this life was too much for her to carry

too much invisible weight and luggage, just kept piling up.
and when it got to much she would disappear for some time.
fly away to sort and rearrange it all. to balance the good and the bad.
always hoping the equation would come out positive.


this time it was negative. this time she flew away forever.

 

   

 

 

i do not know if there is a heaven or a second life.
but tonight i am praying that there is something out there.
something better. someone taking care of her.


the times, they are changing

we live in a climate of exhaustion and hyperactivity,

ascension and malice run down the same rivers

we are great ruins from old Rome,

submerged in the ocean of ancient philosophers

we are antiquarians of emotions,

all dealing with different eras.

 

 


most truths are so naked that people feel sorry for them and cover them up, at least a little bit.

 

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 sometimes reality is like a book left on the lawn in the middle of autumn. wind blows it up and tosses its pages back and forth, the pages we dare not read, afraid of what they may hide. drops fall from far above, soaking the black letters and in the end only remains a gray mixture of what once formed life. not the illusion of life, but life itself. but then, then it is too late.


 


a small key opens big doors.



leave me the key for a better tomorrow
leave it under the rug of past
then i can find the keyhole of happiness
and open the door that still squeaks from failure
leave me the key, leave it today
and i will find my own behind the door, tomorrow.


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when the truth gets scary, i'll take my gin and sherry

Even though your point of view on this world is a few centimetres higher than mine, i now feel like you are looking down at me from somwhere above the clouds. How i used to hate it when you did that. And you crush me like a piece of paper, making me even smaller than i am. You can see through me, see all the red spots i get when i am mad, you can see them with those cold eyes of yours. Those eyes, were they always this unkind? I remember them being warm, i remember them being my source for strength, but now i think i might have been fooling myself. It seems to me like they can freeze anything they look at and i have seen them do that too many times. And this overwhelming feeling that i should say that i am sorry, but my toungue can not do it. Because it knows something i still do not believe: there is nothing to be sorry for.

 

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The words that come out of my mouth surprise me. They sound nothing like sorry. Nothing like anything i have ever said or even would say in my normal state, but you always did know how to shake me out of that state.They sound more like something you would say. But for the first time i feel a thousand times lighter.


Your ego fed of me for way too long and tonight it died overweight.

She makes herself some coffee filled with sugar, milk and truth



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Explain me some things.. Draw them on a piece of paper with colorful pencils as you would to a child. Tell me what the green stands for and what the red represents. Tell it to me with short sentences and easy words.Draw me a blue sky with white clouds. Green leaves and red apples. Draw the feeling «everything is okay» and i will believe you, being the hild i am. Use every color you can find. Just stay away from the yellow. I do not like yellow. ( it reminds me of youknowwho)And don't you dare draw me yellow. I am green. Always have been.


thank you for bringing new songs and words. thank you for being...you.

Essentially she was just one big, naive and honest child. Trying to make the best of the situations, see the best in people. She believed every letter, word and sentence. She was told not to, but she put her trust in those words. And when silence came she was telling herself it would soon be over. But  waves of disapointment came crashing on her beach. Again and again. Her biggest fears, death and people leaving, came with the waves, forcing her to face them. Then one night she turned cold.

He is asking her alot of questions using all these pretty words and elegant fraces ,but what he is trying to ask is who she blames ? If she would erase it? If she is happy?


Blaming other people never got her anywhere.She knows that . For a long time she wished she could erase it, but would that make her happier? Instead she chooses to take the good that came along, wrap it in the finest silk and place it gently in the corner of her heart. The bad she wishes to learn from. After she is done learning, she places it in a big wooden box, locks it up and throws it into the deepest and darkest ocean.

They tell her she seems happier now. They tell her that they have never seen her smile this much. They call her a happy child. She has never been called that, but she likes it. And she is, happier. Because now she knows that she does not need his hand to guide her to happiness. That it only grows in  her own garden, she just needs to step into it. The four letter word she needed wasn't necessarily love. But hope.

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Now all of this is a pretty little memory in her heart. It needed to happen and somehow it was right at that point. It was right for the girl she was then. And that silence has now been filled, with new songs, laughs and words. Maybe she found them herself, maybe they had been there all along or maybe someone new brought them into her life when she needed it the most.

Hit me like a ray of sun

 

Our arrows shine on the horizon, I know it. I clearly see them when I close my eyes, although the horizon is untouchable, at least for now. I believe in the future and what it will bring, blurry, but still. And in the future we are all smiling, and i somehow i feel like it will all be ok. And I want to believe in that, not push it away, but hold on to it for as long as I can. But i  need you to believe in it as well.

