18 Karat Gold - Johnossi

In her heart where the sadness grows
I'd operate with this knife
And cut a big fat giant hole
To fill with gold and light

But there's an endless battle to be won
And me I ain't a man with an educated mind
And soon, you won't have the strength to carry on
So you scream about it in the night
Oh in the night, in the night
Oh in the ni-i-i-i-i-ight

I'm not dead yet.

In fact, chronic gut diseases notwithstanding, I'm probably more alive than I've ever been. I guess that's how it all goes; different, if not else, when the chick leaves the nest and is left to test his wings in an open sky where earlier regulations and obstacles suddenly have been replaced by novelties of the kind. In most ways, it's a life of far more company than before -- in others, it's lonelier.

Given the latter, I'm happy that I'm able to go home once a week to see my family. A year's trial run on my own before I leave not only the nest, but the whole forest is probably useful. Not that it will be less painful when the time arrives, but I will have grown accustomed to it in a whole other way than I would if I had lived at home, rather than in my 20 square-meter room in Northern Lund.

Yes, the room.

It is about time to make it more homely by now, so a hunt for flags and other accessories has commenced. Like it or not -- and there are many things that I both like and don't like with it -- this room is my home until either June or August next year, and there is something gravely disconcerting with white, empty walls. Alternatively, if not disconcerting, then at least depressing. When seeing someone's room for the first time, you're looking right into a part of their life and personality -- it's an impression that can only be given once (and then once again after each new renovation and redecoration). I've got ideas though, all that is lacking is the objects themselves and after that, their merging with the whiteness of my walls in an attempt to breach it.

To be honest, I never thought home decoration would be this fun.

Cambodia - Kim Wilde

Well, he was Thailand-based
She was an airforce wife
He used to fly weekends
It was the easy life
But then it turned around
And he began to change
She didn't wonder then
She didn't think it strange
But then he got a call
He had to leave that night
He couldn't say too much
But it would be alright
He didn't need to pack
They'd meet the next night
He had a job to do
Flying to Cambodia

Spencer left this morning, first going with Gedis to Copenhagen and then, via Germany, to Bangkok. From there, to Cambodia. It's a pity really, that one of the most interesting persons I've ever met only stuck around in my life for a few weeks -- his self-deprecating stories and lovely humour will be sorely missed in the corridor. Whoever moves into 102 has got one large pair of shoes to fill, and there will be no shame on him -- or her -- if he -- or she -- fails. Try succeeding Lincoln.

If you would happen to stumble by here, Spencer, then here is a reminder: keep in touch. Enjoy Asia and give it a taste of the SSKK spirit, be it through playing pornography through loudspeakers in order to keep the whole building awake; or to wrestle a toy-snake in the jungle when you are hunting the Khmer Rogue; or simply discussing intercourse in trees. Have a good one, mate.

*

Eftersom jag aldrig riktigt konstaterade det på bloggen känns det värt att göra det nu: jag har flyttat och lämnat Ystad bakom mig, förhoppningsvis för evigt. Detta framgick i och för sig ganska så tydligt genom den förra posten, men för framtida generationer -- och det framtida jag som kommer läsa de här orden och minnas sitt första år på universitetet -- är det ändå värt att konstatera i klartext. Om inte annat så ger det kronologisk klarhet, åtminstone.

För övrigt bor jag just nu i rum 112. När jag blev inlagd på lasarettet i Ystad låg jag på rum 12. Ni kan själva gissa vilket nummer mitt rum hade på min första avdelning på USiL -- med tanke på att jag nämner det är det sannolikt att det också var ett dussinrum. Slump, eller har världseliten blivit lat och inte orkat programmera in detaljer? Vad vet jag.

De senaste veckorna har varit intensiva, och de senaste dagarna har spelat i en egen division. Tisdagskvällen spenderades i Kalmar nations trädgård med öl och Matias; onsdagen på pubrunda med gamla vänner, först på Krischan och därefter Hallands; gårdagen på novischpub på Sydskånska nationen; och kvällen först med jobb, därefter fest, därefter klubb på Krischan. Med tanke på de föregående kvällarna hade jag planerat en vit helg men den började istället närmast mörkgrått, om än inte svart. Att döma av hur min tarm för tillfället protesterar högljutt -- och regelbundet -- kommer jag att hata mig själv imorgon, och det säger jag utan vare sig skämtsamhet ellet lättja. Det här var långt ifrån mitt smartaste drag.

Alla dessa aktiviteter har dock bättrat på kontot med erfarenheter ganska markant. Underbara kvällar har varvats av mörka och trånga med för hög volym, och god musik har avlösts av skräp för att ersättas av örongodis igen. Frekvensen på utekvällarna kommer garanterat att mildras med tiden, men för tillfället njuter jag av det, mestadels åtminstone. Kanske hade jag behövt en eller två tråkiga slödagar i Ystad för att vila upp mig.

Vid närmare eftertanke kan man nog stryka "kanske" i den meningen. Det hade varit nyttigt för mig.

I övrigt har det varit en förhållandevis händelserik dag som har inkluderat blodprov; letande efter Gastromottagningen på Kirurgens Öppenvårdsenhet på USiL; lunch på gräsmatta framför AF; hälsningsgille; en ovilja att gå på föreläsning, logiskt nog följd av transport till påföljande föreläsning som visade sig vara lika tråkig som förväntat; iltransport till Krischansta nation för jobb; och därefter det som formade kvällen. Värt att notera är dock att en viss melankoli har studsat upp och ner under dagen, för första gången sedan jag flyttade hit. Vid närmare eftertanke kan det vara första gången sedan en ganska vidrig natt och morgon på sjukhuset. Varför vet jag inte och lösningar är jag osäker på, men så länge det inte blir permanent är jag föga berörd.

Kvällen i sig var även den ganska omvälvande. Den började arbetssamt, fortsatte gott och slutade lite under medelmåttigt, vilket är ett ganska vitt spektrum. Några timmars potatishackande följdes av pizza, som följdes av mer potatishackande. Timmarna därefter är suddiga, och kan sammanfattas med att ytterst lite lugn fanns att få. Dukning, avdukning, diskplockning, disk, matlagning, matuppläggning, svabbning av golv, skrubbande av gratängformar -- allt avverkades det, och plötsligt var sittningen slut och det var dags att röja undan. Detta visade sig dock vara lättare sagt än gjort då alla bord och stolar skulle plockas undan, efter att först ha röjts på disk och skräp. Därefter skulle de stuvas in i en container, och sedan väntade ett oheligt diskberg. Det vore hyckleri att hävda att tiden flög fram, men så här i efterhand tycktes slutet ändå komma förhållandevis fort. Då slutet följdes av middag, sång och drickande -- eller, för semantiknazisten, supande -- i källaren var det högst välkommet. Faktum är att det var så trevligt att jag stannade långt senare än planerat. Sådana eftersittningar är i sig nästan ett argument för att jobba på riktiga sittningar, precis som förväntat.

