Nov 30 2012

Protected: I See You

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Nov 4 2012

Music & Poetry aligned

Home, by Blackmill

‘We don’t read and write poetry because it’s cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. And the human race is filled with passion. And medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.’

– Professor Keating, from Dead Poet’s Society

Oct 31 2012

Last October

Time runs past us. Seven days ago, I sat in my town of birth, writing something abstract about love and it’s complications.

Now, I sit in my other town of birth. The place where I fell and was utterly destroyed. The place where I was carried ever onwards by brothers next to me and built up again.

Haha. It’s kind of funny how life becomes. In a moments notice, the world can turn around. What can feel like a second away, can be hours or maybe even weeks away and vice versa. I accept.

I’m on a dried up river
Beside a broke down levee
I’ve got nothing to give you
But a lonesome song

Just a little bit worn out
Just a little bit bitter
I gotta let my guard down
I gotta loosen my grip

And the ground is frozen
And the air is colder
But my heart is open
Beating out of time

Come and play in my sheets tonight?

I couldn’t care less cause i’m transfixed in this absolute bliss.


You wonder if i’m happy or not. Well. Look in the mirror.


Oct 23 2012

What do you feel?

Here I am. Naked before you. And I remember everything.



Humanity may never have overused, overexpressed, overfelt and overdetermined another word in our existance. The word means nothing alone. But put two humans that like one another beside eachother and skadoosh! – you’ve got a endocrinical and neurological inferno within, AKA an emotional response. Few other things has been dug into that deep in the history of man. Our relentless capacity to always manage to “fall in love” in other people.. Where does it come from?

Wikipedia gives me no such answers but more questions. The vast internet pool of knowledge contains nothing that would direct me to a source of reliable wisdom. The only thing that caught my mind was, an I quote:

“It would be very difficult to explain love to a hypothetical person who had not himself or herself experienced love or being loved. In fact, to such a person love would appear to be quite strange if not outright irrational behavior.”

Have I loved in this manner? “Yes”, I want to scream. Irrational behaviour, strangeness and unprecedented choices that sets a course of actions that ultimately leads to pure bliss. It was all a part of it. Almost like any drug abuse out there. The parable has been used before.. In any case (a sentence I’ve noticed I tend to overuse), whatever I may say or contemplate about love, it won’t change the fact on how it has affected me. Even though I revel in the thought of being a monk in a faraway land somewhere high up the mountains… It doesn’t change who and what I created within myself. After you.

I have an illusion that through PTSD and other unexplainable reasons; I don’t feel anymore. Nothing feels the same. Not even hugging the one I once loved. I reckon that it’s an illusion. Because in few caring moments somedays, I still feel like the vulnerable young man I once was. It hints me in regular life. Haunts me when I dream. And remains a solid part of my flesh.

Still. Mostly I do not feel right now. Not even you. I do find myself within that, and carry on with my low-life. But then again, even that could be an illusion in itself.


What I do know is – If God would let me – I would love you, until world’s end.



Sep 25 2012

Tribute to Buddha, Grey & Millman

“If you don’t get what you want, you suffer; if you get what you don’t want, you suffer; even when you get exactly what you want, you still suffer because you can’t hold on to it forever.”

  • The first truth is that life is suffering i.e., life includes pain, getting old, disease, and ultimately death. We also endure psychological suffering like loneliness frustration, fear, embarrassment, disappointment and anger. This is an irrefutable fact that cannot be denied. It is realistic rather than pessimistic because pessimism is expecting things to be bad.
  • The second truth is that suffering is caused by craving and aversion. We will suffer if we expect other people to conform to our expectation, if we want others to like us, if we do not get something we want,etc. In other words, getting what you want does not guarantee happiness. Rather than constantly struggling to get what you want, try to modify your wanting. Wanting deprives us of contentment and happiness.
  • The third truth is that suffering can be overcome and happiness can be attained; that true happiness and contentment are possible. lf we give up useless craving and learn to live each day at a time (not dwelling in the past or the imagined future) then we can become happy and free.


“A warrior does not give up what he loves, he finds the love in what he does”


Quoted from Dan Millman

Three of the four noble truths by Buddha

Picture from Alex Grey

Sep 1 2012

Capital of Decay

A small journey filled with beauty, humour, transparency, disgust and foremost patience.
You could imagine a place of disgust and despair. A place where the mere scent of it all is sole witness of what has happend there.
But when you stand inside that place, it surely is much worse than you could ever imagine. I’ve seen the capital of human decay. I have seen a side of humanity that shouldn’t exist. A place where God is sought every waking minute but only the Devil has responded.

The brief visit to Kabul was not itself mindblowing. As always, it’s the journey itself. I must confess that my earlier thoughts on this mission had traces that resembled a sort of empathy or will to help the people of this country.
Over the years, they’ve been promptly destroyed.
By none other than the people itself. The belief that we actually could make a difference to these war-torned people. Of course we do change and make a little difference. Problem is that they just couldn’t care less..
The majority of the afghan people doesn’t care who I am. They don’t care about any ecological systems that define their country. The only thing that matters most is their illusions of how their religion is practiced and how they, alone, will survive until tomorrow.
They are the worlds most efficient people on accepting lazyness into their lives.
I’ve made a personal note to place the afghan people as a sub-culture and race within hte human race – referring to that they may only look human. They may have traces of our instincts and some of our feelings. But anything resembling of human willpower and understanding as we know it are an illusion.

