You got a face with a view.

Apart from the sun and the moon, those star-crossed lovers reigning over each of their domains, the brightest object on the sky these weeks is Mars, the red planet of dust and dreams, hanging low on the southern night sky of the Northern hemisphere. If our eyes could see far enough, we could see rovers working tirelessly as the only agent lifeform on the surface. If our eyes could see far enough, we could see aching hearts in real time.

The heatwave continues on. Sweden’s forests are on fire. There’s red in every direction, even painted on the underbelly of the clouds above as the daylight fades to the horizon.

I battled with nature on equal footing today, swimming in the open ocean where the modern human is as vulnerable as it’s always been. Only arms and legs to propel, only eyes to see, with the big blue hiding enough wonder to inspire monsters and continents for the ones who dare exploring far from shore.

I keep looking for branches to lead me to you, as if I’m a shadowtail, able to travel between the four worlds and reach your harbor in the blink of an eye. But my hands can only feel the unbending fabric of the world in view when I place my palms against it.

I hear you in songs and I read you in books. And I admit I’ve become infatuated with all that you are, both real and myth and the parts I can only describe as magic. I tried to learn your tricks, uncover your secrets, but they only left me twice as tied to you as I was before.

I’m just an animal looking for a home. If someone asks, this is where I’ll be.


Blues are just watercolours.

Green fields yellowing in the drought, yellow fields whitening. Private swimmingpool unused in the outskirts of the road, lying as the fatamorgana of a dormant oasis in the middle of the desert, not yet active for the taking, not quite there yet. But close. So close. See it for only a stretch of time, ten metres at 26 km/h. A fleeting glimpse of the most immediate cure for this unbearable heat beating down on my back. And then it’s gone. And then it might as well have been a dream or any other kind of make-believe. And I might just as well have been lifting you in that water, holding you by your waist and letting you drop softly down against me. It’s the magic of the human mind that every wild idea can assume a convincing shape. Sometimes what’s real and what’s imagined gets twisted in my head and so I just have to award reality to it all. Everything happens, in some way or other. Everything can be felt, even the things that don’t happen. Especially the things that don’t happen. I think my most constant feeling is of the minutes we’re not spending together. They dig into my skin, unnoticed at first, just slowly gathering as events that might have been, then twisting as a knife, drawing my blood from within this beating heart that’s been following your rhythm since our first mutual beat. And it feels as if there’s no cure, as if these darkest moments will become the new normal. But then the world opens when I’m on my bike, traversing the landscape through these newly formed deserts and their brick and mortar oases. My head clears like the sky, and I come back to why I keep coming back to you, to all the positives of you that far outweigh this clouded mind that sometimes seems like the only weather forecast worth studying. I come back to realise that blues are just watercolours, and when applying them to the world they will be spread transparently thin. If we open our eyes, the warm colours still shine through. And I open my arms, smilingly expecting you.


Haley Heyndrickx played an amazing set, just as I had hoped for, on the best stage of the festival, at the slot my buddy and I have come to know as the Julia Holter slot. Early morning in the middle of the festival, in the cool shade of Gloria, which quickly turns into a heated area as the songs progress, suitable for the most intensely introspective experiences of music. She captivated the room, making people stand on their toes for the last spoken lines of her songs, falling hand-clenching to the floor on their flat feet once the guitar rung out. Young lovers kissing in the corners and kissing right in front of the stage. The age presidents of the festival shedding a tear over the continuous talent that keeps forming in front of their eyes year after year at this very stage. But of course, this year, me at home instead of in front of that stage.

There’s always the post-Roskilde blues, the days after the festival when you get back home to the normal life, typically less hectic than usual in the summer break season. Rarely there are any plans set in stone for the week after Roskilde, other than getting back on your feet, literally and figuratively, and assessing in which ways your life changed this year. It’s been so long since I wasn’t at the Roskilde Festival, 2011, that I had forgotten the post-Roskilde blues hit just as hard for the ones who didn’t go but wanted to.

It seems my plans come crumbling down this month.

Is this what it means to be an adult? That the real world hits you. I don’t want to be an adult. I never did. I don’t think I ever will. I fiercely dislike responsibility, plans, structure, money. I wasn’t made for the adult world. I was hardly made for the young adult world.

And what sucks is that I know I can tune myself into it. I can put on a mask and pretend to be an adult, and I will be accepted as such. And I will land the job of my dreams. And I will be comfortably affluent. I can do that. I can use my acting skills to make those things come true. And lots of people will be proud of me. But they’ll proud of me for reasons I despise. And I’ll despise myself and the mask I’m wearing.

