now here we go again

"Jeg sitter ned på berget og ser ut over havet. En sommer da i ferien min..."

I'm sitting in a chair looking out at the trees that surrounds my house. But it is a summer day, warm as an be. And it is holiday. I love those Postgirobygget songs which plays over the radio very summer in Norway. They have managed to capture the mood in such way that one can never grow tired of it. My brother came home round noon after celebrating a buddy yesterday. He woke me and made buffelowings^^ nam foooz i goot. life is good^^ now if i could just have a workout wit out a toe that says "you think you can run? Thik again chumb!" that would be great. has it is I cannot. But i thik i'm gonna go out in the sun, perhaps get pink ad draw a little something^^

Hm

Hm^^ there is a beautiful morning her in the old country. I am enjoying the sight with a cup tea with some honey added to help my voice. I am eating breakfast, though I can't really call it that as I haven't slept much. And I just got home:B

Looking out the window I feel like nothing can be worth worrying about; that life is truly idyllic. However, there is this worryvort that I tend to be, and I am scared and concerned for a friend, who may have difficult times ahead. I hope he can be helped and that the worrying is for nought, but some procausions will be faced for this poor friend. I just hope it will not be severe. Spear a thought for him please.

Now I suggest you wake up, make breakfast, and warm yourselves some water and make yourselves some tea. take this and enjoy the morning sun^^ i know I will.

What?!

I have this rhyme in my head that I cannot place. It began with a soft melody I heard in my minds ear. Then the word:

"I never thought I was a delicate soul"

It seemed more like a confession then an actual lyric, but it fits so neatly to the cords playing in my head. It seems like something worth remembering. It gives me the feeling of connection, an embodiment of rescue, of life, of belonging. The kind of belonging that is with out physical form. Something that manifest itself in the realm of the mythological window. Pluss followed by the words below, flowing on bird calls:

"I can sketch and draw from the faces that I see. Blessed with some divine power, given to me. Capturing the creatures and their beauty..."

There it stops. But it gotta be from some song or something I have heard. Or perhaps it is my heart making up rhymes again. This is strange, but no stranger then the lives we lead. Life is a mystery we unravel as the day turns.

I often wondered it there was more to life that what fits neatly in with the rules of physic. what Lies beyond the light? As beyond the speed of light, the Newtonian realm does not apply. Is this where magic is sought, where the greatest of powers are evoked?

I can tell lies, but I can also tell truths

Not everyone can read, but all those who can hear, see, articulate or something, can appreciate a good story. We all love tales, but some tales require more than to listen. Some tales require a set mode, like a ghost story needs the campfire and the fall of night to give it its might. A love story requires a serenade or soft vocal cords. Some stories require the gesture of arms, others the illustrative magic of a picture. Some stories are better read than told, and vice versa.

Not everyone can write either, but those who are literates can. And all of those can write. If they write well, is another question, but bottom line is - they can write if they want to. So, how is it that some stories evolve beyond the aspects of the authors’ fantasy, into millions of people’s minds? How does a story become wildly popular a story known by the world around us? According to John Ruskin "Every book are divisible into two classes, the books of the hour, and the books or all time." So how do we know were our own words fit if we attempt the literate stages of art? The really good stories seem to be made by middle-aged men, who are semi bold and a professor in literature or history or something like that; an academic, in other words. Does that mean that Those of us who are fresh out of obligatory schooling stand no chance?

And if we do, does that mean that every book of all time was written by people who were born with the gift of empathy? Or rather the gift of capturing their surroundings? Should this loophole prohibit those of us who want to write a story that we feel could enlighten some, even if our writing skills sucks? I do not believe we can help our nature of opening our mouths, or mind to others. We do as we do and pray tell even though we wish not. all depends on the courage of which we put it forth.

Brewing front

Bobbling. It has brewed for 6 years. The brother spawn caused more clouds then the female seed. Yet the feline proved the strongest. The water heavily weighted her down for years on end. She hasn't released it once. Keep it, the sun can clear it all. The sweet breeze gave sweet release at she was lifted by it. Now the mother load has come with the water again. The feline can no longer absorb. Her clouds dark as the pit of the lie-a-bouts of pandora's box. Thunder comes too. Her release is far from silent. Yet mother earth cannot comprehend the troubles. Too obsessed with the brother spawn, she sees the heavy rain as nothing other then the normal way of things. Mother earth sees the world in perfect harmony. The brother spawn causing trouble as be whenthe moon move the water. The rain water plants; mother earth can prosper as she tamed the states of her, with her kinness.

momento qui ego sum!

