After Midnight Ramblings

Well sometimes poets write stuff they just gotta get out even though it's probably shite. This is one of those times. It itches inside if I don't publish my scribblings somewhere and this time the blog gets to bear the brunt of that onslaught.

If the rain falls hard

and the demons cry,

let the wolves be there

and run with winter.

If the thunder of

the dangers of youth's inclined

to remind us yet again -

then hold your ground.

Can tomorrow be salvation?

Doesn't matter -life is now

and all you have to do

to soar this time,

is to let yourself fly.

Long Night till Dawn

I should be sleeping soon, I really should. Unfortunately I'm a night owl and always have been. Doesn't matter when I get up in the morning, nine times out of ten I still have to force myself to head for the sack before dawn. There's always something I want to do, whether it's tinkering with my art or if it's reading or writing.

Speaking of those elusive words -I was so happy the other day when I finally managed to write a bit for Memoirs de Mort, but since then the muses have gone quiet again. All I have on my page is a half encounter with an M-16, and that's not even for said novel. I suck at writing with hope. I need a mission, a reason, an incentive. Knowing I might get published once I finish the damn thing just doesn't cut it with me. I want to know that the work is not in vain. Stupid, but that's me.

Leaving, parting ways, saying goodbye

I have a flair for the dramatic and my poems often reflect that. Poetry lends itself well to sad and serious subjects and who am I to defy the muses? Many of my poems are about parting ways. Either bittersweet goodbyes or spiteful divorces seem to be par for the course. It's not the only stuff I write about, but it does seem to get more than its fair share of attention. Might have something to do with my reading material...

Anyway, here's another old poem for your perusal. Think I wrote it in '05, if I'm not mistaken and I can't for the life of me remember the title, but here it is anyway. Enjoy!

The times of gold and light
when we were of one mind -
I treasure them darling,
believe nothing else,
but we need to leave them behind.

The nights we spent just talking
and the days in excited bliss -
I remember them clearly,
believe nothing else,
they are something I will miss.

But nothing can last forever
and I have a drifter’s soul -
the winds in my heart are shifting,
I can do nothing else,
but leave to make me whole.

Maybe tomorrow will be
a different story for you and me,
but today is the day
when I’ll start to drift away.

In a year you won’t know my touch
like you used to know it.
In a day I won’t speak as I once spoke.
But when you think I’ve abandoned you,
believe nothing else -
I love you and I’ve loved you
and I will love you constantly,
even when we’re drifting apart.

And She's Back Ladies and Gentlemen

Yup. Feels pretty good to be back in Gothenburg despite the weather being nowhere near the bliss of this photo. I think it's started to feel a bit like home. Just good at adapting to new circumstances I guess. Even the rain is feeling more familiar than anything else. :-)

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Don't go crying all your sorrows

in the arms of dungeons deep.

Empty walls will fall asunder,

but shredded souls are naught to keep.

Fighting stone will blooden you.

Blood will wash you, clean you, heal you.

Blood is flowing, life -renewing.

Soul be fighting, walls are falling.

Time for tears when all is done.

Time for rest -when life is gone.

Packing

So, kind of stressed out over my trip tomorrow. My packing is almost done and I'm bringing too much stuff by far. I'm not even sure if I'll be able to bring it all on the plane, and getting from the airport will be a merry experience indeed. I'll have to get from the baggage claim to the bus, on the bus, from the bus to the train station, on the train, from the train to our apartment. All veritable joyrides, I'm sure.

Last of Autumn

Just a quick photo post. Was in the marina a few weeks ago. Or well, the inner docks at least, weren't too many boats around but this is an old ship turned restaurant. Lovely weather btw, I was really pleased with how the water turned out.

A Poem of Winter Peace

Witnessing the birds go by,

lonely heart gives up a sigh

humming soft -a lullaby.

Little does this spirit know;

watching sweetly from the snow

fairies on their small feet go

dance to lullaby.

Last of sunrays flee in fright,

twilight goes to darkened night,

lonely heart lights candle light,

gaze on falling snow.

Candle flickers, builds to flame,

whispers out a hidden name

lonely city calls the same,

such a pretty sight.

Listen close and you can hear

voices singing every year -

you don’t have to live in fear

just light up the flame.