När klockan blev allt senare kom även insikten om hur sur i buken jag skulle komma att vara påföljande morgon, men eftersom skadan redan var skedd var det föga lönt att bemöda min stackars hjärna med. Istället letade jag upp vänner och dansade ett tag -- jag är ingen dansmänniska, och musiken var ofta betydligt sämre än medelmåttig, men det var likväl ett helt acceptabelt sätt att spendera slutet på kvällen. Åtminstone för ett tag -- alla erfarenheter är erfarenheter, och erfarenheten av att helt plötsligt stå ensam på ett dansgolv, i meningen att jag var utan sällskap, och på detta lyssnade på musik som jag aldrig skulle ha betalt ett öre för, var sannerligen en erfarenhet. Dock knappast en särskilt behaglig, vilket gjorde att det kändes logiskt att plocka upp jacka och väska och lämna lokalen, snarare än att vänta in klubbens slut. Luften utomhus var trots allt behagligare, och situationen inte fullt lika nedslående.

Kvällar är kvällar och alla slutar dem. Delar av den här vill jag upprepa -- andra delar är jag glad om jag slipper igen. Nu är klockan nästan fyra, ett faktum som i sig självt motiverar sänggång.

I Knew The Bride Bride - Dave Edmunds

Well, the bride looked a picture in the gown that her mama wore
When she was married herself nearly twenty-seven years before
She had to change the style a little but it looked just fine,
They stayed up all night, but they got it finished just in time
Now on the arm of her daddy, she's a-walkin' down the aisle
And she catches my eye and she gives me a secret smile
Maybe it's too old-fashioned, but we once were close friends
Oh but the way that she looks today, she never could have then

Well I can see her now in the tight blue jeans
Pumpin' all the money in the record machine
Spinnin' like a top, you shoulda seen her go
I knew the bride when she used to rock and roll

At times, the ideal analogy of life is that of a record on a table-top player. It spins, sometimes fast which causes the voice of the singer to turn from whatever famous characteristic it's got into a version of Donald Duck at the circus. Sometimes it spins slower, making it more akin to funeral basoons in the Tibetan mountains. At other occasions, it just spins, indefinitely and indeterminably. Round, round, round, but not stopping until you turn the player off. I guess that termination of movement signifies sleep in this analogy, or possibly death.

Likewise, the analogy has never been as suitable for my life as it has been the past days, more accurately since this Tuesday. Impressions, persons, responsibilities and possibilites take turns occupying my attention span and for the first time in ages, I feel that I almost have too little spare time to be entirely functional -- at least on a basic level, such as when it comes to keeping your room in order, taking your meds on time or go grocery shopping. The evenings have instead been filled with talking to the pleasant oddities populating my corridor; going out to, for our part, newly-opened establishments with dear old as well as new friends; or partying, either through enjoying what I must now consider commodities or through partying for real. As I weite this I've just gotten goodnightkisses from two slightly bearded corridormates -- one of whom fate cruely will take away from us within a week, damn it into eternity -- and have spent the evening talking, laughing, drinking and crashing another corridor.

It might also be worth noting that the conversations held in the sofa in the SSKK -- more about that on another occasion -- kitchen were of such a kind that I would hardly be able to repeat it to any earlier acquaintance without either blushing or being slightly embarassed. I blame alcohol and the fact that the small gathering consisted exclusively of guys. With that said, this will be an enjoyable year if it continues as it started.

It's hard to fathom, but I've actually moved away from home. I live on my own, even if I'm not alone, and my nights have gotten increasingly longer ever since I moved. All in all, the past days have witnessed a change in my life that is irreversible as well as welcome, daunting yet tempting. A change that I believe I've been waiting for, whether I knew it or not. The possibility to call a friend and ask her to pop over for a cup of tea makes for a humongous change in itself, the need for grocery shopping and cooking on my own complements it.

It's getting late, and I should get up early tomorrow to return to Ystad, leave things and fetch things, receive blessings and food packages, and return to the Klondike of my life. What irks me slightly and pleases me in a masochistic way is that tonight's sleep most likely will be ridden with thoughts, hopes and the memory of crushed dreams considering lands left unconquered, no matter how strategic the decision in itself was. I wonder if there are some things that people, no matter their outcome, will curse for the entirity of their lives? A lost opportunity, or the fact that there never was one to start with. Is it something that is forgotten, or can it only be exorcised through the realisation of a naïve dream or hope? Or, even better, is it something that might always be there in fragments but likewise should be pushed out of your mind by your own virtue and resolve?

I speak in tongues, that is a reason as good as any to lay down the pen -- disconnect the keyboard? -- for the night. But likewise, life is good, despite there being some urges that might haunt me forever if I'm unlucky.

I'm still lucky though, in the context that the urges aren't of such magnitude that anyone should or would need to care. Life's good and lost fruit's lost and that is the way the record will keep rotating 'til you cut the power. Sleep tight.

I've Pursued Nothing - The Tossers

All the bottles of wine have ravaged my mind
Another day's gone by and I'm worried

And the night, and the night, it is bitter and short
For I know that a new day is coming
Another day, another day, all alone and blue
But for you I've pursued nothing

If you'd heard the song, you'd know it doesn't sound as moody and melancholic as the text hints. I've had a good day, and I do feel I've actually pursued something, namely trigonometry. Hey, there are worse ways to spend your days. In fact, basking in the sun on the balcony with a good friend is always nice, even when a Mathematics book is present.

I had an interesting morning too -- interesting in the sense that it all just felt so damned perfect. I woke up at nine, went up at ten, started the computer and went to get dressed. Halfway to the drawers I saw the absurdity in it though, seeing as that I was all alone in the house and the temperature actually was acceptable, there was little reason to get properly dressed. So, in t-shirt and boxer shorts, I fetched a few toasts with orange marmalade and a large glass of Proviva in the kitchen, and stood eating on the balcony -- still in my shoddy garments. This time it was me who was "lodis", so I'll be careful before I call Alex that again. It was nice though, standing in the morning sun and drinking the last of the morning juice and then reading blog-referrals about NHL-games for an hour. It was an entirely lazy and unproductive afternoon, but it was great and it was a nice whiff of a few of the things that are good in life.

There's not much more to say about the day, save that we now have started planning the feast that we will hold after my graduation. If all invited say yes, 31 persons will attend. That is a lot of people. Admittedly, I do not mind occasiosn with a lot of guests though. Plus, it will be rather interesting to see my friends interact with my relatives.

Now, seeing as that I do not have anything sane to say and do not know when I'll pop in again -- it's all down to mood and inspiration, really -- I'll reprise an old favourite. Remember the shuffle-game? Well, I did, and I figured that I wanted to do it again.

