If there’s one thing I regret in my life so far, it’s that I didn’t start smoking at an earlier age.

In the red Volvo, I was listening to Looptroop — Long Arm of the law,

It’s an awesome track,

The lyrics crack me up every time.

It’s about being oppressed by the system, and especially the police

About getting “fucked by the long dick of the law”,

And then somewhat disproportionately

Wouldn't even give me a public defender  For such a small case, not paying on the trains  Still they wanted four thousand kronors, from my bank account  I thought that was a too big amount  But the judge didn't had no sympathy on me

I love it

there’s a tiredness in me which stems from more than just lack of sleep

Sometimes, as you are driving, a loud bang or a scraping noise comes from somewhere in the car, maybe from underneath? Like say you ran over a pothole or maybe not even that …

But no warning lights flash, so it’s probably nothing, right?

It’s that exact feeling from somewhere inside my body, an ancient feeling maybe

And so therefore following the taco buffet where I sat inside sweating I now feel several hundred years old

But yet I keep going.

What is the option?

Two foods for thought

1:

They are painting the windows, even the one with a rotted frame

It too will get a coat of white paint

It will look just like new

Even though you could break pieces off it with your fingers

Still

It looks just like new

Some families are like this window,

You couldn’t guess which ones

2:

I found a matching yellow sock today in my backpack I use for training clothes

His husband were on top of the bedroom drawer with dust on it

It’s been there for months

But now the couple is reunited inside of the drawer to join the circle of life of a pair of socks

I felt this to be a good omen

Because

Without my wife I too am like this dust covered sock

---

Ok so one nugget of wisdom and one

Good omen

I’m listening right now to Jon Schaffers favourite songs playlist which right now is playing a song by Ghost.

The blinds are shut and windows closed, but yet light and sound is spilling into this apartment.

Last week there was a school concert where my nephew performed on his loop station, it was awesome.

On another act where some students dressed in white shirts were performing Jesus He Knows me, in the silence right before they were gonna start, from the row in front of me came a fart sound from a young woman who started laughing and her boyfriend (presumably) started laughing too and then he was playfully head banging to the music and they were holding hands, giggling

And their playfulness filled me with joy because they really seemed to be in love and having a great time

And it reminded me of that scene from the new spider man movie where spider man is unmasked in a train car but somehow the little folks stick up for him and protect him

And it got me thinking about all of these beautiful things people do

Their displays of kindness

And so thinking, I feel too that I got the power to muddle through this life

A life I do not understand

My mind keep thinking about this quote by Clive Barker from ome of the Abarat books

We each die countless little deaths on our way to the last. We die out of shame as humiliation. We perish from despair. And, of course, we die for love.

I have been trying to describe the mess in my head by likening it to a room with bedbugs in the antique furniture, which is covered by stacks of important papers.

From somewhere there is a stench, maybe a cat pissed on some carpet or something, but it’s impossible to deduce the source exactly among the clutter

And every type I enter this room I am unable even to remember what errand brought me there, so I go instead to fill my coffee cup,

Then outside into the summer sun where dandelions are growing in the newly mowed lawns.

The past year of my life has been a mental tornado

And I am sure now I have died another one of these little deaths from the quote above

And I am certain that I will come out of this experience a different person

And I fear I might not like him as much

there is a fountain near to where I am sitting, waiting for my food

Indian food

And there is a wind making the leaves rustle pleasantly, but I’m not paying any attention to this really

And the sky is blue with clouds like the windows xp desktop wallpaper

And the money I earn is slipping through my fingers

And the time, it’s slipping through my fingers

But I caught a whiff of garlic just now, which is cool because most days I smell nothing

Thank God they made me so strong

The memory is fragmented

I get these patches which might be gray or colourful, even some with flowers on there, but there’s so much missing, I feel like

It’s going to have to be a quilt, then

That’s the best I can do, unfortunately

I remember one Walpurgis fire, or say Beltane (for I am a heathen), and I was eating hot dogs by the giant fire and it’d just started to darken and I might have been with my friend but then suddenly some neighbour’s kid (technically also a neighbour of course) threw a firecracker or shot a rocket which exploded near me. I heard it ringing in my right ear, and I started crying because I got a shock and I walked home with the ringing in my ear and I think back now that I feel sorry for myself then

For the child I was.

And I thought that that was a breakthrough in a sense, because thinking back on who I was then always used to fill me with contempt.

Now that I think on it, I haven’t got any pictures of myself from this time either…

the night isn’t so dark this time of the year

The moon shines on a turquoise gray sky with clouds

And its raining

And during the day I am outside when the sun shines.

I am happy then,

But on the other hand, I am happy during this rainy night also

And I have eaten tacos, of course.

The hen I buried in the compost heap last year is now mostly turned to soil.

All I saw of her remains was one single grey feather

I wonder is she looking down on us from her roost in heaven

Or whether she’s just gone back to the shapeless void?

She is of course still alive in my memory

But one day I too will die,

then what?

Hello

There are still things I avoid writing about

My neighbour going around all white, with hair like dried hay, like a ghost, for example.

Like an angry ghost

And that through my actions, she ended up in this state

She used to have purple cheeks and a purple nose resembling mine

But now she is a ghost with an axe and a chainsaw, making firewood, chopping up a tall straight pine tree which toppled during the storm around New Year’s Eve.

It’s like it’s my fault because she is unable to adapt, a mind that maybe was frigid to begin with but now it’s  too old

she can’t see my point of view, though I can see her

It used to be mine too

Because my mind isn’t like that, it’s soft and flexible like a rubber band; I can adjust

But it’s snapped

I can’t turn back now

And I’m better off now

But I feel terrible nonetheless

But I can’t turn back

I chose myself