I have thoughts that come to mind. Some pleasant, some not so pleasing. Everyone can say this happen to them every now and then, it is over hormonal thinking as a young person. Well what to say now

Cogito cum voluptii, sed luii ....

So this thought I have is how we meet a select few which we can say we connect with both understandably and advise-wise....

I see All he sides of me. I have the side I really am my self. There is the hyshed down me. The me two, and only two have seen. One side belong to dreams. One dream belong to arts, some would arguee this is my one and only true self...

Incognito sans frontier

Anyway, had a friend over tonight, it has been lovely. Starting with the Simpsons and hilarious girl talk. Then we moved on to sex and the city, and the every-so-slight-emo-girly-selfpitty-talks. And then wine, gin&tonic, then beer and finally the joking mood and hilarious conversations and bailey's and coffee as followed^^

Only down side to this evening is the missing frère. But as they say; wait long enough, and they'll come back to you^^ [*putting on the smile*]

Cognizance

When the final puzzle have been laid, then where do we go from there? I can look back several paths, all taking me back to a past persona. A persona that was me. Nonetheless, I question what path to follow, who am I now? who do I wish to be? What life to I want to lead?

NO, I have to take cognizance of what is happening. To take control as I am known to do, when others do not. Secondary school is over. It has finally hit me; I am done, an adult who must find her place in society. Three years have passed since I had a struggling choice to concern myself with, now it seems I'm there again. But looking back there is so much I would hate to part with. Anyhow, time is never given. Tempus fugit - time flies. No way around it, even this is proving time consuming. However we choose to look at things, however bleak or bright, we all share the idea that we can find a future by looking into it. But the time to act has come, and I simply wonder why when what and where.... No easy assignment to open, nor it easy to ignore. However. However. We have time for a few more mistakes. I hope so, cause from knowing myself I know the laziness within is going to have me stumbling over a side path or two, before making it home to the sound passage.

Remember when we sat along the castle park. Spread out like dandelion in a lawn, early summer. When the only worries we had was whether there was enough cake for every one?



Or those times at Sognsvann?

I miss you guys! Some have moved, others are leaving, some simply disappeared, and all the memories are moved away to make place for new. I wonder what will come of us. Well we remain in each others lives or do we form new and potentially better, or drastically different lives?





I hope there is time to spare, as in a minute there will be time. I wonder how the summer unfolds this year. I will remember we we were and that we met. More then so I do not dare to say. I hope we will remember together. But now the future is a foot and we must pear into it to see....

The summer air was soft and warm, the feeling right
The moonlit night did the best to please us
And strolling down the paths
We had a drink of new brewed ale

You talked of politics, philosophy
And I smiled like Frodo and Sam
We had our chance
It was the best times that we had

I can still recall our last summer
I still see it all
Walks along the trees, laughing in the rain
Our last summer, memories that remain

We made our way across the snow
And sat down on the fur by the open fire
I was so happy we had met
It was time we though best of no regret

Those crazy years was the time we spent in cloaks
But underneath was a pair of cuff
Pooled for fence, a pair of latex swords
We took a chance like we were living in past years

I can still recall, our last summer
I still see it all
...

17th of May, the day that unit's the Nation

I love this day, it is Norway's national day. And after 13 years of school, I have been looking for this 17th of May for several years. This was indeed a special day. As it is, graduates of secondary school in Norway have a tradition that is unique for Norway, and Norway alone. We have a uniform so to say, that I mean the graduates wear a form of work pants designed for handymen, and there's the hat^^ A lovely tradition, absurd and strange as it is called the period of the Russ. Russ it is so named due to the Latin meaning. It dictates to a young bull who releaves him(or her)self of his horns; the shedding of horns - passage to adulthood, the last rebellion before the bumpy road called life.

Us In the park enjoying post - graduation and the sweet mild may. And the hat, so nautorious is viewed below. It has attatcments that shows what sideloops we've taken during the period of the Russ.