Update from Under the Weather

The sky is an oppressing gray-ish white that spins down and around all things like threads of cotton. Saturday night found me with this winter's first real illness. Fortunately I managed to get through the party all right before the worst of it started.

The party went remarkably well. I'm still a bit unaccustomed to doing the hostess thing instead of just letting my mother do all the work, but all things considered I made a half decent job of assisting. Dad seemed pretty pleased with the evening, though a bit tired since the first guests came in at around two in the afternoon and the last left sometime after one in the morning.

It was a bit unfortunate that my throat really wasn't up to par when it came to singing, but I soldiered through and fortunately I'm pretty good at wheedling out of solos when I want to. I just don't feel very comfortable singing alone in small crowds, even if asked to perform I'm afraid I'm being a nuisance. Being on stage is entirely different in that regard.

But anyway -didn't manage to get the tune I'd planned for dad just right so I decided to skip it all together. We'll see if I manage something out of that song at a later date. I did put together a great collection that we could all sing during the evening and we made it through most of them.

Otherwise I'm not doing much right now since the www has been down yesterday and most of today. And of course me having this cold or whatever isn't really conducive to creative splurges. I found an old plot bunny that I'm starting to revise though. A Sci Fi story, might lead to something.

A Little Something for My Friends

This is for my friends,
the ones who care.
No need to name names.

You're the people who say
-love, you're all kinds of ok,
and I believe you.

You few, you brave who give
that bit of special attention
that means you heard.

This is for you, my friends,
all around the world,
it's nothing special much.

I don't have money or gold,
but my writing is true -
so this is my thanks,
my I Love You.

Göteborg Streets

On the streets,
people are all equals.
Feet are placed
one at a time
on the ground.
Breaths are taken,
looks avoided
or exchanged.
They may wear
expensive
or tread bare cloth.
But what they've got
is no reflection
upon their souls.
On the street
everyone shows everything
in the corner of their eyes.
Don't need to trade lives
or see smiles.
It's all about the feet
pounding the pavement
every day.
Here we are equal
and everyone
goes on their way.

Spare Parts? Are you Kidding Me?!

My computer decided enough was enough the other day. Well, not my computer -rather the adapter that lets me power up the thing. It's been struggling for a while, but it finally gave out completely. No opening, prodding, shaking and beating, worked this time. It's not too dead to still shock me with electricity, even unplugged, when I start poking around its insides, but it's definitely deceased enough to be of no use to me whatsoever.

The beauty of the matter? It's a HP product, and like many of the major players they don't like it when people can substitute their spare parts with generic models. Meaning -the original parts for the computer can only be substituted with spare parts from the same maker. Nothing else will fit. So instead of just going out to buy a generic adapter for a humane price, I'm stuck with having to order a spare part for a rather silly amount of money. Expensive doesn't even begin to cover it. It's a freaking adapter for pity's sake!

Even better though -it's been just about two years since I bought the computer, new from the store. In that time it's become an obsolete model, the spare parts are not available from HP through ordinary ways. I'll have to go through a supplier and see if they can scrounge up a part from somewhere. Price-y, I kid you not. Considering the amount of time I need on my laptop computer each day having to substitute it with a desktop that does not carry any of my software in the mean time really sucks too much to be believed.

The people who design in this manner should be shot. There is no excuse for the shittiness that is HP. None.

Funny Thing About Compliments

I usually put my writing up for peer review at some point. Of course good feedback is always hard to come by, but there are places and persons willing to lend a hand. This time I wasn't too pleased with the writing, but it was at least a finished vignette which was more than I'd been able to accomplish for a while. It was really a pice I wanted to convert into using in one of my other stories, but I wasn't too sure about the style of writing I'd chosen and wanted input.

That's maybe a bit more background than you need, but I'm getting to the point I swear. Long story short - I put the piece up for shredding and got some responses. One thing that really made me pause was the words "not quite up to [your] usual standards". Now you may think that this was a negative remark and indeed it was, but it brought me genuine joy just the same. Why?

Because for something not to be up to its usual standards means that there are actually standards to be (and usually are) met. You with me? Being up to ones standards means being good, great, excellent. So this person had expected a standard quality for me that I didn't produce this time. And because this was actually a negative remark and not praise I can be pretty sure they meant it. Which means I'm a good writer! Yay!

