new skin

At first I see an open wound,
infected and disastrous.
It breathes chaotic catastrophe,
it cries to be renewed.

Its tears are the color of anger,
they dry to form a scab.
To the touch, its stiff and resilient,
underneath, the new skin breathes.
Its all been saved...
with exception for the right parts.
When will we be new skin?

As outwardly cliche as it may seem,
yes, something under the surface says "C'est la vie."
It is a circle, there is a plan,
dead skin will atrophy itself to start again.

Look closely at the open wound,
see past what covers the surface
Underneath chaotic catastrophe,
creation takes stage.

Note to self

International service requires of all of us first and foremost the courage to be ourselves.
In other words, it requires that we should be true to none other than our ideals and interests
- but these should be such as we can fullyh endorse after having opened our minds, with great honesty, to the many voices of the world.

The greatest contribution to international life that anyone can render is to represent frankly and consistently what survives or emerges as one's own after such a test.

/D. Hammarskjöld

klockan har stannat under dina ögonlock

It is in the little moments,
In the spaces between, that it's difficult to breathe.
When everything means something else, when nothing means something.
When i wake up from a dream, so sure you were right here just a moment ago
but you were never here, not even once.

Going from everything to anything is hard.
Harder than from all to nothing.
Nothing is easy. Sharp, blank, white light.
This is different.
Unchartered territory. Who are we in this place? To whom does it belong?

We cling to it as though it were some sort of salvation,
I think it might be.

What happens now?- another suitcase in another hall.

And no matter that it isn't true, things were more real with you

Maybe the end is the beginning.. fact, more often than not it is true.
The worn out idiom about the window that opens as a door closes is a cliché for a reason.
And I love the spaces in between. 
When things are coming to an end or just as they are about to start.
I treasure them. Cherish them.

I'm aware that this is a rare fetish and one that shows itself in most aspects of life.
'I stay and I go, I am a pause', said Octavio Paz. And I feel at home when I read it.
Jeanette Winterson always offers additional advice:
'Maybe it is the tension between longing and lonliness that I need.
My own funicular railway, holding in balance the two things most likely to destroy me.'

And perhaps that is it. I live right there, in between the lines.
People tend to try to cure me, to make me see sense, to explain
as if there's just something about life I haven't quite understood.
But I do understand.
This is just me. My worldview, my thoughts.

And don't forget, bittersweet tastes of both sugar and acid.

the start of our show

Just like that.
an escape, a break from real life. a parenthesis
other names, same meaning.
use, abuse, refuse.

trying to redefine something that never really was named
struggling, thinking something different is the answer,
because history repeating never turned out well.

those old words sound just the same, but their taste is strangely new.
evoking images, are they memories?
or images of imagined realities. no escape, no parenthesis.

And do you know that I miss that place?

Autumn stories



RSS 2.0