Photography at Oscar II's Fort

Access Forbidden

As is photography and depiction

Punishable by law

Yes, the text reads just as awkwardly in Swedish.

 Once every four years the 'Secret Rooms' of Sweden are opened up to the public. This weekend was it for 2012 and I visited the 20th century stronghold Oscar II:s Fort. Built in 1907, the fort was to be the modern seat of military prowess on the western front.

The planning was somewhat off though, and after 1930 the fort stayed only marginally in use. In 1955 it was completely decommissioned and has been largely empty since that time. A few years ago parts of the fort were opened up for visitors, but only for scheduled and private viewings.

Still, the fort rests largerly in quietude; a witness to days long past. Despite its excellent location overlooking Gothenburg's archipelage, the whole site is usually closed off. As well it should be, at least as things stand right now. There are many places in which to take an unlucky tumble down razor straight walls, making one suspect that the layout itself is as much of a defense as the old machine guns and canons.

Posing on this picture is my lovely friend Karin

Despite the clear dangers of having hundreds of people jostling around on the narrow pathways and stony hills there were no accidents, as far as this writer is aware. Exploring the ruin was great fun for the whole family, no doubt. The kids, big and small, sure seemed to enjoy their stay.

When battlements have turned into playgrounds, you know you've done something right.

I really wanted those boxes, just saying.

Did I mention the rust? It was everywhere.

All in all Oscar II's Fort feels almost idyllic where it lies blasted into the rock. It's strange how a military stronghold can feel so peaceful, but it really does, like an old warrior gone to a final rest by the sea.

Let's hope more than just the Swedish forts go to a well deserved rest in the 21th century.

Long Way Back

Double-tap left, hard punch right.
Double-tap left, hard punch right.
And I keep on going.

Kick left, punch right, punch left.
Kick right, punch left, punch right.
A familiar rhythm.

I sweat like I used to,
drops flowing down.

I don't kick like I used to.
I don't punch like I used to.
Guard is forever though,
same as it ever was.

Double-tap left, hard punch right.
Can't do sun salutations anymore,
but I can do this.

A Short Poem for Graduation

Well, not my graduation obviously, but while I was working the shouts from the trucks full of happy students lured me away from analysis and numbers. Here's a poem on time. Bittersweetness and all.

Time trickles like rain behind the pane.

Bleary eyes measure each gain

and each loss on a rusty scale.

Cheery voices fill the distance

with memories of youth.

Old eyes wither, but first they glitter

with a smile for summer.

Happy New Year!

I hope it's a good one for you all. I have just returned from this year's New Year's Eve party and am feeling decidedly mellow and content. I thought I'd share a New Year's poem, but I'm not sure if it's any good because I haven't written it yet.

So, here we go. Enjoy, and absolutely do have a good one!

For the longest time,

we thought we were alone.

The moon spent its hours

away from the light.

Then there was hope,

something went right.

We were happy,

as only the oblivious

can truly be.

Between these times,

were the mellows,

the half-struggles,

and the bored-now-routines.

Looking back, was it worth it?

Of course it was.

So, go on now to the future!

With brave steps

make the change

from year to golden year

and life, to charmed existence.

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.

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. :-)

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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?

Text, Sleeping in Silence (Travel)

When I was young and traveling with my family I used to look at all of these travelers and backpackers at the airport and think they were so, very, cool. The way they dressed, the way they moved, the way they carried around a million things, listening to a Walkman while juggling water, chips and literature from an airport store. They looked so important somehow these people. They didn't have any suits or fancy briefcases, but they looked as if they were going places for real, learning about life, exploring the world. They seemed to somehow be content within themselves. Young bodies, old eyes and laughing faces. They didn't care about convention either. Sure they were friendly and courteous, but they did what they wanted to.

The girl snuggling up with her worn out jeans and bare feet on the cushy lounge chair overlooking the airport hall with a Kafka book in hand, humming some strange tune I'd never heard before. The guys taking turns sleeping on a row of stuffed chairs with metal edges. Two of them playing cards to keep each other awake while their buddies slept so that everyone would get their sleep and no one would get their luggage stolen. The lone, young woman dressed all in white linen hurriedly walking along to the international flights with her cabin bag rolling behind her and her tickets kept in a tight grip. The guy catching a ride with our taxi to the layover hotel. Young people going places. I used to imagine where they had been, where they were going, what they thought and felt as they waited twelve hours straight for their flights to start up again. Going out, going home, going somewhere...

Then of course it was my turn to grow up, my turn to travel and see the world on my own. But it's funny, even after I've been places, seen and done amazing things I still get that magical feeling when I look at young travelers at the airport. Even when I've been the one dressed all in white after the hottest summer ever at the continent to land in Stockholm and almost freeze to death in the pouring rain outside, waiting for the taxi cab to -please come pick me up soon. When I myself have gotten to the point when traveling that I simply didn't care anymore, laid down on those metal edged chairs with my laptop in a firm grip as my pillow, praying that I would hear the alarm go off before my flight while listening to my favorite travel CD. Wishing fervently for silence at the same time, just needing to rest and sleep undisturbed by motor sounds and air sickness and rowdy, drunken people on vacation.

I've crept up in those lounge chairs myself with sandy, naked feet, reading a paperback book, ignoring the looks from the business travelers. They'd do it too, given half a chance. I've waited 2 hours for flights, I've waited 13. And lord knows I didn't care about the coolness factor when my parents treated me to a layover at a hotel that once. The hotel concierge calling me 'miss' which is more or less unheard of in Sweden barely rated a raised eyebrow because in just a few minutes I would finally be sleeping in a soft, comfortable bed, in silence.

I want to feel the magic. I want to go again!