Ok, so obviously it's not the first time I've had that particular notion reaffirmed, but there is just something about this sort of backhanded compliment that makes me feel all gushy and gooey inside. Praise is so hard to take. We look for it, but once we get it we rarely put much credence to it since we all know that -you're supposed to be nice. Comments like this confirm the praise however, because they're brutally honest while still implying that they think we're good at whatever it is we do.

I like being good at what I do. Makes me happy.
^^

There, I'm done.
Have a great day!

Keeping It Together

 
~*~

I think the gods
made a little,
small mistake.
But that's ok -
human imagination
will always be
our saving grace.

~*~

I'd say this cannot be happening...

...but I'm not that naive. Yes, my computer is dead, again. I wasn't going to write about it since I'm afraid people will think I'm cursed or something, but the frustration got to be too much. The gods must truly hate me, which yeah is understandable since I don't worship any of them, but still... Did the techno stuff really have to give up on me completely? I'm sitting by another computer right now, but it's not mine, doesn't have my stuff on it. This is pain people, you have no idea.

Wanderer

When the memories of dewdrops

are so short as to be overlooked

between a fallen tear

and an autumn leaf,

how do we judge time?

My old ways have changed,

but the new still go as newly born

and gentle fairies,

striking gold in the oddest

of circumstance and time.

Happy to be here though the Mara

still and always laughs joyfully

in offering reprieves.

It is the nature of night to be contrary.

It is the blessing of life and of time.

When the dark droplets fall unguarded

the ways of thunder feel more like home

again, I am leaving with the shifting tide.

Again I am tickled with the promise

of time.

Troubled Dreams, Love -poem

A poem of regret, bittersweet peace, and the haunting memories of war.

Troubled Dreams, Love

I'm falling much too deep my love.
Can see no end, no morrow.
Everything I live for love,
is turned to sweetest sorrow.

When all you have and all you hold
is turned to dust for dead men's gold,
the truth is furthest from your mind.
You try to leave all things behind.

Been falling for a while my love.
Can't seem to get to flying.
They say the light is there my love,
but still -it feels like dying.

When all you have and all you hold
's been twisted, warped, and then resold,
the lies they tell are laying bare,
but you don't mind, no you don't care.

Can see this journey's end my love.
I've kept my coin for paying.
They don't deal in faith my love.
There is no use in praying.

But pray you may and pray you might
and maybe things can be made right,
and I'll open weary eyes once more
to even out the players' score.

There you are my life, my love.
Please go back to sleep.
There are no demons here my love.
If you don't look, too deep.

10 Things I Will Never Do Again

Prompt from YaNowWhatIMean

• Dive in the shallow end of the pool. It's just not worth the headache.
• Go backpacking with my parents, I don't care how cheap it is.
• Believe anyone who says you can just grab a cab out of the harbor. If the harbor is abandoned and you have no phone number to call, there will not be a taxi magically waiting for you as you disembark.
• Ever, ever, ever live in a hotel room numbered 13 again. There is not believing in superstition and then there's sheer stupidity.
• Walk alone in a city I know is full of horny southerners who have no decorum whatsoever. Liberation of women or not, some things are just bound to cause more trouble than they're worth. All right, so I may not be able to keep that one, but it's a good thought.
• Walk through the junky section of town alone, in the dead of night, just cause it's the most direct route to my friend. Brave or not; dead is still dead.
• Fall for the "I'm so helpless and scared, please help me" routine, I really should know better.
• Tell someone I love them and expect them to understand I mean it in a general sense, not a romantic one.
• Spend hours in excruciating pain without going to the hospital, just because I don't want to waste the doctors' time. The doctors are there to alleviate pain, I should learn to just let them do their freakin' job already.
• Say yes to shallow acquaintances without knowing all the details of what they want me to do. People who look nice, aren't necessarily so.

So Many Ways to Say It - poem

Old poem, but dear. A poem about love and eternal loving.

Beloved, did you know 

that you’re my beloved?

The sun and moon may shine 

or be hidden in darkness,

but as long as there is you; 

the light will always be near.

To chase away the shadows,

to block the way for monsters.

How very strange really, 

don’t you think?

-That life can be dependent 

on such a small thing,

like the smile of a friend…

a word or two

about the love and joy you 

find in each other.

The wisdom that your soul carries, 

it amazes me constantly.