I’ve only ever wanted love. Now I’ve found it, but apparently I can’t have it. Circumstances. I feel like circumstances are a big part of the adult world. The way I see it though, circumstances are the least adult thing in the world. “Circumstances” is the lack of resilience to find a solution to a problem. Circumstances is the bad excuse for lack of will or lack of want.

It was because of circumstances I didn’t attend Roskilde this year. And I’m regretting my foolishness, knowing I’ve missed out on an experience I would have kept with me for the rest of my life, regardless of whatever tiny problems it might have caused for my other adult plans.

It’ll be because of circumstances if you don’t let me visit your part of the world before summer is over. And we’ll be regretting that foolishness. We’ll miss out on an experience to keep with us for the rest of our lives, only risking the most minor of issues along the way.

If I ever said a prayer, it was for you to change your mind and be less adult, and instead be more wanting.

If I ever said a prayer, it was for us.

Dance with me.

The sky looked like the cover of Innerspeaker, the clouds in formation as if the same picture had been echoed all through the Northern Hemisphere, stopping and beginning anew indefinitely. I don’t know what that phenomenon is called, though I’m fond of meteorological phenomena. I remember looking at the clouds in my childhood. I could never quite make them out to be animals or solid shapes the way other kids could. In the same way I’ve never been able to decipher the constellations of the night sky however much I’m otherwise able to lose myself in that sight. I rarely mix my vision with my imagination, as if the true sight hinders my creativity. It’s when I close my eyes that my mind runs to our future, feeling your hand in mine as we walk through life, seeing behind my closed eyelids our kids growing up. When I open my eyes, all I can see is you, in the present, with your dark eyes in front of mine. And I’m unable to imagine, unable to be afraid. All I can think about is how my heart beats faster when you’re near it. Closing my eyes again, I can feel that it’s been much too long now since my heart has been beating at that pace. Our days are like that sky today, they’re echoes of each other. An echo we started a year ago, and keep nurturing, because it keeps us close to that feeling of opening our eyes to become released from the unrealness of the imagination, and instead finding the other set of eyes only centimeters away.

Daylight won’t stop the flashing lights
Feels like a thousand years have gone by without you
I miss someone like you
I want to tell you secret things
But my lips won’t say anything that makes sense

I want to run to you
But my legs won’t respond
I want to know exactly what you are
If you’ll come dance with me
I think you will like my moves
If you’ll get next to me
I will have nothing left to prove

Here I am, there you are
Just inches away
But still too far

Look in my eyes
You see the reflection of you
In me, on me, my eyes
I have nothing left to prove

I want to run to you
But my legs won’t respond
I want to know exactly what you are
If you’ll come dance with me
I think you will like my moves
If you’ll get next to me
I will have nothing left to prove

Here I am, there you are
There’s nothing left between us
So dance with me
Dance with me

(Bear in Heaven: “Reflection of You”, I Love You, It’s Cool)

A pinprick in a day.

I’m trying to change. I’m trying to change you, world. I saw judgmental looks thrown in a cube of mirrors. I was bit by a bug on the back of my knee, avenging the ones that suffered at the tips of my fingers. I’d say sorry if I was sorry. But mostly I’m just melancholic. What do you say to that? I’m listening to our music. Wondering if it’ll still be our music next time around. I’d be crazy not to follow/Follow where you lead/Your eyes, they turn me/Turn me into phantoms/I follow to the edge of the Earth and fall off. You’re all I need.

We’ve already passed the longest day of the year on this little northern speck of dirt. I don’t recall the moment when days were no longer seen as slow passing minutes but quick passing hours. What I do recall is the make-believe where new worlds could form into existence just by turning a sandy stone on the beach. Where the future was never so much set in that stone as emanating from it. I don’t think I recall the make-believe because of what it was, but because I still do it, spending more time dreaming of the world than living in it.

The cacti in my windowsill are alive and breathing, and I make sure to water them once in a while. They’re like the friendship that is sustained through a drought of communication as long as you feed it every now and then. I guess they remind me that the world is tangible, for they never appear in my dreams or in my make-believe, those clouded things absent of tangibility. They are real world artifacts, and real world tell-tales. Their roots keeps me grounded.

