meteor

Oh, beauty. Who art thou?
When I gaze upon thee, you pardon your goodbye
When thou are hidden from the sky, you give a fragile smile
When I think of thee, you give my memories gregarious applauds
When I think thee shine upon me, you wither to ugliness without a patterned wave
But tell me, why cannot the humble still know its worth without being taken by you into the deadly twilight?
This does puzzle me, oh beauty, why must you be such a mindless child?

merry seasoning

Well then it is finally here! It snowed again and it is falling in a white blanket to caress the capital. Today I've cleaned and spent the rest of the day and evening sitting by the fire drinking tea, listening too travlin' strawberries. Strange though is that the newly filled bag of wood is empty after just a couple of days :( why does wood burn so awfully fast?... now the cold will be creping in.

Home

I am currently in Oslo, and allthough it is no NY, Paris or London, it is still a city busseling throughout the night. Glascow is just a little bigger, and although Oslo is a capital and a busseling city, it has a soul, noother town I've been in has. Oslo is no unique town. Yes it is more a town than a city, since we in norway don't actually have any real cities - we have towns, and not a lot of them either. We thrive in small places alongside the wildlife. However out capital is to be compared to any other capital, it is a small city or a large town. But nomatter the size of this town - or the production - Oslo is a city where you still can see stars in the middle of the city even though the city lights blurr the starline, it is till visable. Besides you don't have to travel far to be in the middle of nature - with a pristine clear night sky. But this got me thinking, I waht to tavel and see the star-line over NY, Paris, London and other capitals, to see why I hold the Osloensis star-line is so unique. For so far I only have my own theses on my home town.

Which is funny, cause I have spent a couple of years in Tromsø, the Paris of the north as some call it, and it just didn't feel right. Perhaps it was a bit small(?). I was In Bergen last year. And although I view Bergen as a fishing market with houses, I do find it beautiful. I wont argue when people call it pretty, but it wasn't for me. Even the star-line wasn't visible as it is in Oslo. Which is sort of weird since Oslo is twice as big and there's a lot more light pollution :/

Can one be tied down to a place and still be in need of travelling to find one self? And then what happens when we have found who we are. Found the one, and built a home? is that the end of our journey of exploration? Will the stars still seem as promising?

how about it ay?

Mournful and yet grand is the destiny of the artist. That is at least what da Vinci claimed. And he wasn't alone to utter something of the kind. I often wonder if the artist in truth isn't somewhat of a magician. How else can it be that an artist can capture and sculpt the image of reality, into his or her own agenda? And art can capture and trigger so much more than words and reality. Isn't it then to reason that it is magic of some dedication?

You can't run for ever
You haveta pick up the pen one day
You can't hit the road again
You can't hide nomore

the Tables turned

AN EVENING SCENE , ON THE SAME SUBJECT

Up! Up! my friend, and clear your looks,
Why all this toil and trouble?
Up! Up! my friend, and quit yours books,
Or surly you'll grow double.

The sun above the mountain's head,
A freshening lustre mellow,
Through all the long green fields has spread,
His first sweet evening yellow.

Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife,
Come, hear the woodland linnet,
How sweet his music; on my life
There's more of wisdom in it.

And hark! how blithe the throstle sings!
And he is no mean preacher;
Come forth into the light of things,
Let Nature be your teacher.

She has a world of ready wealth,
Our minds and hearts to bless -
Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health,
Truth breathed by chearfulness.

One impulse from a vernal wood
May teach you more of man;
Of mortal evil and of good,
Than all the sages can.

Sweet is the lore which nature brings;
Our meddling intellect
Mis-shapes the beauteous forms of things;
- We murder to dissect.

Enough of science and of art;
Close up these barren leaves;
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.

alright, yes! We're here again.

I've been struggling, trying to remember who I am - who I want to be, what I want to make of my future. This is an old theme of mine, I am aware. See I know who I am today, and how I came to be here. And very little of my path so far has been regrettable. I know how I got here and I also know I've wandered immensely far from who I essentially know I could be - if I let my self be the one I am deep down or started out as.

These last couple of years I have undermined a lot of who I am. There are many reasons, some due to duty and obligation, others just for survavial. And no, I am not sulking, or whining, mearly stating a fact and trying to put words to the flowting feeling I've been having since I last December acknowledged that I had let the artist go.

I don't regret the path I've taken here, nor do I think I could have done so differently if I had know then what I now see. Nonetheless, I am feeling disconected and worried that my artistic skill has vanished. See, I used to have a name as one of the few young artist in the Norwegian artist community. In many ways that as been my identity, I am still that artist by name, but by skill I don't seem to fit the description any more. I know my craft but only in theory, cause when I try to do what I used to visualise with careful skill, I now only seem to get on paper - not on canvas.

