Man is timid and apologetic. He is no longer upright. He dares not say, I think, I am, but quotes some saint or sage. He is ashamed before the blade of grass or the blowing rose. These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God to-day. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence. Before the leaf-bud has burst, its whole life acts; in the full-blown flower, there is no more; in the leafless root, there is no less. Its nature is satisfied, and it satisfies nature, in all moments alike. There is no time to it. But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time.

Ralph Waldo Emerson - Self-Reliance

To Fanny

I cry your mercy -pity -love! -aye, love!
Merciful love that tantalizes not,
One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
Unmasked, and being seen -without a blot!
O! let me have thee whole, -all -all -be mine!
That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest
Of love, your kiss, -those hands, those eyes divine,
That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast, -
Yourself -your soul -in pity give me all,
Withhold no atom's atom or I die,
Or living on, perhaps, your wretched thrall,
Forget, in the mist of idle misery,
Life's purposes, -the palate of my mind
Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!

John Keats

(1795-1821)

...att leva mitt liv som Olle Extraliv

Tjugodredje juli. I dag har jag tänkt mycket på vår stundt här på jorden, alltings storhet, men också litenhet. Altså alla ska ju dö en dag. Så är det ju bara.

Jag vet inte, jag försöker att tänke mig det. Ett sista djupt andetag, man fyller bröstkorgen tills den är helt sprängfylld, hjärtat kramar i en avslutande kramp, och till hjärnan strömmar det varmt blod, yrsel och värme, för att seda rinna bort. Lite i taget. Du är borta, det kanske är skönt, fan vet jag?

Jag minns en kille som hette Olle Extraliv. Han blev påkörd av en buss men överlevde. Men han ska ju också dö en dag men inte den här gången, han har ju ett liv til, Olle Extraliv. Det måste vara jävligt skönt att få en andra chans, en andra chans å leva, att leva mitt liv som Olle Extraliv.

Farväl Falkenberg

The Grumbler

Grumbling is undue censure of one’s portion.

The Grumbler is one who, when his friend has sent him a present from his table, will say to the bearer, ‘You grudged me my soup and my poor wine, or you would have asked me to dinner.’ He will annoyed with Zeus, not for not raining, but for raining too late; and, if he finds a purse on the road, ‘Ah,’ he will say, ‘but I have never found a treasure!’ When he has bought a slave cheap after much coaxing of the seller, ‘It is strange,’ he will remark, ‘if I have got a sound lot such a bargain.’ To one who brings him good news, ‘A son is born to you,’ he will reply, ‘If you add that I have lost half my property, you will speak the truth.’ When he has won a lawsuit by a unanimous verdict, he will find fault with the composer of his speech for having left out several points in his case. If a subscription has been raised for him by his friends, and someone says to him ‘Cheer up!’ — ‘Cheer up?’ he will answer; ‘when I have to refund his money to every man, and to be grateful besides, as if I had been done a service!’

Theophrastus(371-287BC): Characters

You ask me...

You ask me, my dear child, whether I am still fond of life? I admit that I think it has some acute sorrows. But I am even more repelled by death and I feel that I am so unfortunate to have to finish all this by death, and that if I could go backwards I would ask for nothing better. I find I am in the midst of an undertaking that embarresses me; I was launched upon life without my consent. I have got to leave it and that overwhelms me. And how shall I leave it? Which way? Through which door? When will it be? In what frame of mind? Shall I suffer thousands and thousands of pains and die in desperation? Shall I have a stroke? Shall I die in an accident? How shall I stad with God? What shall I have to present to Him? Will fear or nesessity bring me back to Him? Shall I have no other emotion than that of fear? What can I hope for? Am I worhty of paradise? Am I only fit for hell? What an alternative! What a puzzle! Nothing is so silly as to pin one's salvation to uncertainty, but nothing is more natural, and the stupid life I lead is the easiest thing in the world to understand. I am lost in these thoughts, and I find death so terrible that I hate life more because it leads me there than because of the thorns to be met with on the way. You will say I want to live for ever. Not at all, but if my opinion had been consulted I would have liked to die in my nurse's arms; it would have spared me many troubles and brought me to heaven quite safely and easily. But let us change the subject...

Madame de Sevigne
a letter to her daughter
on the 16th of March, 1672

Because happiness is only real if it lasts forever?

-

"Why? Why does what was beautiful suddenly shatter in hindsight because it concealed dark truths? Why does the memory of years of happy marriage turn to gall when our partner is revealed to have had a lover all those years? Because such a situation makes it impossible to be happy? But we were happy! Sometimes the memory of happiness cannot stay true because it ended unhappily. Because happiness is only real if it lasts forever? Because things always end painfully if they contained pain, conscious or unconscious, all along? But what is unconscious, unrecognized pain?"

- Berhard Schlink (The Reader)

At the moment I am reading this book called The Reader (you have probably heard the title lately or seen the movie). I have not finished it yet, but it looks promising. It's twisting, moving and a bit different. This is however not what this blog entry was supposed to be about, but something more to do with the movie itself. The award season is here, and we are soon heading for the mother of all award shows; The Annual Academy Awards. The award show itself is not as exciting as it used to be and you always got a clear idea of who is winning (yes, I know its always been this way; politics, politics, politics), still it's a tradition and this year I am heading for Trondheim to watch it with my sister to keep the tradition going. This year I am also planning to watch many of the movies nominated before the show, and since many of the movies arrive later here in Norway I got a pretty short time to finish this little project.

Movies allready seen:
"Revolutionary Road"
"The Dark Knight"

Movies to see:
"Changeling"
"Milk"
"Doubt"
"The Duchess"
"In Bruges"
"The Reader"
"Slumdog Millionaire"
"Vicky Cristina Barcelona"
"The Wrestler"
"The Curious Case of Benjamin Button"

As you can see I got a long way to go (and only a week to do it), so I will come back to you with nomination lists, and when the "big day" arrive; some fashion/show review and the winner lists.

Morning Theft

Time takes care of the wound, so I can believe.
You had so much to give, you thought I couldn't see.
Gifts for boot heels to crush, promises deceived
I had to send it away to bring us back again.
Your eyes and body brighten silent waters, deep.
Your precious daughter in the other room, asleep.
A kiss "Goodnight" from every stranger that I meet.
I had to send it away to bring us back again.
Morning theft, and pretender left, ungrateful.
True Self is what brought you here, to me.
A place where we can accept this love.
Friendship battered down by useless history,
Unexamined failure.
What am I still to you?
Some thief who stole from you?
Or some fool drama queen whose chances were few?
Love brings us to who we need, a place where we can save
A heart that beats as both siphon and reservoir.
You're a woman, I'm a calf.
You're a window, I'm a knife.
We come together making chance into starlight.
Meet me tomorrow night, or any day you want.
I have no right to wonder just how, or when.
And though the meaning fits, there's no relief in this.
I miss my beautiful friend.
I had to send it away to bring her back again.



The hardest part is to hate someone you used to love. I don't want to hate, I just want peace.
Please, do not forget me, and please do not act this way.