no nightwalk partners to share my nightly reflective tracks. ---
--- and i had to make a break to write a chapter for the novel i'm trying to materialize out of my mindmazes. and yet this rasmus kellerman song appearing exactly tonight. right when i've finished de mello's book touching a similar topic and having a bunch occupying thoughts around it. this day seems to be pretty much destined to pass under the sign of wondering around who we are to each other, how we exist in time, what our relations are in the depersonalized societies, cyber identities, imaginary lives of today.
and do we exist without our names? consider it carefully, it's not that obvious. can you say you know a person not knowing their real name?
how can one not feel lonely in a world of this kind?

further. what's communication about? in the flesh. i get this impression we no longer communicate who we are but who others want us to be, who would make them happy, who would make them like us, love us, make us feel better and belonging somewhere. is this communication based on projections of beings? if so, it would mean we communicate our coats, leaving the soft, warm body underneath undiscovered. we make it sleep, become a semi-existing life and let the fancy outer shell play the part. how is it to be worn by the clothes you chose yourself and paid for them?

hello you flicker on the other side of the screen. who's playing alice tonight? what will you give me? your hand or your glove?