The trees

The thought that the trees in front of my house, my trees, with their rustling, dancing leaves, could one day be gone from this place nearly breaks my heart.
They are breathing here, now, at this very precise moment, swaying in the wind under the sun, and that is so perfect so; and why do these things ever have to change?

Pseudo-philosophy I & Courage I

Pseudo-philosophical question of the day: Why is black tea called black when it’s in fact brown?


Courage: Give it a try and reach out, what could possibly go wrong? In the best case, you got yourself some cherries; in the worst case, you made some people laugh.

You’re gonna spread happiness either way!

(Slightly idealized for dramatic purposes)

Love, love – II

“Love is what makes sex more than masturbation. If there is no love even if you are really with a partner you masturbate with a partner.”

Slavoj Žižek, Interview in HARDtalk, BBC World Service, 12th January 2010

“Afterward, we watch the night sky, still half naked. His chest hair is soft in the dark and I rest my head on him. The dirt and twigs are digging into the skin of my hip. My pants are still around my ankles. This is so quiet and would be such a perfect time to say, “I love you.” But you can’t say something like that just because the moment is right. It’s too seductive, having the moment be perfect. I would worry that I said it just because it seemed like the right time. The stars keep falling.”

Joey Comeau, “We All Got It Coming” (2010)

A secret life, part II

Inger and Kjartan and me were sitting on a little hill and drinking some beer. We, like, know who every one of us is, but we cannot know if we know each other for sure, said Inger. I didn’t know what I should answer to that, I think it’s uncomfortable when people say such things and I wish they wouldn’t. Kjartan suddenly remembered something he should have done that he had forgotten, it was important, he had to go. I remained sitting alone with Inger, in fear and silence. The sun hung low, it only just hid behind a cloud, but you could well see that it was there. That is what is so fascinating, said Inger.

From: “Du kan ikke svikte din beste venn og bli god til å synge samtidig” by Kim Hiorthøy. Translated by me.

Dreamy-eyed and blessed with luck (and butterflies)

Marvellous. I am one lucky kid.

Yesterday, I spent some two hours sitting outside on the meadow in front of the house, fixing my bike, preparing for my oral Bachelor examination (which is tomorrow – I am slightly nervous) and waiting for C . At some point, I became aware of a pretty butterfly making its rounds and flying really close to me a few times. Then it decided to sit down on my shoe – making me lean back sloooowly and caaarefully to try and get a hold of my camera without scaring it away. I succeeded!

Later, it turned out there were actually two butterflies and they were making love or wanted to at least, chasing each other through the air in circles, soaring higher and higher with each new round.

In the course of the following hour or so, one of them recurringly returned to me. At some times, rocketing towards me at high speed and steering clear of me in the last moment – at other times, actually resting on me for some seconds. What an exhilarating feeling to be appreciated by such a pretty thing.

It took a few hundred shots (or so it feels), but finally, I managed to catch both of us on a single photo. The result can be seen in the About-section. Hooray! o/


Today, C. said that he associates me with soap bubbles and butterflies. They are necessarily connected with me. Such a SOSOSOSO awesome thing to be told!

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?

A small entry dedicated to love (I) and the summer

Love me as the winter comes
Don’t cast your shadow on my soul, please don’t
Don’t let me sink, don’t let the darkness in
Let your perfect fingers touch my skin

Love me as the springtime comes
Let your song drip down the stairs to me
Waiting here along the way to blue
Remembering the days I spent with you

Blackfield – Summer

– I have a feeling that this deliciously mawkish, brightly melancholic song is melting right into my memories of this rainy summer. The boy I like and basically am just getting to know more closely RIGHT NOW will move away at the end of summer. Gah.

But an end has a start. Warmth and love!

“Everything’s weird and we’re always in danger”

There’s a radiant darkness upon us
But I don’t want you to worry
I was careful, but nothing is harmless
Baby, you better hurry

You were a kindness when I was a stranger
But I wouldn’t ask for what I didn’t need
Everything’s weird and we’re always in danger
Why would you shatter somebody like me?

It doesn’t work that way
Wanting not to want you won’t make it so
It doesn’t work that way
Don’t leave me here alone

The National – You were a Kindness