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. 

Vel hjemme

Vel hjemme i det snøkledde hjem. Ønsket velkommen av en meget glad vrengt polvått. Mørket lå fremdeles som en svøpe om barndomshjemmet da den togreisende sto på trammen med en trillekoffert, en bag og ei veske med sivile eiendeler. Alt det som hører her til. I hennes formete sinn gikk det automatisk å sette på ei kanne te. Rydde vekk bagasjen og legge gavene under treet.

Vel hjemme i det snøkledde hjem sukket denne togreisende godt til skomringen, og lente seg tilbake for å lese post og brev som var tilkommet hennes hjem i hennes fravær. Vel hjemme på sin rette plass for sesongen.

Changes

So I grew tired of the cherry green. it's my favourite colour allright but one can grow tired of that too. Besides life's a changing. A year ago my worry was can i manage till Christmas, today my worry is do I get home for Christmas. But I have always said I would move after school was done, I just never thought I would miss people the way I do. You see I've never been one for missing people, I've always thought that when you meet people anew you pick up where you left off and you'll have alot more to speek of. Keeping the smile and positive aditude, WAIT... i'm not that cheery... But in truths it's how it's been, I may miss someone special but a friend is to me there nomater how far spread across the globe you happen to be. Nah friendship ought to last all year round, all one have to do is pick up the phone or go online. It's easy these days^^ Still I must admit louds of people I miss this time around... Funny how things change, huh?

Moon lift for a cycle

The proud sea is about to claim it's cargo from safe bays and too sea. Soon it will drag all too familiar faces north, along the Norwegian cost. And they'll part from their familiarities for a full face of the Moon. Tears will flow as a withness of the hollow and sorrow in her heart. But the ever present smile in her kiss and warmth in her laughter can testify too the joyious return of the cargo. Had it not been for the sadness in her eyes, one would imagine the sea was a familiar of her kin. Lullbyes can be heard like a sirens call in the chilled night time. In the blue face of the moon. On the old tales of sailers lost to a shipwrecks, where of tidious effort one sailar has scrambled a shore, the wispers goes this is the time where the oceans wrath is unleached and her wrath will drag you under and leave you beneath the oceanwaves to bath in the oceans tears for eternity. If a sirens call is caught to a sailers ear, he can be safe assured the sea is intend to ferry him safe across the wrath unleached. Leaving him shealtered from the crizcore and ten.

She weeps now. Her kiss is left half seperated with a curve in the creek of her rosy cheek. Her forehead is crowned with a wary frown over her icyblue. They seem to scan a ocean far at sea. Her vision repreeve her from her worries. Slowly she turns and see her old friends gathering around her. Those abandoned by her. No montain seperate them now, the warmth she radiates can comfurt any lost soul, yet the ace in her heart is felt even in the radiance cause the empathy spreads with each heartfelt act. Rejoined in a hug with others left at land, she is half healed. Still an half yearn for the one roaming the north coast. Soon she says, soon across the mercy of the goddess herself her half wil rejoin her when the moon is reborn. Follow the nightly sky and hope can be read she wispers to the wind.

Oh yes!!

Guess what!?

I'm home again. and it is wonderful. Free for a whole day! tomorrow that is, just got in with a plain from Bergen and am home enjoying the long missed birthday cake( my birthday was two weeks ago and i haven't gotten cake untill now!) [mop!] Anyhow home now and my parents leaves tomorrow morning. Sad since I have infact missed them, so little time to refresh. but it opens up a window to celebrate the day that passed unnoticed. Though my darling won't attend:/


But lawful faithful friends will. Therefore Oslo is great!

Dara -ﻃﺎﺭ

Well the ship is about to set sail again. She shall soar on the wind with white sails so large and fair the sun will bath a pleasant shade beneath. The winds may take her far or near, so it always have been. She leaves to wander some foreign territory, whilst those left behind are spoken to ever so seldom. Now the mother sea sends her conquests out with a wave, leaving her stranded on the shore. Her footing fast and uneven, unfamiliar but now her steadfast friends sails the seas leaving her stranded ashore to see them fade into the distance. Still the feeling takes some getting used to, but as they sail away on the horizon the doves can be seen from far across, carrying the words she so desperately crave.