Ideas I get all around, all my surroundings inspire some brilliant artistic concept. Yet I think perhaps over work and dislocation has severed a part of persona. If such a thing was possible, I mean we all change. Change is good. But can you have changed by severing apart of your self that you still view as your own?

Array

I was rummaging through my room today, in an attempt to tidy and clean before the big move, and I found a song entitled the glory of love. There's a line there that says

There's so many things I want to say
I will always love you
I would never leave you
but life had us walk another path

It got me thinking. Is it possible to care and love for someone of whom one do not wish to meet or speak too? Can one really love someone and not want anything to do with them at the same time? It is a puzzlement I can't quite grasp but I think it may be a rather deep reality and sad one of that.

unbuckled

Come in to my world, wish to show you where I keep my thought and hide my flaws from plain sight. I'd let you in to my bed and I'd get to know you as well. We share a life of regrets and pains. Our thoughts and discussions seem to revolve around our fears it seems to take on a sinister, yet comforting atmosphere. We painted the room with knowledge, fantasy, love and most of all trust. You cut your hair, and I feared the expression that grew on your face. Yet I found a comfort there, and so we went on, trusted souls till death, and a strong unbuckled friendship.

Wicked

These last two weeks have been hard and rewritten my whole view on the world I live in. Even the whether has been describing my feelings and shock up state I'm in. Below I'm letting Glinda and Elphaba express how much I valued that which was so abruptly ended. For you who're reading this and know me so and so, the two figures of Glinda and Elphaba are from the book wicked by Gregory Maguire - on the realm of oz from Elphaba's(the wicked witch of the west) point of view. But these two characters speak here in a sense from my own personality that once was parted that now is one. The wicked and the good:



I will never understand why or how, but trust is so hard to come by, nevertheless, it is so easy to break. Two close friends have quite abruptly parted their paths and this expresses my feelings and appreciation upon that which was and won't be reborn. The song for good is at the turning point where Glinda and Elphaba part, although they care for one another they can't change the present and they part for good...

life

Why is life so hideous?
Why is life so cruel?
and why still -
is life the most precious to us?

et bieto

Every story begins in the same careful tunes that escalate at an uneven rate
Perhaps we laughed at the beginning
Maybe we shed and shared quiet tears at the end
But every word we wrote and read remains true and constant
And what you said I still recall

Believe it or not, I made them see
This is what happiness means to me

To day's a manice

I just read the most popostous fact I ever have on how screwed up our time is; in italy a woman suued the italian state due to her problem with their law of obligatory crusifixes in schools. She didn't want her child to be exposed to such a travesty of religion in the house of learning. This I can understand, she doesn't want her child to be eposed to something that he or she might not be ready for or capable of understanding. However this mother took the case to the european human rights headquarter in Haag and her complaint was sustained. There has been an apeal, but if she manage to pull the case through a gain the consequenceswill be that 20 countries will have to remove the cross like symbol in their nations' flags, so not to impose religion upon someone!

Norway is a critical country and in many ways sacreligious, even us headans do not want to rid our nations footprint og the blue and white cross that symbolised hope and nationalismfor the 4,7 millions of norwegians. We may not be religious but we rather like the religious symbol because for us it doesn't preach religion; it is a sign of our heratage and a reminder of our independance. And independance, freedoom both in thought and in vocabulary and actions binds our nation together. This woman would jeapordise a counties nationalism. Though she have a just case, to obolish all religious symbols would be to obolish history.

I for one like the tradition of the flagg and of it's day, 17th of May. With out the old flagg that has allready been subject to change so many times due to captivity and 0occupations has been settled on the norwegian sign of resitant, bravery, honour and freedoom above all. To change would our flag would be to spitt on our nation.

Today it is easy to complain and sue everyone for everything and it seems we have created a justice system that'll rather uprehend the "right to not be offended" rather than right of a nation.

An other year has come and gone, and we shall sail free forever more

Well i guess the phrase most people in this country has gone tired of today, is what I want to wish you; congratulations. This day belong to every Norwegian, and the children and of course all those who, on occation, creep back into their childhood shoes; this is the official ice cream eating day. And of course the testament of Norwegian pride and glory. We broke free, if a little country such as us can, then certainly there is hope for all.

This is the only day a year I am a patriot. I love this day so from all of my best reicepies: have a tremendous day! and spread the glory of the folklore, we are the people.

nervous

She stood up, cougth their attention. Suddenly very self aware, she spoke. The words felt trembling, though the audience listened captivated by the love and warmth in her speech. She spoke the words flowing from her heart, no word rehearsed or carefully selected, they all blurred out in a mess, she thought. The words ran of her tongue and she began to second guess her decision. A hind thought appeared bringing her of balance. She had never trembled like this whilst holding a speech. Perhaps it's the reviling nature of it. She wanted to dissolve into the surroundings. Why she thought, this is so rarely and frightfully unfamiliar, and uncharacteristic. A dread struck, perhaps you are your mother's daughter after all.

words

I need to write something outstanding. Something that can convince the commetee to chose me rather then the others. How do I do this? I act my self and do my best, or so they tell me I ougth too do, as I've always done.