And if I travel the world 

or to the other side of the universe,

or if I stay right here

 -it’s all the same.

Because you’re with me 

in every move I make,

are there in every breath I take,

like a guardian angel.

And no matter what happens, 

I know

that you are here 

and you are mine.

As surely as I am yours,

now and forever.

Left -short short story

They write notes to each other on post-its, until they run out of paper one day and they start to scrawl on the fridge instead. Black and red and blue all mingled together till the white is all but a memory. He doesn't remember who started it, might have been him. Probably wasn't. Two cups stand on the sink, side by side; one large for coffee, one gigantic for tea. The cups migrated out of the cupboards months ago, it was just too much work; opening and closing and reaching. His hands itch to break them both, but he doesn't. Instead he plucks out an ordinary glass and fills it with water. He takes one sip, then two, before throwing the rest away. Right now there would be a gentle reprimand concerning water conservation. The quiet screams in his ears and he flees the kitchen.

The living room is also much too quiet for comfort. His hands automatically go to the stereo and put the records on shuffle. Too late he remembers when they last listened to this particular mix. He can't bring himself to push the stop button though, not when the music starts with the soft gentleness of Adagio. His thoughts stutter to a halt and he listens with horror at the much too familiar words. The door bell chiming saves him from any more reminiscing and he takes money to pay for the pizza. The tip is plentiful, he just can't concentrate on something as petty as counting money right now. Five hours till the plane ride home, this isn't his place anymore. With a look at the empty hangers by the door he wonders if it ever was.

Masquerade

Play the show to its end,

it’s all we have to do.

Keep the masks on to hide

what we’re feeling inside.

It’s not me that is playing, it’s not you.

The audience is waiting

for another drama play.

They like the blood to flow

and teary eyes to glow.

It’s their world my love, it’s their way.

So play for me a murderer

and I will be your fool.

Let’s show them how it’s done

until their need is gone.

To gain we must suffer, it’s the rule.

For they live through the theatre

and need to know it’s real,

so play this well and get a boon.

Oh, hush love, it’s over soon.

Death’s our final pay, that’s the deal.

Weightless -poem

While we’re falling there is peace,

that utter rapture of knowing

that nothing can hurt you,

until you land.

When you leap, you’re safe.

There’s nothing to understand;

you know everything.

The air is like the breath of gods,

loving your fortitude.

You know it’s not the time

for anything but dreaming.

The dreams are real;

it’s all the same.

Your name a whisper

on the lips of the weaver.

You spread your arms

and you soar on time.

The Dark Is Rising Travesty

Well, the trailers are up for this next fantasy blockbuster movie. The Dark Is Rising indeed, Susan Cooper's wonderful series of books have been raped and pillaged and twisted into American commercialism at its worst. My heart aches for one of the brightest memories of my childhood having been violated in this manner.

1) Everyone but two of the cast are American, now that wouldn't necessarily be a problem, but they also sound American. The set even looks American for pity's sake.
2) Will is an angsty teenager with girl troubles instead of a pure and goodhearted 11 year old.
3) Arthurian myth and legend? Arthur who?
4) Seventh son of a seventh son, err.... where are the rest of the siblings?

And just, no.

No, no, no.

But don't take my word for it, look at the trailers.
The American one almost made me cry.
The international one is slightly better, but that will only bring you a false sense of security.

Don't trust the Dark!

The American Trailer for the Dark Is Rising




The International Trailer for The Dark Is Rising



I'm not saying you shouldn't see the movie. I'm going to watch it myself. I'm just going to [pretend] it's a completely different story that has absolutely nothing to do with the original. Which, won't be that far a strentch of the imagination really.

Change Html to BB Code

Are you sick of forums that don't allow Html? Just don't feel like dealing with the BB Code hassle? Then this Site might just save your sanity. This wonderful person has made a straight forward script for converting Html code to BB. It won't let you build a mini site in you sig, but should still be pretty useful if you're as lazy about your coding as I am. ^^

Cheers!

Yeah, I don't drink. Used to be a Good Templar Youth and everything, but when inspiration strikes, what are you going to do?

A toast to us;
for health, and sorrow.
Today, tomorrow -
long will we reign.
Hey friend, remember -
if the glass is half empty,
it means you can fill it
again.