Min by

Jepp furu var hjemme igjen, det var sol og varme det var liv og masser av drekka. Slik tenkte jeg meg en helg hjemme igjen etter aldri så lenge. Jeg merker ikke savnet, menda jeg en fredagskveld var tilbake i oslo 2245, etter en 7-8 timers tog tur fra regntunge Bergen, merket jeg at jeg hadde ei lettet og god følelse - var liksom en byrde som lettet da jeg atter så oslos gater i flomlys og litt for fulle folk løpende etter trikken eller for å nå ei fest i litt for lite klær, jeg virkelig kunne sette pris på byen jeg lenge har mislikt. De siste årene har Norge vært et hjem men jeg har lengtet bort. Etter opphold i Stavanger, som jeg forøverig fant hjemmekoselig, og forflyttningen til Bergen, som er Nordmenn fremmed, har Oslo forblitt fjærnt og lite besøkt. Derfor er det litt rart å innrømme at jeg må ha savnet byen min, for det er det den er - min by - mitt hjem. Jeg er ganske sosial av meg og få steder finner jeg meg ikke tilrette, men dog hjemme er blitt mange steder finnes der bare et hjem, og det er Oslo. På tross av de mange falleferdige bygningene, forrurensningen, det litt stive byfolket og uteliggerne, så har Oslo sin sjarm. Oslo er ei liten storby, med muntre folk, med sure folk, med rare folk, med gale folk - mangfoldet fostrer toleranse som jeg synes er skjeldent å finne i de mange store-tettstedene vi har rundt om i Norge. Det er noe egent ved å tusle rundt på nattes tid i oslo og høre rocke musikk fra ett sted, techno og transe fra de mer populære stedene til å vandre i en litt shabby bakgate å høre god gammel jazz musikk. Alt er å finne i Oslo hvis du ser lenge nok etter. Til og med naturen er å finne. Og den er vakker. Kanksje ikke like vakker som vestlandets fjorder eller nordnorges kyst - men det gjør byen til en Oase svøpt og sjermet i sin krybbe innerst i fjorden voktet av fjell og skog på hver kant.

Banen landsatte denne sjøkvinne i hjemlige strøk rundt 1tiden på natta. Hun fikk se mørket bygge ro over sitt utkantliggende boligfelt. Østmarka heter det og som jeg gikk fra banen og senteret forbi bensinstasjonen, under motorveien, over bruen, videre ned stien med høygresset og trærne som laver over seg, så så jeg opp på en stjerneklar himmel som trer inn i bakhodet å sier: dette er hjem, dette er deg kjent, dette er roen.

Helgen begynte bra, men så ble ikke helga riktig som tenkt. Mitt reisefølge føler seg ikke bra stakkar, og siden han er for sta til å høre på kloke ord måtte furu sette rota i bakken å plassere han i seng! *gutter(litt oppgitt)* så noen tur i byen eller i skog og mark blei det ikke, men like greit er det. jeg kommer hjem når høsten trår til å da finnes ingen steds vakkrere.

Momento qui ego erat

Remember who I was
Remember what we did
Remember our laughs
Remember the fun
Remember what sorrow
Remember the trails
Remember the stinging tears
Remember our frustration
Remember our relief and realisation
Remember our goodbye
and remember we shall never part

The real art of conducting consists in transitions.

Curious, rather curious indeed.
What?
Whenever I think and philosophise on the big questions a fly soar near by.
And?
No, just curious how a creator of filth seem to appear out of nowhere at the opportune moment.
From nowhere.
Perhaps they do. Perhaps they bare knowledge we do not. Then again, maybe I am delusional due to an excessive consumption of coffee and sleep depression.
Probably. Get some sleep? Or, inquiring minds want to know, you ought to indulge in other exercises.
<she smiles>