Det blåser på månen.

The things I remember are things of the present, or of the future. I can't afford to waste my memory on things of the past. I remember the things I want to do. I remember who I want to be and where I want to go. Even as it changes I remember it. The past will be there weather I remember it or not. It does not need me. Now, the future I can only realise by remembering how I want it to be. Therefore, I do not waste myself on the past.

"All sad people likes poetry. Happy people likes songs." What of you, if you like both? Or none. Aren't songs; poetry set to tunes.

Ingress : Inget stilrent. Inget förskönat. Bara äkta. Och vanlig enkelhet. I Bo Bergmans ära - En gammal älskare nära Hur fan gör man När orden inte längre  räcker till när orken sinar minnet tvinar - Hur fan kan man stå på egna ben när alla bara tar - aldrig nånsin ger Hur fan gör man när man inte längre orkar vara god ta all skiten - tugga snällt och svälj! - När man vill visa  vad man går för - tugga fradga bita halsen - kunna ta besvikelsen Visa här är jag jag kan! Vara stark och  bita hårt som fan! Men vad är det för idé, egentligen att vara elak tillbaka – när gärningen utförs för att man vill bemötas med respekt och rättvisa? Vari ligger logiken? Tjänster och genstjänster –  ett förhandlingsbart samarbete –  Men när det inte hjälper att vara snäll Vart går man då? Vad händer när äkta råhet  går ut genom dörren Och lämnar plats åt själviskheten? När människan glömmer att vi inte är någont

My need for creating lies not so much in my love for art, as in the stories it allows us to tell. Sometimes we need the stillness to remind us. I never thought boredom could be of use; how could boredom be necessary? Such a remorselessly empty thing. Yet in the mids of hollow restlessness; all that is, if not forgotten then perhaps over-shone, in the business of living; things start to become clear, to resurface. In the absence of life, something must fill the void. maybe the memory of life, is as important as the living itself. Cause what else is there to remind us, to get back out of our boredom, and start living once again. - - - With bits of paper I build my home As through words of beauty I shall wade Pages fly around my naked feet - And I spread my thoughts across the floor. If happiness is only known, by looking through the din than surely words like these are born, that sacred place within. The air it seems, is filled with voices, whispering of tales - thos

Recently I received a commission where I was asked to make my own interpretation of performance art. And I had a thought. I’ve always felt like the view of a performance has the potential of being a bit backwards. You know how people tend to say that acting is easier because it allows us to put on a role; we are not the character we portray so therefore our actions on the stage are not judged. They are absorbed by the audience and enjoyed for what it is; a play. In a way this is true. But I also believe it to be only half of the truth. Why I really believe acting is easier, is because it allows us to let forth muted feelings and actions under the cover of a “made up persona”. We’re playing a role yes, and the pieces put together might be something different than what we would get by looking at the person playing it. But the actions have to be taken from the inside. From the real us. It is easier because on the stage, we can be ourselves, but under false pretence. On the stage, we can