The Art of Not Moving.

Today I thought I would finally get around to writing this blog post, number 100. I don’t know why it has been so difficult to get started on it. Maybe I have thought I would have to reflect a great deal on my life from when I started this blog to today. I guess I will do that, but I’m not going to keep myself tied down to reflecting just for the sake of it. There are other things I need to write about.

It seems as if spring has really come round now. It has a weird effect on me: In the morning I’m full of energy, and I have a sense of invincibility to everything I encounter through those first hours of the day. I allow myself to think that the Sun appearing will bring everything with it: love, adventure, joy. I’m convinced there is going to be some kind of revolution all over the World as well as in my own little life just because the weather turns some shade of tropical – or so it seems after months of winter. I jump around, go outside only in my t-shirt, become talkative with people I haven’t dared talk to all through winter and fall. I just expect everything to come my way – things move ahead in the spring, right?

In a matter of hours I realize that it isn’t necessarily so. I actually become reflective automatically this time of year. I see things aren’t moving ahead; at best they’re standing still, at worst they’re going backwards. I start to feel as if some great trick is being played on me. Where did all these expectations come from? They can’t have come to me from springtime in earlier years that have been no more exciting for me. No, they must have come from outside. All life people (at least in the western world) are raised to believe love comes round in spring. Why do we try to make collective misconceptions? Sure, I can feel my heart racing these days, but my heart is always racing. I’m always falling in love.

I’m probably just sad because my Winter Love is no more. I got the poem she wrote for me, and after that she has been silent. She didn’t even answer when I told her I really liked the poem. I know things had been gradually cooling off because our time had been stolen by exams and winter. But this last bit has just happened so suddenly. It has really left me wondering: why? what? how? I just don’t get it. Maybe I will find out, maybe I won’t. At least it has, as these things do, left me with an appetite for writing.

I have set myself a task: write a poem every time I take the bus home from the university. There’s just something about being captured in a bus seat, driving on the highway for 40 minutes with the Sun slowly starting to set. It’s a really good working environment. I’m normally not much for writing in crowded places, but it’s easy to just pack myself up in my seat and write out little nothings or great tales with the view and my spring-mind as inspiration. There’s some good stuff in-between. I hope to fill up my little notebook with poems just from those trips. It would be nice to have a “concept book” like that. I always find it soothing when I read some of my stuff and recall where I was at the time, and what my thoughts were. It’s nice to feel at one with your past self once in a while.

Wow, the last song on St Vincent’s new album is amazing. Very David Bowie.

Luckily I have the ability to change my mood real easy. Maybe it’s just because I haven’t heard music all day. Now I do everything seems to be better again. My ears are a bit infected again, so I’m trying to spare them from headphones while I treat them. I need to have them ready for the Savages concert in March. Really looking forward to that. Hoping Rikke wants to come. Finally got around to dealing with that. I didn’t admit to her that yes, I have been confused. I have wanted her. I have been on the verge of throwing out all good reason because I was caught in a web of old feelings coming back. They died down as soon as she asked me if the signals she had received were correct. I’m back to sane! So, yes, I told her a white lie. Not often I do that, but in this case I really felt it was worth it to do so, and only good things have come from it so far.

Then there is You. You came into my life for… what, a day? Maybe more like two or three hours, actually. It was very strange, yet so natural. I guess a sudden conversation with someone you’ve talked with non-stop for 5 years will always seem more or less natural. I’m still waiting for your letter.

I think basketball is back on tomorrow. I will have to skip a class in order to make it there in time. Still mulling that one over. Afterall, it’s a class I really don’t feel as if I get anything out of compared to just reading. So I think I will skip it and go play some spring basketball! Been longing for that to get back on my schedule. Excercise is always more fun when it’s a game, and I love the people there. Plus the girl with the warmest eyes in the World, as I wrote about a few weeks ago, is going to be there. God, look at me: thinking about impossible love again. I think I will begin to give myself a mental slap whenever I catch my mind producing those kinds of thoughts about situations I know won’t come true. They don’t help me any. Those aren’t the situations that give me material to write about; they just bring me up and down and up and down, without ever really giving me anything sustaining. They’re like white bread. They seem fulfilling for half an hour, but really they’re empty.

So, to conclude with a bit of reflection: I’m just about where I was 5 years ago. I still have trouble trying to control my mind – trying to stop dreaming and start doing. I’m still writing poetry. I, apparently, have still got You in my life, which I’m glad I have. I think the greatest difference is that I’m generally more happy now, than I was back then. I’m in a really good place now. And I’m listening to quite different music now than I did back then, when everything was Sigur Rós, Grizzly Bear and Animal Collective. These days everything is Slowdive and jazz.

Take five.


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