I have made plans. For the longest time I only planned to make plans, but that seems to be changing. A lot of things seem to be changing, though it’s always difficult to judge from the inside, as if I’ve successfully made it to the neighboring town, but on a map of the galaxy. But I have an app that tells me that gains matter however small they might be. And so I push forward, even as I undoubtedly test the limits of that promise. But I mean, hey, that’s what philosophers do, right?

Expedition H.

They were sitting together in silence as the birds came to eavesdrop, tweeting up the windless evening to act as if nothing was amiss, to act as if the geomagnetic storms weren’t a sign of the immediate downfall of life on Earth. The tree hard against their backs, the grass soft underneath their feet, with the plain fields stretching out forever these nights. The sky had been lit up by the aurorae ever since they came through, stepping into their new time field, their new lives.

“We still haven’t found anything resembling human life.” She said it as much to herself as to him, looking down at her shoes lying untied and tumbled over next to her bare feet. “No cities, no buildings. Goddamnit, not even a fricking bench to sit on. We might as well be walking on a different planet. I mean…” she knew the hurt she inspired by saying that, and retracted it as soon as it left her mouth, “I know the Time Field Traveler worked, I mean, I know it works. But don’t you think it’s eerie? All this open landscape. All these hills and valleys, rivers, fields. Everything looks exactly like I recall, just with the word “human” scratched out, and all signs of us obliterated.”

He looked at her face from her right-side profile. Even if “human” had been scratched out, he thought, her face was still carving its way through the landscape, etching itself onto whatever memories he’d be having of this place. He looked away as she turned her head, casting a glimpse back on the aurora. It was a sensitive thing, looking at the other person here, now, like this. In such a vacated world with no chance of finding a mirror, you never really knew how you yourself appeared. And every look could be taken the wrong way. It was, he realized, very much a leftover feeling of insecurity from a world where your looks were always up to you to correct and maintain.

Feeling his way through his bag, he pulled out a green apple. Now all that was up to you to maintain seemed to be the lingering hunger. Taking a bite, he offered her the apple. “Even if there’s no trace of human activity here, we can’t be sure there are no humans. I mean, I know we’ve searched a great deal, but still, on the scale of the Earth, we’ve hardly scratched the surface.” His fingers unconsciously digging through the dirt as he said this. “We have to keep an open mindset, stay positive, believe that we’ll find the breakthrough around the next corner.”

“The breakthrough? Stay positive?” she looked at him with mock defeatism on her face, “look, I’m sorry if I’m not overly positive all the time, but I have to admit I’m starting to lose sight of the purpose of our expedition. Are we here to search for humans? Are we here to explore a world without them? And it’s hard to stay positive when we’ve just left everything behind, and getting farther and farther away from the Time Field Traveler with each day’s work. Who knows how long my husband will have to wait before I get back from this land of the past? I’m sorry, but it’s just not quite the mission I expected it to be…” she sighed, picking up her shoe only to throw it away, trying to find some way, any way, to let out a scrap of her anger.

“Do you think we overshot the landing?” she asked him. “Like, maybe we’ve gone further back than Y2K? To a less populated era? And so we’ve just hit on a piece of land that’s not yet in use for human purposes?” Her face expectant, hoping for a positive answer, or any answer, really, that could see them aborting the mission and return home safely.

“Maybe.. yeah, that might be,” his eyes trying to stay on her’s as he answered. Seeing her face calming with the vague reassurance, he felt worse than ever.

Or maybe we’ve gone further ahead, he thought, and this is what the future holds for us: plain fields and the humans erased by mother nature. Looking over his shoulder he could still see the mountain by which the Time Field Traveler stood waiting. Looking over his shoulder he knew they wouldn’t get it to work again.


Blue midnight train ride, just for the sake of the line. You ask me where I’ve come from, I ask you where you’re going. The concession stand is empty, it’s been dried out three years. But we still keep on checking it, abandoning our abandoned hope. The world is waking up, sun rising beneath the bridge. It’s dark yellow and crimson, until our windows are under water. My eyes are closed by now. I always sink into myself as we sink down. Trying to remember the last time something happened that I didn’t expect.

Blue midnight train ride, and all the hours that follow. Not a soul on this cart, with all the seats taken. The only ghost I truly know is still standing at the station. Have I gone mad, talking to strangers, when the only stranger here is me? Guessing where everyone is going based on their ticket fee. Looking for signs in this anonymous crowd, one going East, one going South. If life were just a compass, my arrow would finally stop spinning. The only ghost I truly know is still haunting my vacation.