The sky is gray today, the color of smoke rising from the chimneys of a paper mill. And it’s raining — ice cold tears from the sky falling relentlessly and gusts of wind wreaking havoc: toppling the trash cans, sweeping away the refuse and casually scattering it here and there like some teenagers sometimes do to impress one another with their rebellious lifestyles and unconcern for their futures. You might picture them on one of those electric rental bikes, the ones you rent with some mobile app, and an e-cigarette in the corners of their mouths, not able yet to picture themselves as old, like older people are of a different species for how remote they seem to be, living as they (the yourhs) do in the moment, as they too scatter candy paper and cigarette boxes left and right because all they think of is the strong love they feel and maybe how much wrong there is with this world we have built upon nature.
This weather signals the transition from summer to autumn, if the dark chilly nights wasn’t enough of a sign. As if the giant moon shining on the blackness of the night sky wasn’t
And yet I see the sun trying to shine through the clouds like a glimmer of hope or that glimpse of gold
Soon the leaves will be orange
The burst of inspiration which made this posts rather strong and spectacular start unfortunately didn’t last for long enough to finalise this post, (and now I have to make dinner) but even an incomplete thing can be beautiful
Only God is perfect after all. What is so charming about us humans is our struggle for perfection and our inability to get there
I feel invigorated after a long late evening walk yesterday, powered by the awesome sight of the mighty blood moon rising slowly from the sea, sending a red reflection on its surface, almost like a bloody sword on there.
I needed that because I have been feeling deflated too and it’s a shame that I cannot energise my colleagues in the office. I take great pleasure in spreading joy, but I have been needing my strength and all my joy for myself. Too bad for them as I am normally a pretty great guy, I try to be anyway, but lately I have been more akin to an echo or a copy of myself made by a printer low on toner.
To avoid having to tell the tale of how I fell off the SUP into the water and there lost my glasses and therefore now wear the sunglasses instead yet another time, on the coffee break I opted instead to take them off.
Because someone is likely to ask and then I would have to answer and I didn’t want any attention today. And it’s weird… I don’t mind if they think I am weird, because it’s true, I am, maybe. Maybe it’s weird to lose the glasses paddling to buy eggs from the neighbours, maybe it’s not. I hadn’t the energy for either. I have times when I would rather fly under the radar, happily hearing the conversations going on without necessarily taking part. Just hearing the sounds of other people and so forth.
If I wanted to avoid appearing weird however, I failed miserably because not wearing any glasses made me squint. Because I lack the unified vision I also tend to close one eye (the left one) to avoid accidentally appearing to be staring at someone’s crotch or something when all I in fact see are abstract shapes.
Therefore I gave the overall impression of sleeping. Which would have also been weird.
Yesterday when I was going to the neighbours a bit upstream on the SUP to buy some eggs, I lost my balance, fell off the board and lost my glasses which are now at the black bottom of the pond somewhere.
I dove to find them but it was muddled and dark like from a nightmare down there, with some specks of turquoise dust reflected maybe from the sky near the surface in a gradient which quickly became black down to the slimy bottom where there are crayfish and crab sticks and hidden horrors lurking.
maybe a treasure then, for future archaeologists.
They are in the same body of water as my friend’s wedding ring (which I wrote about earlier), sacrifices made to the lady of the lake.
I’m wearing my sunglasses now instead as I had no spare (they are my spare pair of glasses) and I see nothing without my glasses. Also I’ve also got the lazy eye so without my glasses I see double nothing.
I am wearing sunglasses at work. It gives me this badass look with the sunglasses on the Teams meetings.
I think about all of the treasures down there, all of the things who maybe are lost forever and I think about the slight panic I felt diving to retrieve the glasses in those depths — when I couldn’t see or breathe — and then about how warm I felt suddenly breaking surface, the sun shining from a cloudless blue sky, seeing it reflected on the surface like a thousand shining coins. Seeing the blurry outlines of the greenery surrounding it, it amazed me that this too was of the same world.
I forgot what I was dreaming about in waking up, but I remember it as having been a good one, but unfortunately it faded.
I got a glimpse however when visiting the shopping paradise we have here, what some intellectuals call a temple of Mammon, a soulless pit where people are reduced to different consumer identities and now are looking not only to buy a grocery or a lamp, but rather a dream and a lifestyle and a taste of the good life but it’s unfortunately a very shallow and cynical happiness that comes with a hefty price tag.
Anyway so as I was sneezing I recollected briefly a vivid image from the dream: blood gushing out from my nose and all orifices, blood covering my hand as I held it up to cover my mouth as I stumbled into a brightly lit room, resembling that of a bigger type of shop or a mall.
That was it. Of course what I found to be interesting is how on earth I could’ve remembered this as having been a good, pleasant dream.
Half-laying in this egg shaped outdoor furniture lounge chair, shaded from the gentle warmth of the bright shining sun by the USA fleece snuggle blanket, enjoying a lukewarm cup of coffee, listening to what in my opinion is the best Nick Cave album: “no more shall we part” on the boom blaster, and having this great new book beside me (I will write more about it later) I have a great fondness for books: the one I am reading to get to venture into that world and furthermore: the books I have bought but haven’t read yet which I will approach like a gentleman looking to meet a new friend, looking for things to like about it, looking to see if we can find a common ground.