So here's me signing off for tonight.

---

1. Put your music player on shuffle.

2. Press forward for each question.

3. Use the song title as the answer to the question even if it doesn’t make sense. NO CHEATING!

(So this is a randomly spawned text on the internet giving me orders. That really requires some great cojones, considering I can erase him whenever I want.)

1. How are you feeling today?

Loch Lomond - Bryn Terfel
I have been thinking and talking about Scotland today actually. I've also been occasionally nostalgic, so it's not quite off the mark.

2. Will you get far in life?

Summerbreeze - Johnossi
Doesn't quite answer the question, but apparently I will spend many nights alone. Linus Glas.

3. How do your friends see you?

Oliver's Army - Elvis Costello
Given my rant when the Swedish army tried to draft me, I doubt any of my friends see me as a soldier in that regard -- even less, a British one.

4. Will you get married?

It's My Own Cheating Heart That Makes Me Cry - Glasvegas
Fuck you Spotify.

5. What is your life’s theme song?

The Wrestler - Bruce Springsteen
It's... I mean -- sod it. Yes. Now I got happy all of a sudden, somehow.

6. What is the story of your life?

Human Touch - Bruce Springsteen
That's two Springsteen-songs in a row, and I don't think this one is all too inaccurate either. Forsaking praise and pity for someone to talk to, and a little of that human touch? Yes, mister. Yes, without hesitation.

7. What was junior high school like?

Die Mauer - Ebba Grön
I'd expected this to be a good chuckle like last time, but now the bloody thing has started giving fairly accurate answers. Junior high was like a wall in many regards.

8. How can you get ahead in life?

The Eton Rifles - The Jam
Beating up brats from Eton? I'm on.

9. What is tomorrow going to be like?

I Wanna Be Adored - The Stone Roses
Shit, not again. I thought I'd had enough of heartthrob and longing for a few months.

10. What is the best thing about your friends?

Geraldine - Glasvegas
"My name's Geraldine, I'm your social worker." You've stood me this far and you listen when I want you to. By now I'm disregarding the creepy accuracy of the shuffle, because the answers please me. This one especially.

11. What is in store for the next weekend?

Cross Your Fingers - Laura Marling
Everton-Chelsea in the FA Cup final and exams right after the weekend. Spot on, again.

12. What song best describes you?

3:ans Spårvagn Genom Ljuva Livet - Eldkvarn
In my good moments, I do feel like life could be described like this.

13. How is your life going?

Uppgradera dig till Spotify Premium - Spotify
Hahahahahahahah--
Allright, another try.
Kom - Lars Winnerbäck
I don't think the world's judging me, at least not anymore. Rotting together with someone in lack of ambition is neither unpleasant nor unaccurate though.

14. What song will play at your funeral?

Lost In The Flood - Bruce Springsteen
I will, actually.

15. How does the world see you?

Ompa til du dør - Kaizers Orchestra
Ompa 'til I bleed, ompa 'til I die. Better run from the world, it seems.

16. Will you have a happy life?

Death - White Lies
"'Relax', yes I'm trying, but fear's got a hold of me". Well, shit.

17. What do your friends really think of you?

Double Yellow Lines - The View
If I make you realise you're high as kites, I'm content -- someone bloody well has to.

18. What song describes the person you’re attracted to?

Alison - Elvis Costello
I don't know an Alison. You won't get more than that out of me.

19. What message would you like to tell the next generation?

Kärlek Är För Dom - Thåström
Not even I am that bitter.

20. Do you have a deep dark secret?

The Promised Land - Bruce Springsteen
No matter what, I'm not a boy but a man and I believe in a promised land. Actually.

21. Do people secretly lust after me?

Magic - Bruce Springsteen
Am I magic, or should people trust nothing what they hear and less of what they see? Come on girls, I am nice!

22. How can I make myself happy?

Resistansen - Kaizers Orchestra
Finding likeminded people and playing Russian roulette in a basement seems like a neat enough idea.

23. Will I ever have children?

All That Heaven Will Allow - Bruce Springsteen
Aw, shucks.

24. What’s some good advice for me?

Moondance - Van Morrison
So it's a marvellous night for a moondance. Should I interpret that as that it's a good time to go all-in?

25. How will I be remembered?

Mr. Brightside - The Killers
I do hope I'll be remembered for more things than falling in love with a stripper.

26. What is my signature dance song?
Bodhran - The Young Dubliners
It's Irish. You know me well enough to figure out the rest.

---

So, it turned out a bit more creepily correct than I expected it to. Still though, this is Saturday night entertainment until life restarts again.

May I add that the readers are strongly encouraged to make their own trials of this in the comments when they find the time in between aliterations, aldehydes and algebra?

See you around.

/wellington.

Born To Run - Bruce Springsteen

Beyond the palace hemi-powered drones scream down the boulevard
The girls comb their hair in rearview mirrors
And the boys try to look so hard
The amusement park rises bold and stark
Kids are huddled on the beach in a mist
I wanna die with you Wendy on the streets tonight
In an everlasting kiss

The highway's jammed with broken heroes on a last chance power drive
Everybody's out on the run tonight but there's no place left to hide
Together Wendy we'll live with the sadness
I'll love you with all the madness in my soul
Someday girl I don't know when
we're gonna get to that place
Where we really want to go
and we'll walk in the sun
But till then tramps like us
baby we were born to run

The following post will not follow one coherent line of thought -- I'm rather emptying another bucket of thoughts and worries and reflections before it bursts.

It's intense days, these days. My tiny part of the blogosphere has gone eerily quiet for long periods of time as people, one by one, have left the sinking ship of reality and what we thought were our casual days for the gladiatorial battle that is the preparation for our exams. One of the reasons I'm writing here, now, is that I have no idea why I haven't yet. Another is that I was reading a post in Alex' blog about the exams and all things related to it, which inavoidably had my own mind snowball on me -- finally.

It's two weeks today. Two weeks isn't really anything. And a few of my more belligerent brain cells are screaming in uncontrolled panic at the prospect of exactly how much I need to have done before these two weeks are over, because this far I've done nigh on nothing. Some of the more quasi-bohemian brain cells are still longing for her, and have started drowning their sorrows by now. A few others want to play, or at least pluck, on the guitar. Most of them are in their normal want-mode: want to get out, want to drink beer, want to go to concert, want to meet friends, want life to be just a little more like it is on TV. The screaming ones are in a crushing minority.