Compassion - Fiction Drabble - 100 words.

Hospital smell, shoes on rubber floor. He hardly knows the woman in the other room and the man walking out is a stranger. A blank face greets him. So it's over now. Empty words lie heavy in the pit of his stomach. He is not a friend, or a lover, or family. He is no one to this desolate soul. But he is the only one here. Glimmer of a moment. He hesitates. The man takes a seat. Hands clasped, head lowered. This is grief then, hesitations are through. He places his hand on a shaking shoulder, and holds on.

Doctor Terrorist. Is it really that shocking?

They say that eight of the terrorists in the latest London debacle were doctors. Many people are shocked and dismayed at these news. I am not shocked. Dismayed, yes. Shocked, no. Though it's easy to think that all terrorists are cut from the same block, things are rarely that simply. Both history and literature teaches us that being a doctor does not necessarily equate being a healer. Hippocratic oath? More like hypocrisy. Just goes to show that intelligence and book learning does not replace wisdom and some good old fashioned common sense.

Rainy Day

Being that as it may -I quite enjoy a good storm now and again. I actually thought the rain ended much too soon. It was the first real pounding-into-the-ground rain we've gotten this summer. Had I been a few years younger I would have pouted over the fact that we got no thunder, but I like my computer not getting zapped or fried, so I guess I'm ok with that.

Untitled Snippet

She ends up somewhere between there and not quite yet. The storm calls to something primal inside; the same thing that had her dancing under lightning filled skies until she was old enough to be afraid. It’s strange, she thinks, how you get more afraid as the years go by. If anything you should be less fearful because you’ve already lived so much. The older you get the less there is to miss out on. She knows that’s just part of the story and neither here nor there, but a spot of fancy is needed right now. 

The wind has turned to whisper, low and seductive. If she goes out, she will be right in the eye of the storm. That is her stronghold, but what’s the fun in being safe? The moment passes, the eye is gone and fire crosses the sky. She smiles at the dancing flashes; they seem to her a mixture between game and a mating dance. Or perhaps they are the same. She knows the moment before she decides to move; it is marked by a heavy feeling in her head and warmth swiftly followed by cooling sweat. As the rain sets in she runs outside, raising her arms and dancing underneath the tumultuous skies. The rain kisses her lips and she kisses back. She is not safe, speaks the rumbling thunder, but at last -she feels alive.

Parting Ways -poem

Parting Ways

So we’re standing here again then,
not knowing what to say.
Has anything really changed at all?
We age a year and live a day.

Blinded by my unshed tears,
but at least this time I see.
And I guess I did wrong by you,
and I know you did wrong by me.

No longer are we star-crossed,
but still we carry on pretending;
thinking the morrow will be better,
thinking love is never-ending.

Wonder what it’s all about,
why the happiness must die?
You could never turn your back,
so I need to say Goodbye.

Guess we weren’t a fairytale after all.

Why You Should Not Try to Reason With Religious Nuts

Me: How do you know that this almighty God exists?

Other: The Holy Book tells us so.

Me: I understand that, but that was written ages ago. How do you know it's even based on fact?

Other: The Holy Book tells us so.

Me: Yes, yes, I know. But ponder for a moment the possibility of the Book just being a story, nothing more. I mean how can you base your evidence of the truth of the scriptures, on the same scriptures? Maybe they're lying, how would you know?

Other: It is the truth. The Holy Book tells us so. *starts quoting and speaking in tongues*

Me: *bangs head against wall and counts to a zillion*

The Dangers of Life Online

So I was scouring the net looking for interesting blogs. Stumbled upon HorsePigCow and read this post on Internet Safety for Women. Just read those last words I wrote. They're so typical. Internet Safety for Women, like we somehow need some kind of special security, separate from the standard.

Now don't get me wrong -I'm not saying there aren't any dangers with leading a life online. There are plenty of dangers and reasons to be cautious, but sex doesn't factor into that. Anyone can have their identity nicked online if they're not careful, anyone can have their accounts hacked into or something equally unpleasant.

The Internet is the great equalizer. The usual methods for distinguishing people from each other, like their sex, race, religion, socio-economic status etc that you have used before are pretty useless online. Obsolete if you so will. Because online we can be pretty much anyone we want to be.

