Are you mine, my heart.

More than just a face amongst faces, I’ve come to know this face, and I’ve come to miss your precious heart. Dug deep into the sand, there’s no water for a hungry soul. As the sun sets I cannot keep the night from coming. And I turn my back away. Leaving the horizon to celebrate itself until it loses sight of its boundaries. And I miss your precious heart. Flowers in your hair tied to imagined memories, bells ringing in my ear. Bells ringing forever more. I miss this previous heart, until only there was mine. In trains going in the same direction. In trains going nowhere near. Clutch the broken edges of the picture. All fades. All erodes. Slowly. Clutch a notebook of reminiscences. And I miss your precious heart. It may be madness, but our souls won’t separate. Chained, we’re chained again. We put our hands forward, and we’re chained again. Blind in the future with the comforting weight of each other. You brought me a harp I couldn’t play. I bought you a house, but you couldn’t stay. Inhaling the love you lent me. Restless things on opposite sides. The dusk has a tendency to light little fires. The dawn comes consoling each morning. Mending our wounds with the dew. The sun rises, but the night isn’t over. The night is never over. And I miss your precious heart.


Meditation #1.

I look around and I see nothing. My eyes have forgotten their old friendship with the night, and its darkness has become impenetrable to sight. I wonder if that’s how you’ve disarmed me. Unable to see what lies hidden in your darkness, I can only read you from your best sides, always shining in the morning sun. So I shut my critical eye and believe even your impossible face to be real. And I shut my critical mind and believe even broken hearts can heal. And I feel. I close my eyes and feel the night lift me and envelop me in its hidden hands until I’m once more just a part of it all, and I don’t have to see you to know that you’re here. I just have to feel. I just have to believe in make-believe. 

Well, it’s night.

Tracing the paths I see
down your back
through the marks and holes
the memories
staring back into our souls

My touch light
fingers barely touching
as the light is fading
evening takes us in
memories worth trading

Slowly transcending
body and mind
the stillness long gone
we’re really here
your humming resembling song

I can make you smile.

Disappearing invisibility.

Come on, stupid. We’re walking! We have to get out of here. You know as well as I that things start happening once we cross the lights. We just have to get there, and we absolutely have to get moving now to get there. All those dreams you’ve been talking about all night, look – I really like them. I really like it when you share those things with me. It makes me feel like we’re one person. I really want us to be that, you know? I want you to be me, and me to be you. But for now, stop talking. Start running. We’re already far too late, and it’s only getting worse by the minute. No, the party can’t start without us: we ARE the party. You know that. Without us, there is no party. But the party can’t start here.

There are few things as pretty as walking through a city just before dawn. When all the streetlights are on, when everything is so quiet, the water so still, and it’s just me and the road ahead. It didn’t matter much that I didn’t have any music with me this morning when I came home. I was too tired for music anyway. The quietness only added to the experience of being all alone in the world. Just me and the thoughts of people I was with a few hours earlier. I love having my cellphone around for times like those. Not to call anyone, but to take pictures of the lights. I really love lights in pictures. And sending them to you.

It’s amazing how quickly your main-group of friends can change. I don’t know if that says more about me or the world. Maybe both, but I have never had a problem with changing friends. Over the last 5 years, I’ve had 5 separate main-groups of friends, and some of my best friends on the side, not in any group. I move on quite easily when going from one group to the next. The hard times are when I’m in-between groups. When I’ve finished an education and people have moved while I’ve stayed in the same place. But that’s where the importance of those great friends outside of the groups comes in. And those friends are the hardest to lose, I’ve learnt. I miss you every day, but it’s your call.

We’re invisible! But not for much longer, so hurry, we’re almost there. Just pretend you’re on something that makes you go, go, go. I’ll let you have some of me. Here; feel better? Feel stronger? We can do this! Just follow the lights to the lights! Just follow me, and let me follow you, and us follow each other! The world NEEDS us! If our invisibility doesn’t do it, nothing will! Stop that nonsense, we ARE invisible, don’t you know that? Can you see my soul? See.

I wish you’d answer more often, but sometimes I guess you wish that about me as well. It’s just that now we’ve come to a more ‘real’ phase in this back-and-forth questioning. It’s no longer so hypothetical, so common. It’s more about you and me; it’s more about greeting you and meeting me, and vice versa.

My guitar is looking at me sadly these days. I really don’t play enough. This self-teaching thing was easier when my friend was still living nearby. Being able to record with him and play on his electric guitar made me focus on getting better. I wanted to show him something new every time. Now that factor is gone and I only get to record with him very seldom, it’s hard to get myself to pick up that sad guitar, what with philosophy, other literature, music and movies to compete with. Playing an instrument where I’m pretty stuck at the moment doesn’t seem to win very often. It might just be time for me to learn a few new things on the web, just to get past this halt. Yeah. I think I’ll do that later tonight.

Isn’t it a pity? I would love it if we could be invisible to anyone but each other. But it seems there’s no way around it. Invisibility is disappearing to everyone. Well, we can just wait, of course. At some point you’ll notice my invisibility disappearing, and I’ll see yours just the same. Yes, that’s when we’ll be able to get to where we’ve wanted to go all evening. That’s why we have to make it. It’s for our eyes only, right? You for me, I for you. Our souls are too dark for this lit-up city to see.