I can't help but wondered what the hell happened to me. A few years ago I was an ambitious kid that was anxious -- no, scratch that, that wanted good grades. I was never anxious to get them, as they tended to show up anyway. By now I have my high school-grades looming at a burning horizon and I've got a hard time to raise any engagement. The good part is that my mind has not engaged in any heavier mindhumping yet; the bad is, of course, that I'm not really studying either. There always appears to be something else going on: window-washing, forcing sounds out of the guitar, writing, watching a movie, anything. Admittedly I'm not very encumbered by social activities though. The fact that almost all of my friends are facing the same vaguely defined Judgement Day as I am has lead to the social field resembling a scorched-earth Russia. Some activity is still popping up now and then though, and I'm cherishing every last bit of it. Admittedly, I chose a rather miserable time to start pursuing my social... pursuits, damned be my vocabulary. But such is life.

I can't help but think some about the future too. I bought myself some time with the decision to take a year of booze and brawling in Lund, but by the fall I will have to start making up my mind. Essentially there are two routes to go, namely Law or Politics. Salary or variable. Assured work or variable. Societal importance or variable.

Politics holds a little too many variables for me to feel entirely comfortable. In this very moment I'm leaning towards Law, courtesy of an hour-long rant I held at the dinner table yesterday evening regarding IPRED, the internet and file-sharing. It comes after a month-long lean towards Politics though, so I'm not holding my breath. Trying to choose between these two alternatives is like playing some perverted kind of ping pong, where the ball invariably goes back and forth beyond your control.

Indirectly, this brings me back to the issue of my ambitions. I wanted to change the world once but hey, who hasn't at some point. I'm immensely looking forward to university but I don't look forward to what's to come afterwards, as I just don't know what to do with myself. I don't care as much as before how the world remembers me -- if the world remembers me. I won't have had contact with a large part of it anyway. What matters in my legacy is how my friends remember me, and that I have a family that can remember me. A well-paid occupation comes with a lot of working hours, and that might be difficult to combine with giving your family the time it deserves.

Come to think of it, and I do now and then, that is all that I actually wish for myself: a family. A girl that I love who loves me in return with whom I live 'til the end of my days, a few children, a peaceful, although not necessary uneventful life. I could say "But I want to go travelling to!" but in reality, that will cost money I might not have. But if I've built a heaven for myself at home, it might not matter that I don't get to see the surrounding world.

So many decisions. So many stressful factors. So many dreams that want to be fulfilled, so many things to be done. I better be an endurable bastard, or I'll sink down gasping for breath halfway. Regardless of what path my life will one day take the exams seem to be the starting point of it: it is on those results that I'll get into a desired programme, it is with that programme I'll find an occupation, it is with that occupation that I'll define myself -- hopefully -- and earn money to shape my life with. The exams are indeed the starting point.

But come to think of it, they're not really any more than that. They won't say anything about me as a person, they will not in any way tell of what importance I will or will not be to the world. They are a tool to get into university and that's it. Junior high and high school are five years of grade craze and I'll rejoice having it out of my life. My final grade will of course matter, and if I get one I'm not content with I'll of course not be pleased. But it won't change me and it won't wreck my future, so it will affect me at most for a few months when I apply to Law or Politics. After that they fade into the obscurity of my memories. That is why I cannot be as anxious as I should be in order to get those fancy grades -- it just won't matter in a few years. The things I've learnt that matter to me have not been taught in school, I've found them elsewhere. I've found various interests, I've developed some talents, I've learnt a foreign language, I've learnt how to laugh, mourn and love. I've learnt what's important in life, and friendship is not dependant on grades.

As you might understand, my brain's not the best of studying buddies.

Two weeks... fourteen days. One of which I've now used half of. Two weeks, then the exams are upon us. And until then we'll be running. We were born to run, and we have all been running ever since we first entered the assembly hall as enpimpled, immature fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds to do the entrance tests.

We were born to run. Let's run the storm out and then let's run which ever direction we'll feel like. We are the broken heroes jamming the highway on our last chance powerdrive and we are the ones with no place left to hide, so let's just fucking run. Some day we'll have finished running and we'll get to the place where we really want to go and then, friends, we'll be walking in the sun. And the running just became a lot easier for me when I now realised that I'm running with the two and a half best years of my life in my back, together with people I'd gladly walk over both fire and water for. There just couldn't be better people to hit the street with.

Before I felt limp, now I'm actually starting to feel a bit belligerent. Born to run, baby, I was born to run and I was born to run for a long time after the end of the exams. Bring it on.

I was born for it.

Fuck it Springsteen, I love you.

/wellington.

Hyper-Insomnia-Para-Condrioid - Sum 41

Silence is ringing in my head
stuck on repeat
No much longer I'll be dead,
so just forget me
I'm losing my mind,
and I don't think you could save me this time

And it goes
on and on
and I just feel helpless
How long will this take to wear off?
On and on, how will I get through this?
Welcome to my down and out

Sum 41 -- come anger, screams and heavy bass riffs.

At times I get the strong, undeniable urge to gauge out a few select inner organs with a spoon, throwing it away as biowaste and thereby ridding myself of everything from aching hearts to queasy stomachs. It's tiring, too fucking tiring.

If God created humans, shouldn't that mean there's maintenance to be had somewhere? What say you Jehova, point me the direction?

But that is a part of life, right? Enforcing the inalienable right to fuck your mind up since the dawn of humanity. La vie en bleu, no?

It's just... fuck it. Of the two, anger is better than melancholy. That can't be denied. Anger implies that the dance is still on -- you've got until the orchestra stops playing to convince the lady to stay by your arm.

Sometimes I'm more tired of myself than I'm fully comfortable with. Where's the need to make it all so fucking complex...?

I guess stability is overrated. Whatever, I need lunch.

/wellington.

Here's Looking At You, Kid - The Gaslight Anthem

But boys will be boys and girls have those eyes
that will cut you to ribbons sometimes
And all you can do is just wait by the moon,
and bleed if it's what she says you oughta do

Blogging sure is a funny thing. A short post not intended for much more than whining can get some four-five comments, whereas one you feel you've put thought into doesn't receive any attention at all.

But hey, what can you do?

*

It's March 8 today -- the International Women's Day. I read somewhere that it has its origins in Soviet-era and -style propaganda events celebrating the hard-working Socialist woman, but luckily, that's a far cry from today's version. Partially in the sense that not too many, save demonstrators at Möllan, appear to notice it.

Now, by virtue of my sex and age I am now supposed to start ranting about discrimination of males and how feminists not only want to enslave all men, but also use them as foodstuffs in times of need. What do you think actually is in the dubiously named meal "järpar" in school?

That would feel a bit juvenile though, not to mention unnecessary -- nothing good or bad will come out of it.

So what instead of bitterness or arguing?

Why, love of course.

So to all girls that I know, and even more to those I know well: I love you. I really do. The world would be pointless without you, and so would life.

I could go on like that for ages, but I would appear a wanker and I've said what I want to say -- this is your day, and therefore also a day when I want to express my gratitude at your mere existence. Thank you.

