They say... Everyhting has already been said.

Same themes of love, friendship, war, betrayal, misfortune..

Nothing new under the sun

Why keep writing .... why do we regurgitate.

Because our feelings, our ideas are not monoliths, they are lively mesh of archaic origin

In essence they can never be fully translated into any man made language.

be it music or any form of storytelling.

Its all an attempt of represtation, an apporximation of something that is ungraspable

But when we capture its essence we feel exilirated

 In reallity we are not alone.

and fleeting. 

Interconnected by this worldy experience

that we have solid proof we are alle one and the same.

I just cant listen to music. Its too densly, compacted with feelings.

Directly injecten in my bloodstream through my ears.

People think Im weird that I dont listen to music but It should be the other way round.

How can you just click on play and let an outside source completly change your mood and your thoughs.

It should be illegal to play with emotions so instantly.

Maybe I am doing it wrong?

Maybe I have had my guard up too long that I mistrust anything that tries to get to my core without being vetted first.

Maybe I feel too much and I am too aware how fragile the heart is.

Especially one that is full of cracks and crevices.

Its not that I dont like music its that I dont want old wounds to get irritated.

But maybe its the only way to mend the cracks. By overflowing them with emotions so that new narratives can strengthen the whole.

For now, I will keep thinking on this. Maybe Im onto something.

Get the world on their knee

Otherwise it will get yours

Trying something new

I dony like thid idea

new one

The new year as a clean slate. New chance to try again.Change tings that you know need changing.

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Change tings that you know need changing.

Lose Weight

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A friendly gesture.

A smile to celebrate the joy of coming across of a familiar face.

The city is overflowing with unknowns.

You manouver in a maze constructed with bricks, concrete,steel, glass and most importantly with desire.

Fierce desires which you will never know the nature of.

But you are not new to the city and the many unknowns have been deamed safe.

Then again, deep down you know this just might be a willfull slumber.

The city in reality has no face.

A friendly shoulder pad is all it takes to know that when the times comes to ubrupty awaken from the slumber

you will not walk alone in the maze.

After a much needed escape for a week at my parents farm I feel the anxiety creaping back into my limps as I near my appartment blok. 

I'd die for your lips

My love knows no bonds

My love knows no bonds

The cilmatic moment when the lips touch is when the audience for a moment detaches from place and time

The cilmatic moment when the lips touch is when the audience for a moment detaches from place and time

Death creeps ever closer when you get older.

Its no longer a concept to be dealt later.

Later is not an endless horizon anymore.

Now and then you take a peak at the horizon to see if there is an apparation of land.... the end of your journey. 

On accasion it happens that you think you see something and your heart drops in your shoes. 

A microsecond later your eyes adjust... you find out its your enxieties playing tricks on you.. creating mirages of your deepest fears.

you anknowledge death has creeped nearer once again.

Your heart rate slowly stabilizes and even though you are safe .... for now

Sitting on the long table I saw you the first time. It was a busy day, full of people. Still all I could see is you. It seemed like a spotlight was shining on you.

You seemed surrounded by carbon copies of people. The only real thing in the room

Your face was pale bright and full of life. The contour of your face I only imagine a muse to have.

Smiling, piercing eyes that warm forgotten places in my heart

I see your lips part and I know the sound of your voice will make me forget where I am

Every gesture is feather light and hypnotising. Mesmerized by your presence I feel light in my head.

He is not me...

but I still feel we shared a lifetime together of which I am greatful.