Write write, smile smile, work work

Cuz that's basically what I do nowadays. If I'm not writing or working I'm going around doing enjoyable things. And I do write more often than ever. Page upon page of worthless bullshit fiction. Oh how I loves it. I forget to mention reading as well, but that's ok 'cause I always read, and I feel one should read alot if one is to be able to write alot. After all, writing is hard and usually requires some breaks in which are purrfect for reading stuffs. So that's what I do, hardly something to write here about really, but I did anyways. Meh, well, workday tomorrow soeh, good night and all that jazz.

How many rolls could a Roller Coaster roll if a Roller Coaster could roll rolls?

May came hard, and brought with it alot of things. Mostly good things and an almost broken toe. And I am yet again reminded that life is a roller coaster and I'm just a passenger. I get the ups and the downs but all I can do is sit here and watch as it goes towards the inevitable end. I can, and I do, hope that I get most ups and that the ride will keep on going for ages still, but you never know. And I look out on the moon, the gigantic, yellow piece of sun-reflecting rock hanging thousands of miles away in a whole lot of nothing, and I think "Wow, glad I'm not really thinking anything big. Gee wouldn't I feel like a dumbass." But it IS big, this roller coaster, it encompasses every aspect of me, which in a true sense is what I'm basing all this on. So in a sort of introvertive looking glass I realize that I must look through myself to see what's going on outside, and thus I have to take my life into consideration. And it all becomes so blurry, fuzzy with static and unfocused. This little mind of mine, looking through itself to see if it can see the bigger picture out there. I'll be damned if I'm supposed to see all that in this state, no way, not going to happen. So I look at you instead, feeling you make all less complicated, here with me on this here roller coaster. Hakuna Matata, there are good things and there are bad things, and that's all there is to it, really. The existence can be as big and complex as it wants, but it's where you are on the roller coaster right now that matters.

Sucker for Love

Here I've thought I'm a sucker for love, but all this time I've just been a sucker. I guess it figures in a sort of way. Some have the looks, others the wits, the smarts or the charms. All I got is the blues, and that's nothing attractive. Even in my dreams I get turned down by the ones I think I feel something for. It's shit like this artists write songs about before they paint the walls with their brains, or whatever goo that may fill their cranium at that given time. Somehow I feel this might be linked up to my endless frustration towards my species, life, fate and all that bullcrap. People say it's hard to understand the minds of those who choose to end their lives. How hard can it be? It's as simple as realizing that not being alive beats being alive. You chose to end the stream of events in a realization that they'll probably just make bad worse. It's not insanity, far from it, it's a perfectly reasonable train of thoughts that often occur with depressed people. I however, would not do it. Not that I haven't thought of it as a simple solution, but simply because I want something good to happen. I'd suffer for years to come, in a stubborn anticipation that SOMETHING good should eventually come my way. By gods, if some of the primates I am ashamed to have called friends once, have been able to find a form of happiness, then there should be hope for me somewhere out there. Now I realize this ramble probably didn't help my chances at all, but fuck it. I give the world my shit so I won't have to cope with it all myself.

Coronations of the Night

Hi, I've read some really old blogs from another page recently and recalled a thing I did for a while. I called it "Nattens Kåringer" which roughly translates to: "Coronations of the Night." It was mainly a way to call attention to the mood I was in, and what had happened that night, without actually writing anything. I had several bulletins; Band/Artist of the Night, King of the Night, Queen of the Night, Cat of the Night,  Dissapointment of the Night, Achievment of the Night, Thing of the Night. I wanted to do that again, once, to call that memory back from the dead. 

Artist of the Night: Regina Spektor
King of the Night: Luis Royo

Queen of the Night: Maria
Cat of the Night: Cat

Dissapointment of the Night: Me

Achievment of the Night: Clean Room

Thing of the Night: Laphroaig Quarter Cask Single Malt.

And that's all there ever was to it, and I feel somewhat awkward having made a tribute to the younger me.

Replay value rose by 100%

I can remember it all so clearly now, and I miss my childhood paradise; how we used a part of an ice cream box when we cleaned the swimming pool, the sound of the pool when it was low on water, the small creek with the young trees that passed under the road, the rock where I went to be alone, the secret blueberry-patch, the shed where I first saw a girl naked, the field where we did most our mischief, the rotten bridge between my uncles' property and my aunts', the taste of burning straws, my neighbours' dog, the details about my schoolroute that I just can't remember, the mousetraps in the attic, the legos in my roof, the pine-cone-animals we learnt to make, the sap we chewed, the fantasy weapons we conjured up, the amazing view from our veranda, the plowing of snow from the yard and the various other flat areas, the annual christmas breakfast, our wheelbarrel, the huge rock next to the stairs that led to our main entrance where we occationally climbed just for the pure heck of it, grilling in summer where my dad incisted to sit in the shadow and eat hot dog, our huge and old couch, moms' puzzles, the carpet we had rolled up in the attic of the garage that had to be cleansed from a beehive, the painting and oiling of the outer walls, the little tube that constantly spat out water without me really ever understanding why or from where, the lamp that got smashed during a rough game of basketball, the garage where all our weird stuff and summer furnirue was stored, the dried out dragonfly I found and lost again, the scared cow that brought down our fence in a failed jump, the sheep, the berries my mom would make jam and/or lemonade out of, the chewing marks on my old bed, the puzzle of dogs which gave me nightmares for years, the smell of wild Globe-flowers, the bouquets of forget-me-nots that I picked for my mum, that part of a road in which there we just a path full of rocks and dirt where we rode our bikes cuz it was cool, our mailbox on the end that could be tipped sideways, all the houses that are returning to me with great speed right now, selling lottery tickets to neighbours to raise money for our football team or school......

*Sigh* I want a replay one time...

Raaaaage!

I woke up today to a good day, I wished. It seems good days are all parts of fairy tales and bullshit. No, the good day probably exists, somewhere, just not in my cursed life. For what happens the moment I get up with a healthy attitude to the day at hand? Something rushes through the woods of improbability to intercept what could turn out as something as horrible and unspeakable as a friggin, good day. "Everybody says that Jeppe drinks, but nobody asks why Jeppe drinks." Oh I bloody wonder. Let's see if running water and cleaner body helps at all.

*showerbreak*

Well, I'm cleaner, that's for sure, but other than that there is little difference. I'm still in a black mood. I see little point in furter writing. 

On Crimes and Dreams

Would it be a crime if I were to dream a dream?
Would it be heard if I screamed a scream?
Was it you who lay your head there on my pillows?
Resting your eyes to the sound of the willows?

Serene as the light, you're in my dreams tonight
For with your memory I will sleep with delight

Even though you're far away from where I now sleep
You will forever surface from my deep
To bask in the moonbeams of my dreams' pond
To take me to happiness, bliss and beyond

Now I sleep deeply with you on my mind
Resting so sweetly, laying worries behind


So there you have it, my latest writing. Inspired by an anonymous beauty. However somewhat unexpected. Maybe it is love? Maybe it is destiny?... or just one of those things that happen. Who am I to know anyway? I can barely keep my head out of a somewhat dense, fictional reality anyways.