/wellington.

You're Gonna Go Far, Kid - The Offspring

Now dance, fucker, dance
man he never ever had a chance
And no one even knew
It was really only you

And now you lead the way
show the light of day
nice work you did
You’re gonna go far, kid

Trust deceived!

With a thousand lies
And a good disguise
Hit em' right between the eyes
Hit em' right between the eyes

I turned 18 almost half a year ago so why in the name of all that's holy, cherished and furry am I listening to skatepunk that I adored when I was 13? Admitting to liking The Offspring costs you some 500 grown up-points, just like that.

The Mocks are on and this far I've survived with some merit -- I've gotten through both English, psychology and Swedish with at least decent results. Now there's only history left, then I will fail mathematics and biology, and then the pain is over.

Or, schoolwise at least. More about that later.

Managed to get to the morning mocks in proper time and spent some time in the basement, talking Croatia, before going to the assembly hall. And on the note of the Croatia trip I have now entered another level of panic, as it seems like the tickets are getting more expensive by the day. Bugger. Sent another e-mail to Cimber asking why-the-hell it is that way.

A few months ago I made a vow to the moon and stars (anyone that gets the reference gets a cookie) that I would not take the place of head organiser for the Croatia trip. And even then, I am now in some kind of Obergruppenführer position, sending e-mails right and left and talking to my co-organisers up and down. How did this happen?

At the same time... I think I like it. At least a bit.

Met Alex -- although not the "regular" Alex, so this one will henceforth be called Alx -- on the bus today. Apparently he's got an English teacher with a hot ass. What can you expect from a school where every teacher appears to be below 30?

*

D-day, as in driving theory test-day, at Forum Ystad down by old Lv4 14:30. Driving has made me feel like a bloody failure or a hopeless case more times than I want to remember, but now the finish is within sight.

Yes, I am quite very nervous about the test tomorrow. I never feel sure of myself before things like that, and this one is of extra importance as a failure will lead to lost money and re-booking and whoop-dee-doo, I'll have a driving test in the middle of the exam week. It's bound to happen.

But I don't care if I'm nervous. I don't care if I don't really believe in my capability there for the moment, because I do not want this thing to hunt me any longer. When I biked home from the driving school today the sky in west was tangerine with steel-grey clouds and Dexter Holland gave words to my feelings.

Dance fucker, dance. I'm coming for you.

Dance fucker, dance.

Tomorrow we'll know who danced, and who fucked who.

Wish me luck.

(And good luck, all you lost souls taking the Chemistry exam -- when not shitting bricks over my own test, I'll hold my thumbs for you.)

/wellington.

The Circle - Blackmore's Night

I've been here for a million years
through the joy, through the tears
But when I am gone this will go on and the circle starts again

I've watched the mountains rise from dust
saw the gold return to rust
I have cried when the oceans died and the circle starts again

I was here when the world began to turn
kissed the sun as it started to burn
The whispering at the reckoning said "The circle starts again"

Ritchie Blackmore is a funny bugger. The odds that Deep Purple's lead guitarist -- one out of what, 23? -- would turn to renaissance-inspired folk music feel rather high. But that's what he did with his bonnie lass and now they are churning out albums that tend to be as mystical as they are magical. The Circle is in a league of its own. I've listened to that piece many times, but nothing is music-wise as special as when you find the right element for a song -- you find its true environment, the milieu in which it flourishes into something more than just mere tones and lyrics and gets a life of its own.

I managed to find The Circle's element yesterday.

It was sometime around five in the afternoon, i.e. a few hours after I spontaneously decided to revive this gathering of thoughts and adjective-barfing. I had spent my day in the company of the vile driving theory -- which I will avoid talking about today as it only makes me want to crawl into phaetus position in a corner -- and was feeling less than excellent. A day of sitting inside with written material and a computer does that to you, both the regress in mood and the faint, mildly throbbing headache. After finally completing one of the online tests -- I failed -- I decided that I needed something else to do for a while. Hence I dressed for a wintery walk to the water.

Most of you -- not that you are many, if any -- have seen me in real life. Few are the people that would call me posh, and my only true concern tends to be how my hair looks.

All of you would still laugh your shiny behinds off if you saw me in my forest garb.

I could not care less whether I looked proper or not though. It would be rather vain to do so, seeing as that no-one else is present save my family, and they look even worse. At least I try to adapt some uniform colour-scheme of brown and swampy green.

It was silent when I went out -- it's always silent here unless someone's riding a tractor. I did not feel like a longer walk, and I knew that the clearing where I once sat and decided my future is rather overgrown by now, so I decided to go down to the stream. One day when spring has come I will utilise it for rowing around in a boat with a silly grin on my lips, pretending there is no such thing as UCAS or final exams. At this time of year, the stream is frozen though.

While walking down I was silently singing Way Over Yonder In The Minor Key. I do actually sing now and then, but only when I am alone. That's the unexpected piece of honesty for the day.

Generally I just tend to sit next to the stream and look at the water's motion and the occasional bird flying over it. It's always had me thinking of Canada for some reason. But now when I got there, noticing the thickness of the ice, I decided that the bank was not sufficient.

I stepped out on the ice, and I am actually fairly paranoid about things like being alone down by a large mass of water where no-one would hear me if I fell in and screamingly froze to death, so I took it carefully. After a while I noticed that iit would hold though -- the stream did not even seem to recognize my presence. I was of the same importance as a fly's turd in a pile of manure, so why would the mighty, flowing water bother with swallowing me? The Horse of the Brook takes a vacation during winter.

I noticed that I stood in the middle of the stream, with some 20-30 meters to each bank. In one direction the snow was untouched and in the other the jet black ice shone through the white poweder where I had walked and disturbed its peace. A bird the size of a goose flew above me without making a sound.

This is where The Circle started playing. There, out on the ice that theoretically could swallow me as it damn well pleased, accompanied by only trees and deep-frozen fish under the ice, Candice Night started lecturing me on the eternal circle, and that when I am gone it will all go on.

I raised the volume a bit.

The cacaphony of sounds in my ears was a fitting soundtrack to the desolate scenery and I fely myself shrinking. Minimising to the size of a trout, a sparrow, and an ant. Feeling my position as a peer among the dominating species of the world diminishing until I was just another piece of the puzzle, another tiny part of the arc in the eternal wheel of time.

I raised the volume further. Normally my ears tend to start hurting at this point, but I did not notice or I did not care. I was immersed.

As the music grew louder the snow started to fall again after a hiatus since the preceding evening. At this point I was viewing myself frmo a third-person perspective: I could see myself standing on the ice, surrounded by nothing but the sickly symmetric and flat, snow-covered ice and with a frozen meadow on the Western bank and tall firs on the other. I could see myself, a tiny, miniscule molecular dot on the face of the universe, looking up towards the fervently falling flakes with wide-open eyes. I could see myself on some metaphysical level, as part of the bigger picture and my place in the pyramid of life. I could see myself dancing alone across the ice in large boots and an oversized coat, waving one hand in the sky to the beat of the drums and keeping the balance with the other as I skidded back and forth on frozen H2O.

