~ east? east is everywhere, indeed ~

a cloudy sky over umeå that hadn't yet known

i am the woman dancing to the post-punk band in der himmel über berlin, i am her voice, i am her everything, i am. she worked in a circus, i live in one.
and still i don't believe her when she's dancing. it's because she knows she's beautiful, she's thinking about it - the only difference between us. i never do, i only am, the most, when i dance. and dance is water, you must not think then. to think is to drive a rock across its stream.

dear bresson. if art lies in suggestion, is this the reason why happiness doesn't belong there?

es gibt noch andere sonnen, als die oben am himmel

~ fearless ~

.,.

~ aura ~

Consuelo, le démon aussi était un ange, avant -

i have this feeling

that inbetween, there were those mirror people, reflecting both god and the devil, scar and flawlessness. that heaven as well as hell hang agaze admiring themselves in the mirror dividing their grounds. and that this mirror is earth.

~ visual spells ~

"Bob," I said, really looking at him for the first time. "Somehow you don't seem like a Bob to me. Is it okay if I call you Robert?

heavy heart and quiet hands.
halfway through removing pictures, photos, sketches, posters, notes from the walls before moving out. white walls. tones stepping down like a little girl after her white ball, right into the dungeons.
so now what. flashbacks from so many similar evenings developing into flashbacks from other evenings, and nights, and days, and mornings and leading into a broader reflection over the bygone. over which evil is necessary and which is not. if any. or pain. or blood. is it only astray rhethorics for those on the brink of sanity to excuse their scars.

stripped myself from the walls, the room looks like a mental institution now. whiteness cubed. only this messed-up patti triptych left. how she, in years, pinched my neck delicately turning my perception. towards the rightest.
white tea, white wine. wine. candle flames make the air more human.

is it twisted to think that falling is in a way good? without gravity there would be neither rivers nor rain. yet it's we who pay the consequences. at the speed of light and at the speed of its absence.

fell asleep in the middle of writing this entry. vague rememberance of what shall follow. the morning came with the rain and led to calm gardens, scenting wet dust and cut grass. radio thrown me into the right rails, started off in swirls and ritual dances over the suitcase. spinning wheel got to go round.

still not answered.
can bullets be the beauty.

~ take me alive ~

distance begins when the first thing passes you by.

with every other fling the distance rises and so does the sharpness of sight. you see the picture and the frame. you see the wall and the very first brush movements. you see the shadow of the hands.
you see all the time although the world we're living in is trying to convince you it's the other way round. with all the pictures, tasks, ambitions, desires, futures, opportunities.
while the only one is the chance of life. the chance of step. of touch. the possibility of voice. of a blink.

how many times you've shaken hands?
how many times you've remebered it?

~ don't blame cocco! ~

it's not the right season for a coconut

yes. this lovely quotation taken from my brother's sayings occupies my head for some time now. last months are even sponsored by a new coconut fragrance that turns my mind coconut, of course, and totally positive and... nuts (; and it seems all the goodness i've been obstinately sending out to the world is slowly coming back. even circumpolar winter is mild this year. i'm walking, singing and smiling.

tell them you've been licking coconut skins

yesterday i played this song and it filled the rest of my day. it's always been one of my favs but it wasn't before then that i've realized it's just perfect for my coconut present.

or you can sit on chimneys~!

because hell is for heroes, of course. to run a short balance of the last days: i lost my favourite raspberry earring when dancing, i was making sketches on every single lecture and all were crazy and nice - at last reaching good momentum for creating visual stuff. i also got a hellish throat infection which makes my voice way too useless even now - a week after the relative recovery. i danced a lot, went to jokkmokk for workshops again and heard some of the most touching and reflexive stories about jojk ever told by members of the most famous saami theatre group in sweden. i froze my everything off because my clothes are not suitable for any winter. and so i end up quoting my brother here and planning another week.
of what i see, it will be just as much coco-nuts.

tell you, i'm cooking coconut skins

~ surprise ice ~

brother, are you watching me
i've been walking a straight line travelling from town to town

amazing how a song can diametrically change its meaning if only you switch focus from one line to another. how this dichotomy can run down your spine one day - that surprise ice can become something more and different from what you've taken for granted.

there are nights when splintered mirrors which you resurrect with afraid fingers give a better picture in the end. there are nights when you sense for the first time the closeness to becoming both strong and tender. this is a night like this, a night when i sat down at the desk without a purpose and suddenly found myself in this trace. the brush landed in the remains of my tea that soon became blue, violet and chaotic. accident and running while took over.

i am surprised with myself, and with ice.
time of shiver, yet i can't help myself from daring. done pale days' homework.

~ nordtatt: et eeventyr i et halvkapitel ~

inappropriate? it's just a matter of definition.

let's go iron pancakes.
let's go.

~ accidental babies ~

i remember when i walked along the river last week and sang because it was the only way to keep the thoughts out of my head.

and if you hate me, hate me, hate me

i remember when i walked a few days ago in sofiehem and gimonäs looking for a house, sang a song that loosened the cord so that i could breathe freely.
it got dark and freezing cold, but kept on wandering around, determined to find what i was looking for. well... i failed, stopped now and then to take some photos, then got completely lost. luckily, the way back home was finally found, yet the woods, road, deserted paths, night and chilly needles did their job. i felt alone. truly, naturally alone.

then hate me so good that you can let me out

how singing always helps out.
how music always is.

and how good it is sometimes to jump and land on the ground just to feel it under the feet.

~ 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?

~ cognition in the red ~

so dear rain is here again and the books are piling up to the ceiling when my attention hover somewhere around the thought - i need to paint now. i've just got this kick and the vividity of imagination, all necessary feelings in my fingers to paint. not play the guitar, not scribble on the tablet (which i didn't take with me here anyway), nor shoot photos, write the novel in my head.

i need to paint because it's fall and fall is when my spirit and imagination live most intensively. and i need to paint because it's swedish fall. short, condensed, beautiful. but fleeting.
and i somewhat miss the smell of paint and garnish, stained fingers.

the meditation over the flat, linen surface. unleashing all the impressions, emotions, thoughts i've taken in. it's unnatural to accumulate them inside. there's something that wants out.

my mind is working, my hands are resting.
action!

~ a charade ~

viva psychedelia!

time has accelerated and the winds seem to spin instead of the usual gusts. good energy and candles, orange rags on the window.
and the psyhand's owner visiting.

in my cultural analysis handbook i've found a passage on the role of different human senses in the cognitive processes. touch was placed at the grey end in the ranking of importance.
why.
i mean, not much of a novelty but - what does it say about us? why sight and hearing, the easier and the most obvious ones? the ones that don't really require any closeness.
what about all this safety? isn't it just an illusion? aren't we close to the source of today's overwhelming loneliness, worldwide confusion in the impression of non-existence and floating?
why not stop using different objects without ever noticing their presence and nature, facture, temperature, weight, form, feelings they evoke?

why not use our hands and feet to live?

~ having smarter babies ~

all is full of love
you have to trust it




a bright evening after a long row of insane ones
a moment of lightness
till i don't realize it's only alcohol

honey, it's only alcohol
that's how it works