So why should women be more fearful of putting themselves out there? I mean -yes giving out your real name might be risky for those with less than usual ones, but at the end of the day it's no more risky than being listed in the phone book.

I have this friend who's a semi-hacker-ish type. He warned me about how easy it was to find information about me online. He got my home phone number and address in about 30 seconds. At first that kind of freaked me out, but then I got to thinking and I came to this conclusion -so what?

So what if anyone can trace my name to my address and phone number? They can trace billions of other people in the same way. People do that all the time; the most popular methods used to be the public phone book and calling an information service. What makes me being listed online more dangerous than anything else?

It's true that more people can get a hold of you if you spend a lot of time being un-anonymous online, but at the end of the day it doesn't really matter. So you get an online stalker? You might have gotten one while being out in a club just as easily. So some creep got your phone number; creeps will always get someone's phone number and harass, it's what they do.

At the end of the day it all just comes down to common sense and taking your licks when and if they come. Though it's never advisable to simply give out your personal details to all and sundry unless you want irritating phone calls in the middle of the night and so on, that does not mean you have to be more paranoid than Machiavelli.

People who want to get a hold of you badly enough will find a way. Why live your life in dread of that moment? I mean, I'm as paranoid as the next girl, but I do have limits and going through life being scared of online predators just isn't in my repertoire of things to do. If someone actually comes haunting your homestead? Then you can start worrying.

Snippet

A/n: Just an exercise in action oriented writing. Unfinished piece, but a beginning of something, maybe.

~*~

10 am and she’s so-very-late. Coldness burns with each breath of morning air. The backpack is heavy; straps forcing her shoulders back, cutting through her too-thin-jacket. Legs cramp and her feet scream murder on the cobblestones. The cell phone in her pocket beeps. Her stress levels go up anther notch. She resists the phone, but not for long. Two more steps and it’s in her hand.

“Where are you?”

A misstep, as she tries to answer the message while running. She falls to one knee and one hand. The pain travels like lightning trough her leg. Nasty, nasty bruise tomorrow, but she just doesn’t have the time. A grimace flashes over her face. Her eyes tear, but she’s up in a flash. The first few steps are halting on her stiff leg. Determination proves the greater force and she’s off again.

The traffic on the South Boulevard is in a stand still. She zigzags between cars and motorcycles, seeing the concert hall beckoning in the distance.

The Curse of Kindness.

There was a time when I could and would turn many obnoxious people away with just a look. When my tongue was sharp enough to cut anyone, had an answer for everything, to anything. Now, I'm always so careful. I focus on being kind, to the point of being too kind, even flirty according to some (apparently smiling is an invite to sex, and here I thought I was being nice). I just can't seem to find that middle ground.

This is slowly driving me crazy. I did this to myself. I had a goal of becoming less confrontational, more understanding, kind and patient. But the coin has a backside; my fist is wrapped inside a velvet glove which gives little warning when someone has crossed the line, and it's slowly choking me. Not to mention the facts that the kinder you are, the kinder people expect you to be, and the more patient you are, the more patience they expect. It's a whole new kind of vicious circle.

Why this rant?Well, I met another guy today that had trouble taking NO for an answer. It saddens me to say, but I understand very well why people become wary of strangers, especially foreigners. And I understand very well indeed why some women start to detest the male sex to the point of militant hysteria. I have had way too much trouble from men in my life not to see all of these points.

How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to be patient and kind when men only seem to have two modes for me: Either they have met the confrontational me and are shit scared, leaving them hostile. Or, they have seen my smiling eyes, talked to me, watched me walk on the road, whatever -and think I would be just the luckiest little girl in the world if they'd take notice and offer to be my 'friend'.

As a bonus -if they're really blind they think I'm stupid and/or need protecting.

The whole male species is starting to get on my very last nerve. I'm so close to abandoning good will, kindness, compassion and patience in favor of tearing them a new one just so they'll all leave me the fuck alone. Look further than the exterior for the love of all that's holy. Look, at me, not my eyes, my hair, my weight, my smile, my skin, my chest, my sex. Look. At. Me.

You, who want me. You, who think I should be yours, just because. Why can't a friendly chat ever be enough? Why do you always want more? Why can't you just answer my smile without asking for my heart. Why can't you just be a friend, without being lecherous and icky. How can you ever think that you love me, that I love you, when you don't even know who I am?