This is a bit embarrassing: as of this moment, I’m listening to M83’s Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming for the very first time, even though my most trusted music-friend hyped it all over me back when it was released. One of the few things I never really gave a chance. Hopefully because I was too caught up in something else at the time (it might have been Chromatics, in which case it’s totally defendable). But this is really extremely good. Just wrote him. Telling him of my sudden idea of listening to them, which came from my coolest friend who’s currently in California saving all kinds of nature. Let me use this time to praise the internet: I can talk to her everyday, I can listen to Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming as soon as she has posted an M83 track on our music blog, I can stream movies legally, I can get news on subjects that interest me through twitter, I can keep a ‘diary’ right here that doesn’t take up any space. So many great things have come from the internet. Hear Hear, I sing thy praise!

Today I got confirmation that my order on a bunch of used books had been shipped. I can’t wait to get them, hopefully during my days off so I’m here to take them when the mailman comes. There’s a bunch of Kerouac in there, and some Hunter S. Thompson and other great books. I feel like it was about time I started buying used books. Actually, I should have begun doing it ages ago, ever since I learned of the possibility. I would probably have done it sooner, if only Danish vintage stores sold English/American books. They only sell books in Danish. If you do happen to find an English one, it’s either Harry Potter or Shakespeare, which is cool, but I need more than that. So, another hooray for the internet. I don’t know when I will get time to read them, though. Or, just in-between my philosophy literature, I suppose. Still haven’t started reading those big Fitzgerald and Dickens collected work books I bought about a month ago. I guess I just really like to make sure I have something to read once I get the time to read it.

We’re here! We’re here! Look, we made it! Wow… look at this place. I don’t think anyone has been here for years. It’s even scarier than I remembered it. Stay close. How can anything come from here? I know they say that from the bad rises the good, but this seems too dark a place for anything good to come from. I don’t like this. I don’t like this one bit. We should never have come here. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see this. I didn’t think it would look like this. I didn’t… why did you do that? Why did you… but?

I’ve always had a hard time finding out how I write best. You know; what environment; what light-setting; computer or paper; quiet or music; day or night; sober or drunk; before or after I’ve watched a movie; before or after I’ve read a book. I think it’s come down to the happy fact that I can write in any condition. It’s just a matter of setting my mind to it. If my mind’s not in it, there’s no reason for me to be writing anything at all. I just need to get better at setting my mind to it. Just as I need to be better at setting my mind to anything. Too often I just drift off into daydreams I don’t even remember for later usage in my writings. That’s just waste. Though, of course, those insane daydreams might be what keeps me sane at the end of the day.

Naturally, after my last blog post, I haven’t had those great crazy dreams. And I’ve found a cure for my ear (ear drops, yeah!). But I still find myself focussed as ever. Hopefully this means that I’ve just learned to set my mind to this. Last night I told my new group of friends about my interest in writing, and – which seems more personal – about my interest for poetry and my wanting to become a published poet. They were really awesome about it. We found out that most of us actually wanted to do some kind of ‘creative’ thing, and most of us saw philosophy as a means to either find out what we wanted, or to inspire us in our daily hunt for that creative shot. I think I’ve found the right group. Again.

I never thought anyone would kiss my soul.

I was afraid I guess, enjoy again.

If nothing could ever come between us, why did we run? If our dreams were the dreams made from reality’s kind eye, why did we abandon them mid-stream? If you wanted me near, why aren’t you here?

Tonight is just another night like all other nights. Stars, moon, music and loneliness. Too hot to sleep, too many thoughts as well. I pride myself on not feeling lonely, but I do, sometimes. I guess it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone feels lonely from time to time, I guess. It’s mostly at times when I finally do something to get company, and don’t get it. That’s when I realize I’m not the center of any other World than my own, which is probably a good thing to be reminded of every now and then.

Shadows seem longer these days. Is the Sun lower in the sky, or have I just grown taller? Is the Earth still spinning around? Am I even awake? These dreams I’ve been having about you, these epic dreams of want and flight, what do they mean? Do they mean anything? Do we mean anything? Can we rescue the World?

There’s a stillness to summer nights that I really like. When people finally go to sleep, they do so with a carefulness not to leave any sounds lingering in the dark. Just the peace and quiet that summer nights always deserved.

Se her denne kærlige
mand denne dreng
kan gå langt kan gå
til verdens ende og
tilbage igen uden
stop eller træthedstegn
på sit solfjæs under
kaskettens skygge
for hvad der i sandhed
gemmer sig i øjnene
fortæller alt røber
intet du ikke må se
høre i hans sang den
endnu ufærdige af
den slags der aldrig
bliver færdig om lidt
efter lidt mere mod
Mælkevejens centrum
lurende lokkende og
dræbende naturligvis
ligesom samfundet
synes at ønske det
bort set fra siden
er der ikke meget der
hænger sammen med
den jeg vil være
sammen med det jeg
vil være fri for i disse
dage af tomhed og
tungsind malet på
ansigtet og kroppen
der drager mig med
mine forbehold skudt
i sænk under overfladen
ikke hvad den ser ud
på mig med sine gule
øjne af ost og huller
som en evig udfordring
ligemeget din iver eller
dygtighed i livet og dets
åndsfæller bringer mig
tilbage til dig og dine
utilgivelige handlinger
jeg ikke bør hænge mig
i men finde min egen lykke

I guess it’s just time to enjoy again.