Category Archives: Poetry

“because my mood swings make me feel ashamed”

But on any given day, my mood hangs in a fragile balance –

give me too long out in the world during the day, and I grow tired and weary of everything that happens around me, irritable and unable to react appropriately to all the stimuli, wanting desperately to hide in a pile of leaves and hole up like the hedgehog until spring wakes me –

but give me too long at home alone, and I grow anxious, disconcerted by the prospect of going back out into the world and having to function, I grow sleepy and nested up inside myself, longing for a summer day to go out and bask in sunlight without having second thoughts –

Whenever I make the switch, good things usually happen and I can blossom again.

But it is always a fragile balance, the harmony between the social and the private, the outer and the inner, between challenge and relaxation, stimulus and stagnancy, movement and rest, the play and the calm.
But what can I do? And there are always storms.

the strangest things
and the strangest things have been happening to me, oh


To Celebrate for All to See

To celebrate for all to see –

to love openly that which makes you happy
to share with others –

to post a message without irony or distance
to show your new purchase and explain what is so good about it
to listen with genuine enthusiasm
to stand in a public place and grin widely
to laugh at a funny picture when alone –

To celebrate openly any thing little or big, because that is what my life is worth living for.

silence – new sincerity and impressions

the silence tugs at me, surprisingly, it makes me wait reactionless and motionless. in here, in my unintended here where I have made sure there is nothing much able to reach me for probably good reasons. I’ll be good, but the silence is a little distance outside time.

dry hay stings in my eyes as the fields in my mental landscape are ravaged by a neural storm
that is
the remnant of the alternate time-branch in which I managed to pick up the call
to move away
and build a new life, and I don’t understand
who I was then and how I came back to be me
but I don’t give it much thought anymore

the silence is just a step on the gentle way of picking out and forgiving me for my own humanity.

– Reports claiming consciousness to exist have exhibited severe confirmation bias –

in a natural world, everything is on its proper place from the proper perspective.

The stormy seas are not yet calm. And when the storms cease, the calm is only a temporary station on the road of time, passing to fit in another storm; this is life, and it’s ravaging and graceful

A secret life, part I

Minutes, maybe hours
of your own existence
that you have forgotten
but that I remember.
You live a secret life
in someone else’s memories.

by Tor Ulven. In: Etterlatte dikt (1996)
Translated by me


[The Norwegian Original:]

Minutter, kanskje timer
av din egen eksistens
som du har glemt
men som jeg
husker. Du lever
et hemmelig liv
i en annens minne

– Concerning the translation:

I am not entirely ultimately satisfied with it.

For one, I was unsure whether I should take “live” or “are living” – on the one hand, there simply is no “are living” in Norwegian (afaik, my main Scandinavian language is Swedish) so the original could have meant either. On the other hand, it does sound like a very current “du lever”, on the other other hand, it’s more of a general, always “du lever”, so “live” might be a better translation. I went with it.

Also, the layout – I haven’t seen the original in printed form, only on the internet. So I don’t know for sure if the unusual breaks in the lines are intended; and if they are, then I’d rather turn around the English translation a bit too to fit it. It does give the whole poem a different feeling.

The word “minne” – memory – is singular in Norwegian. Yet I thought the image that “memories” creates rather than “memory” fits the feeling here better. I see a lot of glass-painted images floating around that show short instances of one’s life, like words one has written somewhere, something one has said in a conversation, the way one unconsciously looked while daydreaming.

Whenever I translate something I hope to do it justice. Any opinions / suggestions for this one?


So this is my dear Finnish friend A. He probably has just about the cutest smile in the northern hemisphere, a very sunny open mind and a thoughtful, positive approach to the world. AWESOME!

– It’s a pencil drawing from March 2011, made during the weeks I spent alone up in my attic flat working on a gigantic paper about the ethical function of the old-Icelandic Hrólfs saga kraka as fornaldarsaga (literally “tale of times past”) against the background of medieval European ideals of ethical education in literary texts. Yeah, killer title.

Actually, it’s probably the coolest thing I’ve done in my university careeer so far, despite the countless hours of work it made me spend in social isolation with my computer. =3 (The paper that is. Hihi)

“And in every beginning there is something magical which protects us and helps us to live.”

Sunny Sunday afternoons
are another world
of wind and birds
and blues

So, this is my blog. Hello reader, magnificent to meet you in here of all places!
Not quite sure exactly what I’mma do with this, I’ll just roll along with my moods and ideas.

I reckon I will mainly be posting my own photos, some creative things, interesting links and share a story or poem or two. Also, memories. : )