January 2011
31 posts
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And should I fail, at least I know, with all my heart, that I gave it my best shot.
That should be enough, right?
Save me from myself tonight.
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Isn’t it sad how we go through life constantly missing something?
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Gloomy Sunday
I checked the temperature this morning. It’s been a long time since I did so. 23 degree celsius. Somehow in my head I imagined it to be 5 or something. It’s been pouring for two days straight and it’s gloomy as hell. Makes me wonder how I managed to survive living under winter conditions in Sweden. (Jag var alltid kallt.) I guess we underestimate how fast and how much our body...
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“There is no refuge from memory and remorse in this world. The spirits of our...”
– Gilbert Parker
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Sleepwalking.
I don’t write anymore. At least not as much, which might be ironic since I do advocate the importance of writing in so many levels. Perhaps, it’s a linguistic form of reclusiveness. Do it with your heart, or not at all. Winterson
says it best.
Maybe I am just hiding, trying to tuck myself in a corner of everything, hoping that if I were to hide long enough, all that I was unsure and...
Your quirk’s a perk.
“I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she...”
– Pablo Neruda (via clavicola)
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You think?
Maybe if we could just stop for a moment and detatch ourselves from the all-encompassing me, me, me, I, I, I world of self centeredness to just watch the world go by—by watch I mean a passive taking in of all that we see, and to know there is only so much we can ever see—we can look beyond our veiled impressions and perceptions. Perhaps only then can we actually begin to see anything....
Seriously? You’ve got to be kidding me.
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“Sometimes awful things have their own kind of beauty.”
– Carlos (A Single Man, 2009)
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no tomorrow
It’s one of those nights when you have a song play softly on repeat in the background while you multi-task and busy yourself with other seemingly more important tasks. But at the end of the 47th repetition, it suddenly dawns upon you that you actually have no bleeding clue what it is you have been doing—buying time, maybe. I suppose every one else goes through this ambivalent moment in...
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I am obsessive; Somehow I believe that’s the only way I really know how to be. How one should differentiate that and being passionate? perhaps I would never figure. Maybe that’s foolishness and pure recklessness to some, but why go into something when half your heart is somewhere else, galavanting away to the offbeats of someone else’s, trying to desperately pace and keep up with...
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Surely crying has to be a reactionary affect of excess. Hush now, the night is merciless and cold enough; there is no reason for further trembles.
Perhaps only The Beatles can make the words “doo doo doo doo doo doo doo” sound so immensely sad/beautiful at the same time that it makes my heart ache in ways I cannot describe. Is this what sublimity entails?
Why do people always assume that what one writes is an extension of him/herself? Can’t words stand on its own, with no context, no subtext, no other meaning? Then again, maybe there is always a relation to something—we just don’t look hard enough, or perhaps we never know enough.
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Labyrinth.
Do you know that feeling? When you are stuck in a place within your own mind and you don’t quite know how to get out of it? I guess you may liken it to a maze, except in mazes, there is still some chance, by means of luck or pure instinct, that you might get out of them; or you can throw in the towel and call a helpline, ask for a clue out of this deadend. To be lost in your own mind always...
If I could just ..
Ahh, nevermind.
Never you mind.
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Yes.
There is this one thing I need to do for myself. It used to be a want, but lately, I’m beginning to believe with strong affirmation that this is what needs to be done.
I feel extremely pleased with myself for leaving this entire burning desire of a need open-ended: to the plurality of future interpretation. It could be anything the next time I look back at this chunk of words. And perhaps I...
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What moves you?
You know statistics that state reasons for migration and such?
Love has got to top the list when it comes to motivations behind one’s reckless abandon.
I am almost a hundred percent certain, even if the charts state otherwise—work, career, environment, and what have you.
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ἄλγος
I don’t know what to make of my missing 2010 planner. Perhaps it’s just a little nudge from the old man up there, telling me to rely on a shady source that is my memory; or another way of telling me to let everything go slowly. You can’t miss what you don’t remember. If little details just slip through the gaps of my memory, and all I’m left with is a big picture that...
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December 2010
52 posts
5 tags
I just wanna dance / I don't really care
I don’t think I will ever forget the feeling of dancing outside in the cold. The beach house was packed with too many people—“too many people, too little space” just didn’t seem ideal for a party. So we opened the backdoor and went outside, without our coats. Out in the middle of a Swedish Winter. But fuck it, life is too short to dance while looking like a...