Det blåser på månen.

Being unrooted provides the desire to re-visit things - a place we were safe and calm enables us to ground ourselves. As I grow older, I grow more hardened; more shallow, not allowing things to effect me the way they used to. My brother: heart and earth. Me: soul and wind. Life as blocks of events, fitting seamlessly together, the transitions hard to discern - rather than events happening on the side of  the normal life, as I used to think. Older people (grownups) more open to philosophical thinking; philosophy rather than make-believe(?)

I had such an eerily vivid dream last night. I was on a train; one of those old steam-engine models that doesn’t run these days. It’s body was ornamented with the most exquisite oriental carpets, the walls crammed with water pipes, african wood sculptures and the occasional dead plant in carefully painted clay pots. The air was thick with steam from the ever laboring engine, and smelled of dust and oil. There lay a muted silence over the train; not the serene absence of sound that can be ever so welcome in a busy world, but the nasty pressing one, that makes your ears ring and your nerves tingle in relentless foreboding.  The horrors I faced there where unspeakable, so forgive me for giving them little mention, and I pray I shall never know such dread again.  I met the Devil, that night on the train. He was so understanding and kind, it was almost painful. Even though I knew he was the very one to blame for my presence there, I felt I could confide in him. And I did. He didn’t

Illustration av Hanna Virdarson Långt borta, i ett mystiskt och skrämmande land låg en djup mörk skog. Skogen sträckte sig långt över landet och slukade både höga berg och djupa sjöar i sin kalla barm. Djuren som bodde här levde ett skyggt och försiktigt liv. Ett fåtal hade vågat sig utanför för att utforska andra marker, men de allra flesta djuren visste inte ens om det fanns någonting utanför skogen. Några av dessa djur var en björnfamilj som levde i en ihålig trädstam vid en av de stora sjöarna. Det var en mamma-björn och hennes två små björnungar, lillebror björn och syster björn. Som de flesta djuren i skogen levde de ett stillsamt liv, och nöjde sig med vad skogen hade att erbjuda. Trädkronorna var tjocka och skymde det mesta av himlen ovanför, men var tillräckligt glesa för att släppa igenom tillräckligt med ljus för att livet skulle kunna uppehållas. Här fanns bär och nötter, fast de var tvungna att noga se till att de av misstag inte åt några som var giftiga, och

Today in writing class we did a 20 minute exercise, where we got to choose from a number of topics to practice writing creative nonfiction. The prompt I chose was: Isolate an outdoor space from your childhood. Write down every element you can remember in as much detail as possible. Take inventory objects in the space and of the effect on the five senses. Given I strayed quite a lot from the directions, I'd still like to share the outcome here. Wild space. It couldn't have been very big, given it was located on an Island. But as seen through my child's eye, the sand dune was huge, going on for miles in each direction. It was meant to be a family trip; my divorced parents making an effort for my brother and me. I remember it with that kind of vexed pleasure one gets from the mixed sensation of seeing something through the vague hazes of naive childhood memory, with all the current believes and emotions still attached, while at the same time filtered by and blended with

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.