I saw myself, a lonely figure on an empty painting becoming immersed with nature, if only for a few short moments.

I don't see myself very often.

And that's when I found not only The Circle's element, but to a tiny part my own.

/wellington.

Film Noir - The Gaslight Anthem

See for 10 long years I've been hustling around.
Tryin' to wash the sins and sweat from my brow.
Just trying to find a better life for me and my own.
Just some rest for these tired working fingers.

But nobody's ever going to tear you away.
You gotta figure it out boys.
It's all for the rain, and the fools in the night, and the heat in the day.
When all you ever really wanted was someone to understand.

I can't say that I know why I am writing here. It's not like anyone is likely to read it anyway, least I once again play the advertise-and-resurrect-your-blog-via-your-MSN-display-name card. Not that I can, as I don't have MSN installed here anyway.

So, for an update on kronos and topos, where the fuck am I. I am in the middle of the dark, desolate forests of North-Eastern Scania where I once grew up to be me, (who knows, maybe I was even made here...) or at least a beta-version of me. That also means that I don't have a landline for neither phone nor internet -- I am instead banished to the inhospitable land of wireless dial-up and mobile phones.

I remember the time when holidays meant fun and games and aimless fooling around. This time I am busy thinking of all the things I should have studied rather than pondering the meaning of their existence, when I am not having bile spewn on me by a vehement book of driving theory.

I don't even know what vehement means, but it sounds evil. Last night I dreamt that I failed the driving theory -- TWICE durigng the same bloody night. No wonder I am giddily wielding an itchy trigger finger and with a shaking hand sipping on things as healthy as Jägermeister and Grant's Family Reserve. I better pass that test -- Wednesday, humans, Wednesday -- or I'll be awfully miserable. I can't remember anything that's made me feel like such a failure so often as this bloody driving. It's right up there on the top of the list, together with my love life in Junior High. I'm destructively close to speaking my mind and saying exactly what I feel about the whole shebang, but if I do I would likely scare away the few readers I might be able to attract in the first place. I'll settle with calling it vehement again. Vehement bloody driving and the theory that comes with it! Curse, curse on you, and your Elvis hair!

All doesn't suck these days. Some mornings I get the feeling it does and that all there is to it is the monotonous, ear-shredding sound of tedious work and boredom, and those mornings life in Ystad, the town I once, proudly, boastingly, called the Pearl of the Swedish Riviera, feels as appealing as having rusty rail spikes driven into your ears and nostrils by a sadistic railway company-version of Jigsaw. Now I once again sound like it all sucks, but it really doesn't. In many ways it is better than before, whatever before was and how you actually define better. But to take a small thing, The Gaslight Anthem. The fucking Gaslight Anthem. The Gaslight fucking Anthem. The Gas-fucking Light Anthem. The Ant-fucking Gaslighthem.

The Gaslight Anthem.

It is not often that I get that hooked to something musical in that short a span of time, often it is a love that burns out fast or one that grows over time: an example of the former would be Skid Row (American hair metal rockers that only ever released one good record; then their drama queen singer left, and they turned shit) and Gary Moore (that is very inspirational until you realise that he is only singing the same bloody thing all the time); an example of the latter Bruce Springsteen, my presently resident house-god, or The Pogues. But Gaslight got me hooked. They're Bruce, but rawer. They're The Ramones, but they can sing. They're Dylan, but they're better and play better music, becuse frankly most artists are better than Dylan.

In short, I need that LP.

What else is good --
Well. There is a reason my bar tab has increased exponentially, and in difference to Billy Joel's tragic heroes I am not drinking alone. Turns out a good way of being dragged out was to start dragging others out. I've never been this happy to be broke as it is hard to miss the money very much when considering the context, the goods and the company.

Dammit, driving theory. Shitshitshit.

I still haven't got a clue why I'm writing, but I like doing it. Now I feel the ever familiar panic over driving theory and a host of unheeded tasks taking over, so I'd better leave. If I don't, my shaky connection will probably crash anyway, rendering all this typing pointless.

This laptop might be a sob in some senses, but I really love the sound you get when typing on it.

Yes, I'll leave now.

But listen to Gaslight, seriously.

/wellington.

för den som letar -- lars winnerbäck

Känner du hur längtan tar
Hur du sträcker dig och stretar
Bakom varje hög av sand
Finns guld för den som letar
För den som letar

Minns du morgonljus eller svärta
Ser du lampan slocknad eller tänd?
Minns du hennes brinnande hjärta
Blev du värmd då eller blev du bränd?

Newcastle Brown Ale might be among the better things I've drank in quite a while. Now that was truly, truly delicious, even when drank to beefs made of minced chicken with pasta.

With that worrying starting paragraph, I want to add that this is not the beer talking, despite me failing to resist the temptation to add a Kilkenny to the list of consumed beers this Friday evening.

There has been a lot to do lately -- schoolwork in the form of Extended Essay and TOK-essay plus various other things. I still need to read that bloody The Handmaid's Tale, despite having had the first twelve chapters spoiled by now. C'est la vie, I assume, but I will still cherish the day when I, and not IBO's list of approval, chose my weekend-reading.

Autumn's here for real. The winds are tearing at the buildings, the leaves have ended their yellow-phase and now entered the lie-brown-on-the-street-until-dissolving-phase. It rains now and then, the skies are grey and my mind constantly wanders off. There seems to be so much time spent on nothing in particular, so many hours and days spent on the bless and curse of public transport, alternatively sitting and wasting space, alone by the bleak, eternal shine of my computer screen.

I need a break from tradition and habit unless I will either flip out completely next year and spend the whole academic year roaming the streets of Lund in a gin-induced haze, occasionally urinating in the Botanical Garden, or just spend even more time by this ohsolovely desk, screen and den of mine.

Or I will just have forgotten it all by tomorrow again, as I tend to. Feh.

/w.

thunder road (live at the hammersmith odeon) -- bruce springsteen

The screen door slams,
Mary's dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch
as the radio plays
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely,
Hey that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again
I just can't face myself alone again
Don't run back inside,
darling you know just what I'm here for
So you're scared and you're thinking
that maybe we ain't that young anymore
Show a little faith there's magic in the night,
you ain't a beauty but hey you're alright,
oh and that's alright with me

You can hide 'neath your covers
and study your pain,
Make crosses from your lovers
throw roses in the rain
Waste your summer praying in vain
for a saviour to rise from these streets
Well now I'm no hero,
that's understood
All the redemption I can offer, girl,
is beneath this dirty hood
With a chance to make it good somehow
Hey what else can we do now ?
Except roll down the window,
and let the wind blow
back your hair

Bruce Springsteen, you're lucky that I am heterosexual and that you are far away from me both geographically and socially because otherwise I'd fucking kiss you. This whole evening has been a walk across a field deep with mud: nothing feels appealing; the world can screw itself over; so can schoolwork and ambitions; so can society and civilisation itself. It's been one long low that I've just wanted to end by retiring to a warm bed and stay there for a while, but given all the things I need to do that would have been highly irresponsible.