So then, you say, who can blame them? Without any educational system to support them in their youth they can’t be blamed for their incompetence?
Over 4 million people lives in Kabul. None of them ever grows up being an adult. It’s a city filled with 4 million retarded children – trying to build houses, driving cars and running a family of their own in the name of Allah. Without any resemblance of success.
My language is harsh, I know. But truth be told.

Of course there are a minority that makes a difference. There always is. A minority that alone lifts up this shattered country. Like Atlas, they’ve achieved in gaining all my respect. But I don’t talk minorities in this entry.

I find some peace in knowing this might very well be the last time I visit and work in this forsaken corner in the world.

Moreover, the ecological system of this place has to have it’s shed of light. The road to Kabul is an 15 hours drive through the foots of the himalaya mountains. The salang pass, stretching up to 3400 meters, is wondrous as you pass in it’s wake. It wasn’t built for humans. If God ever built such a thing, is was for the ancient giants. I couldn’t feel more tiny in the presence of something so massive. I also traveled through the Salang Tunnel, built in 64′ by he Soviets, which was responsible for the deaths of about 2700 people in one instance.
I played with the thoughts that Afghanistan was once below the ocean, and the walls of the pass I could examine on the journey, were once filled with an ocean – the mountain walls telling the story with their endless scars.
Ultimately I noticed how tired my mind actually was when I was beginning to imagine whales and other pre-historic animals swiming above my head while travelling..

It’s time to rest. I will meditate on this later.

Lance Corporal Fresh,

Aug 16 2012

I Want To Believe

Home is where the heart is, they say.

So where is my heart? Where is yours?

I have a clear memory when I was about nine years old. Me and my brother were inside his room in our family house out in the country. We were listening to music while building LEGO, and we could do just that for hours to come. Wordly problems were of no interest to me at the time. I corrected my glasses, picked up the toys and let my imagination totally dominate my mind. And even those moments when we or even just by myself, were playing video games in our “gaming room” is ultimately sacred to me in some way. I remember thinking of what I was to become when I became an adult. Always pondering if I could be one of those imaginable soldiers in the videogames or just and adventurer in the jungle. I even wanted to be an astronaut once before mathematics turned out to be one of my weak sides. Eventually I wanted to become an successful actor. In some ways, I’ve already achieved that goal.. In any case, I wanted to look back and not regretting anything and being proud of my choices.

Nowadays, I still do just that. Maybe in a different way than before, but still..

I still ponder the future. I still experience the childhood solace I once had nowadays when spending time with my family. I still look up to my parents and their (in my perspective) successful life, wondering if I ever am going to be in that position. I still let my imagination run amok while life passes by in front of my eyes. And it’s O.K.

Me and my family was immortal back then. And in some ways I reckon we still are.


Another memory stuck in my mind is one that I had in my brothers old apartment. We both sat there, one summer evening in the capital. The window was open and philosophy was filling the room. We talked a bit of the future, mentioned girls and how weird they can make you feel and think. In the end, I remember him saying: “I think we’re bound to something big”…

To this day, I’d like to I think we all are. As long as you still believe.

Jun 11 2012

Freedom isn’t Free

I am back now. My feet has met the earth and my fingers has touched people that I love once more. There is no more illusion about how life is suppose to be here. The only illusions still there are my own. In my mind. In my self-made prison.

I’m really trying.


Adaptation [ˌædəpˈteɪʃən ˌædæp-] n

  1. the act or process of adapting or the state of being adapted; adjustment
  2. something that is produced by adapting something else
  3. something that is changed or modified to suit new conditions or needs
  4. (Biology) Biology an inherited or acquired modification in organisms that makes them better suited to survive and reproduce in a particular environment
  5. (Physiology) Physiol the decreased response of a sense organ to a repeated or sustained stimulus
  6. (Psychology) Psychol (in learning theory) the weakening of a response to a stimulus with repeated presentation of the stimulus without reinforcement; applied mainly to innate responses
I don’t really know what the words are anymore. I can’t say them out loud.
My life has been brought to justice for a brief moment. I am my own lawyer and my own prosecutor. The Judge, on the other hand, is none other than my other self.
I struggle back and forth with words to keep a good picture of myself in the courtroom, trying to be the good guy. Although, in this room, there is no jury. No public minds to twist with words. There is only me.
I realize that I have to take (resume) control of this courthouse, even if it means becoming the bad guy for a brief moment. The house is mine and mine alone. I was the judge once and can be again.. And as I step up to the bench, I get a thundering feeling that sends itself like a lightning through my body. It was just the steps.. the mere will of control that was the difference between my previous weakness and my current power.
Sacrifices has been made in the history of time so that ideas and dreams can become a part of reality.


Without condoning or condemning,
I leave the roads of comfort, check my compass and start the journey..
True enough, this compass does not point north.”
“…Where does it point?”
“It points to the thing you want most in this world.