I relish this gentle melancholy I have been feeling a lot lately, because it makes me creative, because it makes me appreciate what I have, because it makes me sentimental and vulnerable and helps me approach my friends with kind words because I do not know when is the last time we meet, I enjoy the sense of urgency which I have gotten to leave nothing unsaid and not waste any more time. I relish that when I feel joy again it will be that much sweeter, in the same way I appreciate even the smell of a fart because I only smell certain things once every other month or so.
I appreciate the amount of introspection and soul searching which have led me to this point where I now see myself as different than before, where in fact the things which used to interest me don’t interest me no more. Where the things I held dear now seems ugly to me. I would like to dedicate myself to the arts and I would like to appreciate all of the beautiful things while I still can.
hello hello you know a few weeks back I had a friend over. He who was a bad influence back then but now he’s just a friend.
One evening we went bathing in a beautiful pond, encircled by hills and trees and here and there some lucky persons’ houses or summer lodgings were scattered in such a way that they have a beautiful view of the pond I am now describing. The shore was made up of gently curved, round stone blocks which would have provided a smooth entry into the waters had they not been slick with water and some moss like greenery.
It turns out that when my friend stumbled and fell haplessly from the wet stone into the water, his wedding ring must’ve flown off. The next day when they were already at home — having driven back the same day — they couldn’t find it no more.
I knew I wouldn’t find it, not only on account of the muddy murky lakebed, but also that same evening a full month’s worth of rain had been pouring down, breaking a very long streak of relentless sunshine and dry hear.
I knew I wouldn’t find it. And yet I went back and looked for it anyway — because that’s what a friend would do.
I drank a dr.pepper today because it used to be my favourite, but it didn't taste nothing. That's a bit sad but not too much. Like an opposite gilded edge put on this day but no worse than that.
Now I'm thinking, because that's usually why I sometimes find no sleep. I've got a raching mind. So instead of sleeping now I think about how fascinating I find composts to be. They are warm and there's decay in them. And death of course; death is in the composts. Just dead pieces of rotting animals and also vegetables but at the same time they (the composts) are warm and full of life; white maggots and flies and that's only what can be seen with the eyes: There's obviously a lot going on in there. Specifically it's the circle of life in all of its disgusting beauty, when the dead is feeding the living and the shit turns to soil forever.
so yes that's an interest of mine. The exact process on a biological level doesn't interest me so much, but the philosophical process does.
I'm somewhat of a philosopher you see. I try to make sense of this world, but I keep failing.
They’ve got this sushi carousel at the train station where the sushi is inside plastic balls going round and round to everybody’s delight, but it’s expensive and the taste is OK and it’s always been there as far as I know, spinning these expensive sushis round and round. At least it was there ten years ago when I was there last time (but the sushis themselves are of course new)
I have a very neutral relationship to sushi.
I am feeling sad or rather like there’s something wrong that I don’t quite know a sort of melancholy which visits me from time to time leaving a lump at the back of my throat. It’s strangely also a relief to feel this way as if it’s letting the pressure out. Maybe it’s a secret luxury to feel a bit sorry for myself here as I sit writing this text. Also this irregular temper, or rather temper like on a sinus curve, or like the ebb and flow like the gravitational field from the moon, is making me a more interesting person.
Some people equate being deep with being sad, or rather it’s a common theme in Bachelor that the women do no not only want to joke around and smile but also show they’ve got a deeper side, more serious, thus implying that the opposite; the happiness, with being shallow which I absolutely do not agree with as I find that laughing in the face of danger, much like Stubb did in Moby Dick, have you read that one? Is something perfectly rational. I had this quote written from an old book, maybe a planning calendar: something to the effect that you will have to live the same life, walk the same path, regardless if you do it smiling or not, and I hold this for truth.
Hello hello! I Met my father here in this town we are passing through on this road trip we are having.
He said I stem from a long line of renown artists, four five generations down on my mother’s side. On his own side unfortunately however, him being the exception, on his side of the family my ancestors were mostly militaries and nazis.
I got to visit his lovely flat, and saw a few remarkable treasures: a bed from the fifteenth century with a picture of Charles Dickens hanging beside it. Some old carpets. And artworks.
I’m pleased to see he had framed my very first acrylic painting: ”Knäckebröd i skål”; a small sized Renaissance style painting depicting Scandinavian crisp bread (with rye) in a bowl, which I sent him many years back when I finally heeded my calling from the Arts and picked up that brush and what looks like a cake knife and so forth.
What’s more to say about this encounter? He looked like last time I saw him seven or so years ago. I myself looked like I did back then too, I think, except more troll like with grotesque features.
Today as I stood cooking, I am a fantastic chef, which is remarkable because I haven’t got no sense of smell and thus I can’t really taste it. Except. Today I felt the smell of olive oil frying in the pan, but then nothing else.
Speaking of which, tomorrow a friend from school, a bad influence from the past who introduced me to drugs and alcohol and so forth, will pay us a visit.
I feel thankful that someone would deign to do that for me, to be a bad influence, so that I too could get a taste of what it might feel like to live.