So how to solve it? Live through it and reincarnate the next day? Give up and go to sleep?

Hell no.

Turn on the eminent record Hammersmith Odeon, London '75 by The Boss, lie back and listen. Yes, the joyfully performed ode to youth Spirit in the Night is a gem, as is the hard-to-interpret but oh, so enjoyable and grimy Lost in the Flood. The best, however, is and remains Thunder Road, opening track of the CD and an elegic song about love, hope and cars. When hearing Bruce Springsteen wailing how he ain't young anymore I am close to starting screaming myself. It's such beauty, it's such poetry and it's got something undefinable that makes my blood stream properly in my veins again when everything frankly feels like shit.

Music is a force in itself. I guess that makes Springsteen Yoda, at the very least.

Hell, you'll never read this, Bruce, but hear me on this: some days I wonder how the hell I would keep walking with my back straight without you and the E Street Band accompanying me through the soundwaves. Thank you.

/w.

some say the devil is dead -- cruachan

Some say the devil is dead, the devil is dead, the devil is dead,
some say the devil is dead and buried in Killarney
More say he rose again, more say he rose again,
more say he rose again and joined the British army.

Well, Celtic heavy metal is always cheering up, of course. Considering the weather appears to make me chronically sleepy and that the whole world seems to have entered some collective low this evening it feels rather suitable.

Not much to report lately -- spent the weekend in the forest where I had little time to do anything else than take one walk and shoot in total 50 shotgun rounds. Yes, it sounds barbaric but no, I'm not hunting; I'm only exerting the oh-so-pleasant rounds powder and lead onto unknowing doves of clay. It is meditation in its purest form: load the gun; close it; fire away a dove; aim; steady; shoot; open the gun, take out the round and blow the smoke out of the pipes. Nothing exists around you -- no past or present -- no possessions and no religion too. It's you, the gun, the target and a trigger-happy finger.

I know I always manage to sound like a maniac when talking about shooting but hey, it's a waterhole. I'd do it at least once every week if I had the possibility.

School starting again tomorrow, bugger. Psychology test coming up and need to prepare for both High School Exhibition and Open House. After that a ton of essays damned all the way into eternity and then Christmas. Then driving-license, February break, revision period, exams, graduation, IB Diploma ceremony and then we are all catapulted out into real life. I am still not completely sure about what I feel regarding that; I do want IB to be over and I do want to get out into real life, but the question is what in the name of all that's holy I'll do next year, before going abroad. Job? Well, I need to find one and the economic crisis doesn't seem very beneficial right now. Studying? Yea, I'll study something at Lund at least, but I don't know what, where or when. I'll probably end up living at home anyway, to save money.

This doesn't seem as exalting as when I first thought of it. Ah bugger, it still feels to early to venture 'cross the sea as early as next fall.

I should do homework.

/w.

hugger i sten -- lars winnerbäck

Jag dricker glögg med balkongdörren öppen inatt
och låter vinden komma in ifrån väster
som en virvlande vår, som en dansande storm,
som en galen orkester
Jag dricker ur mitt glas och alla dörrar är öppna
Det är dimma över mig och över England

I don't have any mulled wine and I haven't got any fog either, so I'll have to be content with drinking Belgian beer and having the windows open to be able to listen to the rain. Yes, it has started to rain again. Nothing to do about that but to stay inside and enjoy the sound of water trickling down the roof.

I'm longing a little to get up to the forest this weekend. It will be some nice and rather well-needed meditation, I believe. Me, a few long walks, the water, the trees, the sky. None of the sounds of civilisation, no interruptions from the surrounding world. It is hard to explain the wonderful thing about it to someone that hasn't experienced it, but it is worth trying.

In fact, when thinking about it I remember an episode that took place two years ago; my sixteenth birthday. By mid-afternoon I walked out into the forest with nothing but my cd-player, a pair of headphones and a notebook. I walked -- for once I didn't take the quad -- to the largest clearing, the part we cleared when we needed money to move to civilisation in 1999. I walked to the highest point and climbed onto a large stone, large as in three meters high -- it has most likely been lying there since the stone age.

Sitting there, watching the trees stretching in all directions around me, overlapping each other all the way to the horizon and at the same time being warmed by the late afternoon sun I felt all worries, problems and pressing matters float away with the wind. I scribbled a few notes in my notebook, but they were inconsistent and unimportant. No, the important part was the nature surrounding me, and the acoustic guitar in Winnerbäck's Elegi. With those two factors in my back, I felt that I could take on the problems of the present as well as the future.

A few weeks later I left Ystad for Lund and life has never been the same again. Even if there are no life-deciding matters to take care of this time, I am still looking forward to some lone-time with nature.

/w.

you brought a knife to the gunfight -- stone gods

I just don't care about money,
I've been ripped off all my life.
I ain't scared of you sonny
It's not the first time I've seen a knife.
And so the story goes there's a lesson to be learned:
If you fuck with a six foot German punk you're gonna get hurt,
You're gonna get hurt!

I keep thinking I've got a ton of things to do, but when I sit down to actually do some work I don't seem to find anything else than WL2 -- meaning I have to re-read Hamlet, which takes a lot of time -- or math and those wonderful logarithms that I'm not getting anywhere with anyway. Instead I've been walking around yawning all day until I finally decided to lie down in bed for a semi-awake nap and some listening to my latest addition to my mildly legal but oh so cherished collection of audiobooks. I don't feel productive but at least it is something. Hell, it's a holiday. I wouldn't be able to work my arse off during a holiday even if I was in a desperate need to. No: I'll continue reading Hamlet, I'll ask someone for advise regarding the logarithms, I'll correct my Extended Essay and find some peer reviews for it, and then the rest of the time I will just sit around and do whatever I do.

*

I've felt generally restless these past days. Goddamnit, I can't say I enjoy it much. Worrying --or even going over in your mind -- about some things simply is not very good, and a general overdose of thinking is never too proper either. I'll need to straighten up some.

*

In other news, we found out that they have Kilkenny (!) 3.5% on can at ICA. I am overjoyed! Although it seems as if I will be able to keep some "real" Kilkenny for myself when my family goes to the forest. Well, I'm not complaining, although it will never reach the same levels as the Kilkennys we were sitting and sipping on to the sound of a liveband, somewhere in Kaiserdamm, Berlin. Ah, the memories. I'd give a lot for another week of Berlin sometime during the schoolyear.