Merry 17th of MAy people!!! enjoy!!

La gå. Men Husk, ved neste korsvei møtes vi.

Well this is it. Tomorrow at this time I will be done with everything called IB and secondary school. Done with thirteen years of school. Can't believe it has gone so fast, and especially the last year, it has just flown by. The last semester has been the worst, most tiresome, and stressful time of this education period, however the time has gone by so quickly that I have stumbled through as in halfsleep. Surreal it has been.

Through these years I have stopped in misery asking if it ever would get better...

It has been pain staking but well worth it^^

First there was arts. My subject, which I love, and with a teacher that deserve all the credit and more she has gotten. She's awesome!!!!!! No question about it, but she's sick of IB just as the rest of us, and the last couple of months before the exam 1April, she really showed it. Nonetheless our art exhibit turned out outstandingly!^^ Tomorrow I am celebrating with a bottle of champagne after my final exam paper; paper three in physics, astro, relativity and partical physics. The champaign will be shared with her^^ Hihi From 4th of May I have had exams almost each day, six last week and six this week. Or five thus far and tomorrow the sixth, which also is the twelfth.

So when I am done let's parteeeeey^^(gonna miss people though:/)
Well this is a song I love and it is played in the beginning of shrek 1, I wanted to show you those scenes but i couldn't find it, so here is the song, that really is my mood at the time^^


Only wonder what's up around the next crossroad

braille

Braille : the blind writings. Now in a transitive way it imply a code language, a hidden message that can be unlocked only by those who know the code. We all carry a message in braille, our secrets are there, and few to none know what.



She was lying on the floor and counting stretch marks
she hadn't been a virgin and he hadn't been a god
so she names the baby Elvis
to make up for the royalty he lacked

And from then on it was turpentine and patches
from then on it was cold Campbell's from the can
They were just two jerks playing with matches
Cause that's all they knew how to play

And it was raining cats and dogs out side of her window
And she knew they were destined to become
sacred road kill on the way
And she was listening to the sound of heavens shaking
thinking about puddles, puddles and mistakes

Now it's turpentine and patches
Now it's cold, cold Campbell's from the can
They were just two jerks playing with matches
Cause that's all they knew how to play

Elvis never could carry a tune
she thought about this irony as she stared back at the moon
she was tracing the years with her fingers on her skin
saying why don't I begin again
with turpentine and patches
with cold Campbell's from the can
after all I'm still a jerk playing with matches
it's just that he's not around to play along
I'm still an ass hole playing with matches
Blowing out my wishes blowing out my dreams
Just sitting here and trying to decipher
what's written in Braille upon my skin...

Time for change

I wonder what is going on in the world today.
I know I am but a child, sheltered in a pleasant corner
Spoiled through the nose, carried on, guided through life
I often find the sunny skys above and the farytale
to be the casket keeping the decomposing truths out of sight

I am a sheltered child searching for a truth.
I am not as naive as my golden curls and blue eyes depict.
Nor am I ignorant.
I seek truths where I am served lies, may I annoy in this quest
But If a will to know, so the ability ti act can flourish, is condemned

...

We know we are fed lies, but we chose to remain ignorant. Then the decomposing flesh of the world is us. We are the problem.

As it were

Not many are known to cope with it. Not many are know to have withstood it. Not may are known to have felt no hurt from it. Nor have you or me escaped it's blinding trench of lust and captivity. Yet we strive from it with all our might, to keep up pretence; to do what's right. Or right according to a hypocrisy called society...

come spring

Come spring most people who are clinging on to hope, say when depression and not least desperation hits. And who knows, maybe they are right? It seems once the snow retreat, love flout though the air, like the flue in a kinder garden. People near and far, find another whom they'd like to see more of in the pleasant sun rays. A phenomenon that may change so many, but for the better or worse? There are those who loose themselves in the other, then they're those who turn cold and hard when the end came.

Come spring, they say. Well, here it is. All I hear is bird song and the bris through green leaved trees. No heart pumping here. No Eros moving amongst my likes. But wait, what is that? I hear a rush, adrenelaine, blood pumping. Nothing more, nothing less. But no change.

There is te graduation period that is forthcoming, and as of last week have started.... Twenty days of partying and being raised abov the law. The Norwegian way, folks. The Norwegian way.