 

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where do i come home to, when all I know is where i am

There I saw the world for the first time through the eyes of a child, and I would not have changed it for anything on earth. There may be nicer places, but dearer certainly does not exist.This place, it is me, my life, my love, my manger and my grave, my start and my finish. I know every building, corner and cranny, every little rock, every bump in the road, every tree. I know each odor. I know every shadow, every light, from the pink-like in the morning to the red sunset, from the white cotton-like clouds to the dark clouds that alert storm. And it's all mine, as my own body, and even more important, for it is something that has accepted me, tied me to itself, marked me forever. Therefore, I can not say I love it, like I can not say I love my own body. But I can say: I live with it, and without it I wouldn't be.


merima black and whitepola01

read between the lines

Når jeg åpner boksen og ser ned på alle legoklossene som har samlet seg i løpet av årene, skjønner jeg at de må settes sammen til noe. Snart


Det er synd at de bare skal stå i boksen, gjemt, på et mørkt og kaldt sted. For i bruksanvisningen står det ikke: må holdes på kalde og mørke steder.


Legoklosser som bare ligger sånn i en haug mister sin funskjon.


De må bli formet.


man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth

Vi har våre masker og vi bære dem alle så tett inntil oss at jeg noen ganger lurer på hva slags lim det er som holder dem på plass. De to typene jeg hater mest må være de som er overdrevent slemme og de som er overdrevent snille. Jeg er ikke sikker på hvilken som er verst, menden  første lager helt klart mer vondt. Det finnes også de som har råd til flere masker og bytter ganske ofte, de liker jeg heller ikke spesielt godt.

 Vi lever alle i et maskeradeball uten at vi er klar over det.

 


de sier at øvelse gjør mester, jeg burde vært ekspert til nå

She came into my room as so many times before. I could see something was wrong by the way she lifted her eyebrows to keep the tears away. "He is dead.." She said something more, but I was already gone.

 

I have known  that long, however, I was so ... unprepared. Thousand thoughts. No words. Nothing. Most of all, some sort ofemptiness. Silence. It is strange what one moment, and three words can do.

 
I have taken down the picture. It is on the table. It is easier like that, at least for now.

And thousands of prisoners are calling for help

Staten Israel har siden 1948 systematisk beslaglagt og tatt kontroll over palestinsk land. I 1948 opprettet jødene på egenhånd sin egen stat på Palestinsk område, staten Israel. De første tre dagene innvandret 700 000, omtrent like mange palestinere måtte flykte fra sitt hjemsted. Siden 1948 har de vært okkupert. Mange har levd hele sitt liv i okkupasjon, isolasjon og krig. De vokser opp i flyktningleire, hva vil de huske av sin barndom annet enn krig og grusomheter?  De vet ikke om annet.

 

 I juni 2002 startet Israel byggingen av en 8 meter høy mur som skulle omringe inn alle Palestinske selvstyrte områder. Hvordan hadde vi følt det om naboen plutselig bygde en 8 meter høy mur rundt eiendommen vår og vi ikke fikk bestemme selv når vi ville ut. Når vi ikke fikk noen ting fra utsiden, ikke livsnødvendige ting en gang. FN og krigsdomstolen i Haag avsa en dom som sa at muren er et budd på menneskerettighetene og Internasjonal lov. Til tross for det forsetter utbyggingen av muren og gjør livet verre og verre for palestinerne. Flere byer er helt omringet av muren med bare én port ut, som er kontrollert av israelske soldater. Muren skiller bonden fra jorden sin, den syke fra sykehuset, arbeidere fra arbeidsplassen. Muren skiller familie og venner, den ødelegger dyrket mark og er et brudd på menneskerettighetene. Her lager vi oppstyr rundt Kina og OL på grunn av brudd på menneskerettigheter, hvorfor boikotter vi ikke Israel som har brutt menneskerettighetene i 60 år.

 

Det er krise i Palestina. De har ikke mat, vann, strøm, ingenting, de har ikke liv. 3,5 millioner flyktninger bor andre steder på vestbredden. 1 million har flyktet til Europa og USA. Palestinske landsbyer er jevnet med jorden, selv de som vil flytte tilbake kan ikke. Hva er det annet en etnisk rensing? Hva er det annet enn terrorisme? Når skal verden gjøre noe med det? Hvor mye mer skal palestinerne måtte betale før vi ser hvem som er den egentlige terroristen?



is this a truth that nobody knows?
has our world all gone blind?