Out of pointful as well as pointless things to say.

/w.

the promised land -- bruce springsteen

On a rattlesnake speedway in the Utah desert
I pick up my money and head back into town
Driving cross the Waynesboro county line
I got the radio on and I'm just killing time
Working all day in my daddy's garage
Driving all night, chasing some mirage
Pretty soon little girl I'm gonna take charge.

The dogs on main street howl,
'cause they understand,
If I could take one moment into my hands
Mister, I ain't a boy, no, I'm a man,
And I believe in a promised land.

Well, I am back. Four and a half day in Istanbul, ol' Constantinople. My general idea was to go there, suffer through the TOK, parasite on some touristing and then go home.

What did I get?

A conference that was actually rather interesting, a tour through Istanbul that held good class but above all, above any materialistic or cultural desires, I also met a score of people that I hope that I will count as friends also a few years into the future. I am already suffering withdrawal symptoms for everyone from alcohol-drinking Italians to insane cabrides through Istanbul with Ameer and James to a whole lot of interesting discussions with Thea to... gwach, I could continue forever.

My point remains, the past few days have been extraordinarily awesome, as have the people involved. If any of them would happen to look by my humble collection of thoughts -- which is not at all impossible, since I have been forced back on Facebook -- then here is my love to all of you. These days have been too good to be forgotten.

So what now? Business as usual, school again tomorrow. The semester will go on, and in a few days I will have a holiday. Lot of lone-time planned and received, alone with thoughts, music and perhaps a few GT's. I might spend some time typing out the notebook, and for that I need to be alone -- I don't want all the memories hidden in that book to be disturbed by something as pesky as siblings. We'll deal with that by then.

Goddamnit, still withdrawal symptoms. I've never been good at goodbyes, no matter how temporary. But by all means, this time I'll make an effort to keep the contact alive and going.

Before thatm however, I need sleep. And a lot of it.

So here's to you, readers and conferencees alike; cheers.

/w.

perjury and sanctity -- falconer

Your sins are not redeemed
by swearing perjury.
Your sense of self-esteem
has miles to go to sanctity.

Got home as late as 1930 due to a three and a half hour long ToK-planning with Alex at that Japanesy café next to school. The off topic-discussions stretched on for far longer than our planned pauses from the work, but likewise, we got things done. Constantinople is closing in, and we are leaving Friday morning. Hell yes, I say, although I will of course find a more civil phrase to express my joy to our host family. Some cultures don't seem to take too kindly on expressals of happiness that at the same time are rude.

Drumbeat, drumbeat... If there is one truly good factor of metal of various sorts, it has to be the pounding beat of the drums. Not the fast-paced and hysterical drumming of power metal though, but the times when there is a steady and clear pounding in the background. The chorus of Perjury and Sanctity, the finale of The Boy Who Wanted to be a Real Puppet. I do not know and do not care what chemicals it releases in my body, but it sure has an effect.

I've got psychology pages to read, and other things to do. I have a few ideas for short stories or feeble attempts at poetry. I have got a WL2 to write, and a Hamlet to read.

Lappri and sod it, I'll play Hearts of Iron instead.

/w.

the eton rifles -- the jam

We came out of it naturally the worst:
Beaten and bloody, and I was sick down my shirt.
We were no match for their untamed wit,
Though some of the lads said they'd be back next week.

Hello-Hurrah - it's the price to pay to the Eton Rifles.
Hello-Hurrah - I'd prefer the plague to the Eton Rifles.

I like Paul Weller. Not only is he the Modfather, he's also quite damned sarcastical. This sarcastic homage to the armed squadron of the public school and upper class kennel Eton says it all. "We were no match for their untamed wit..." Music like that simply isn't made anymore.

It's gotten cold by now. Damned cold actually, enough to cause shivers when biking home. Slept unsurely at the bus, almost as usual, and was home around six o'clock. Luckily, commuting is not driving me mad; if it was, I would have been lost a long time ago.

Observation: I am no poet. Nor do I dwell on severe self-criticism when it comes to my writing, and by that you know that I am telling the truth. The confinement, the general artiness of poems is something that I can find very appealing, but likewise confining and restricting. I can't save myself with my usual vomiting of words; every word needs to say something. Forethought and planning is needed. Humbug!

Likewise, I am signed on to the class' new poetry blog. I cannot guarantee that I will ever submit something, but in the end it will at least stimulate that fairly unused part of my brain. Who knows, maybe I'll actually do something.

I'm rambling about nothing. Sure sign of it being time to call it quits.

/w.

we'll live and die in these towns -- the enemy

You spend your time in smokey rooms
where haggled old women
with cheap perfume say "It never
happens for people like us, you know"
Well nothing ever happened on its own.
And well the toilets smell of desperation,
the streets all echo of aggregation
And you wonder
why you cant get no sleep,
when you've got nothing to do,
and you've had nothing to eat
your life's slipping
and sliding right out of view
and there's absolutely nothing
that you can do well

And so I am crawling to the cross, for what time in the row I do not know. My memory permitts me to remember that I have revived this oh-sacred-place-of-contemplation for the third time. Third sounds, and feels correct at least.

Why?

To start with, I don't even know if I am talking to myself, or actually to someone reading. The difference is that this time, it is irrelevant. Vomiting ink and words over hapless papers in the fluorescent light of a reading lamp is stimulating, but will never be anything else than scribbled notes and observations of a world that will keep on rotating whether I do it or not.

I need my outlet. I need to vomit adjectives and twist sentences inside out. Just by writing this, I'm on my way to fulfill it.

Onwards into the breach, onwards once more.
Misquoting Shakespeare might make me a bore;
But it also shows individuality,
and an apparent lack of spirituality.

Yes. For now, I am indeed back.

/w

fake tales of san francisco - arctic monkeys

And as the microphone squeaks
a young girl's telephone beeps
Yeah she's dashing for the exit
and she's running to the streets outside
"Oh you've saved me," she screams down the line
"the band were fucking wankered
And I'm not having a nice time."

Cold, cold, cold. And rain. And cold on the bus, and a headache as the result of having tried to sleep to make the long, dull minutes tick by faster.

Global warming doesn't always feel like a bad idea.

Math test received back today with acceptably good results -- Biology test waiting tomorrow, immediately in the morning. 8:15 I am going to demonstrate my wide-spread knowledge in genetics. How good that I'm great in Biology and have loads of energy, or that would really suck.

Oh.

Anyhoo, since I've run oyut of study-material for the test, I'll try to spend the evening either with Gordon Freeman or Godfried d'Ardennes. If it wasn't for my computer, I don't know what I would spend all spare time with.