That was yesterdays dilemma. Today I strife with the ash cloud from Iceland, which has left most airports in Norway grounded. I need to be in Oslo by 10 am, which means I'm buttfucked! Yes, a little frustrated here. Besides Bergen airport is rather small, and I can't imagine missing that interview. That's right, the reason for leaving Bergen, 'cept from the obvious wishes, I have an interview for a possition I'd rather much like to occupy. I think this is fate, somehow interveening, trying to test my will or some other aspect of my persona. Or maybe it's just saying: where you think you're going? You're stuck in bergen me lady, so suck it up...

Why today of all days?

Why, well I guess that's why. Anyow it is desturbing to know that a volcano has erupted at Iceland. I wonder what the extent of damage to the infrastructure is there. Hope they can rebuild, or better yet it hasn't tuched the people in any way. Hey I can hope. Very well, I'm left to wonder and wait. The two things I do best, apparently...

Legend has it...

These are the words of a ledgend:

I live to find
I seek to be reprieved
Emotions rule my ground
No rest is bestowed
Until they are withered

Life is said to be a mistery, nonetheless, we know the answer of our existance to be love. This is what our quest, all that amount from, the quest to find the one that can love us in return. To appreciate and treasure our own flaws, and accept our misdeeds.
The answer is given, but why and what the question of our lives worth, remains outside the grasp of any man.

When the average worrier cannot be lit a light to the road of life. It does not help, that even a great sorcerer, legend has it, had to tremble at this quest of which I here try too shed some light. EVEN Merlin the great companion of King Arthur, gave his life for a woman's worth, when the stars light bright in the evening sky.

Life is but life, the road belong to the fates. The quest to our wield of the sword. And the answer is our reword if we can walk the road our fate has subscribed, on our behalf.

Tempus fugit

Time is a curious thing. One can never quite comprehend what it is that makes it tick. However one thing is clear; when we enjoy ourselves, in the sense of mastering a skill, time moves shiftily; when we want time to move forwards, it appear it turns ever so slowly, bordering on turning the other way. No matter, time is what time is; a concept created by man.

Time is not a concept, it is an idea. An idea created my man for their comprehension. What else could we have called it when naming the time of day? The rotation of the Earth around the sun? When a person ask what's the time, or rotation i suppose in this case? "Oh the rotation is at 30 degrees" when the time is nine in the morning or evening. Then I suppose how would we distinguish between sunrise and sunset? Would we then use concave or convex?

These questions facinates me, mainly due to the surrealistic fascination with how our customs came about. It's a life long quest for some, that is to say their mission in life, to seack out ancient civilisations and learn their knowhow and development. Many are anthropologists some arkeologists or even palaeontologists, and then there are the average historian who collect knowledge from what was the result of our conquests and written words. Many are those who spend their time solving this question of evolution and human progression, but even more look to the future to see the further progression of our species. However most are those who live in the present oblivious to the know-how of past, present and future development of civilisation.

My belifs are that natrual selection had an important part in the progression of our species. However I still don't understand why we have difficult names on some things whilst on others we have easy short names to remember. Like time.

Heave away!

Finally I can say this place in the frosty outskirts of Bergen may, by some recallection, be compared to a home of mine. Though only remotly compared. I do enjoy this place, and there is never a day where I dispise someone, although there are those who are friends of mine that are crapy coworkers, but ok otherwise. I suppose my later promorion and the relive that the slackers are done soon, have come over us. But it's much more than that the people here are conected and we have conected. The mood is great. So I thrive obiously, and yet I miss my cosy flat in the capital. For not to say my friend there. Even so this place here, can be claimed as a home for another 5 mounths^^

dining dream

I can tell that I'm home for two reasons, the food have actual taste and it's original colour.

Uppertonity

Now that change isn't to show her face in location
she has perhaps granted me a little peak of what can be done for change's sake
uppertunity calls whether I found her way or not
now she calls for vengance on waste and departure
entangeling every part that touch her skin
her vengance is as sweet as onions in the sun
now lets see if waiting suits the traitors

It flew, for now

Well then, I'm still in Bergen. What to do but to accept and find an alternate solution. 

They say change is never good, but an necessity, then I want to ask those if they ever encountered the way of the world where the change never happen and you're left with what was. That my friends are just as not good.

Left to be in Bergen, though in the case where the rotation of things doesn't occur, the act of suprise in that place may continue the cycle.