Rally here

Something new

2006-02-26T00:31:00.000+01:00

Something new

It's awfully unexplainable
So really silly
And you don't learn shit

You know, about a thousand years ago a man sat and listened to the sound of nature. He scanned the horizon. It's just nature he thought. From inside and behind him, in the dark and smoky longhouse, he heard the laughter of children as a remenence of a happier symphony. Across the lake above the forrest the sun soon rises. A new day starts, a new without his love.

It's delightfully impossible
So obscenely enjoyable
And you don't learn shit

You know, about fifty years ago a man sat and listened to the traffic. He scanned the street. It's just traffic he thought. Through the front door behind him, inside the building, a new family moves in with, by all the marble, the symphonic echo of yesterdays cries. Down the street the trolley keeps going on it's route untill it dissappears around a corner. Soon a new trolley will come, a new one without his love.

It's conclusively visible
So bitterly imperceptible
And you don't learn shit

You know, for just a couple of days ago a man lay and watched the swallows. He scanned the sky. It's just swallows he thought. Beside him underneath a book a ticket grabs hold of the breeze and flutters away. Above him the plane keeps going through clouds and away. Soon a new plane will come, a new one without his love.

It's late and my red wine drunkenness is wearing off. What's wrong with this one? and what's good about it?

Accessories

2006-02-21T18:32:00.000+01:00

Accessories

Tomorrow the club falls
Tomorrow the dreams end
Lying on a table, upon tables
fiddling a piano, bored

Three large coffee sets on a plate
On three large rugs tightly rolled
A bouquet of sabres and swords in an umbrella stand
Pirate?... No, there isn't room to swing the ropes

Painting after painting on the floor
against the walls behind chairs
Where are the muskets and the rifles?
Soldier?... No they are put away

Underneath piles of books
A happy moment
Old worn copies of the Phantom, Agent-X9
But tomorrow the club falls, again and again.

Let me go

2006-02-17T04:33:00.000+01:00

Let me go

A deep garden rose
covets me in its vase
the orifice draws me in
Let the night fall and I am lost

On a shelf a bottle lies
aiming at me
the opening evokes me
On with the cap and I am caged

On a cold morning
a chest nut gets cracked open
the gap lures me in
the beautiful nut brown and I am snared

A bone-dry drain
thirsts for me in the street
the black hole hauls me in
On with the grate and I am confined

Capa

2006-02-15T16:47:00.000+01:00

Capa

There you stand
shattered bricks or mortar
The marching hope of a lie

Your enemy
His hands or his eyes
Now examining body and land
unembarrassed search

There you stand
imprisoned or free
In diabolic pain
His soldier

Your enemy
still or not
What have you
done?

There you stand
wounded or not
A future in
shame

Your enemy
better or worse
A future of
Pride

There you stand
Guilty or innocent
forever judged

This poem I wrote when I saw a photo taken by Robert Capa. It's not the photo above since I can't find actual photo on the web, but it have to do.

The original poem was written in swedish, and I posted it in comments

What if...

2006-02-14T17:40:00.000+01:00

What if, what if there would be, would be someone who was like, like I would like to be. Would I worship the man, would I marry the woman? Or should I hate the man for not being me, or rather, me being him?

I have no idea who that person is, and I’m glad, both because I surely would act really, really stupid around him/her, and because my girlfriend wouldn’t agree to it nor her existence. I wouldn’t in any case recognize this person if he/she hit me in the face and painted his/her picture on a mirror and showed it to me. He/she would have to hit me first since I would probably hit him/her under the assumption that this was one pompous asshat saying that he/she was everything I would like to be.

What would be even worse would be to meet a guy (this time I’m sure it is a guy), and recognize him as your true self, scratch true. A person who has taken advantage of every opportunity you ever had in life. Would it change your life? Would you believe it? Would you try to justify everything? Would you try to see what you have gained and what you have lost? Would you even recognize the situations or the events of your life that led up to this person in front of you?

I’m trying to justify my life already and I haven’t even met the guy yet. Bear with me for a tad longer. I could of course never meet this person because you always gain knowledge and experiences on your road to the grave. This person who is in front of me in the story has taken an alternative path (or is it me who has taken this path?). He has thereby come to know certain thing that I wouldn’t otherwise know and the same goes for me. He couldn’t have for an example know the stupidity of surfing Costa Rican shores plagued by dangerous currants, without the safety rod attached to either the board nor your ankle (in fact, there was no safety rod at all) when you are fifteen years old.

This experience has taught me to have the deepest respect for open water, a respect that fringes into a phobia. This maybe-but-not-quite-a-phobia serves me well anytime I taking a swim. Have I gone too far from shore? Have I strength enough to make it? What is this weird slimy stick in front of eyes at eye-level? What was that at my feet? I can’t see shit underneath.

I know one thing for sure. This guy in front of me would be a sorry excuse for a man, a coward beyond measurement. This life altering experience of mine in Costa Rica made me a somewhat brave person, brave in the sense that I’m not that afraid of people in any situation. At that beach near Limón in Costa Rica I nearly died. I knew I was going to die and I accepted it. I had no strength left to make it to shore and I was fine with it. I was only saddened by the fact that my father and mother had to see it happen where they stood exhausted after trying to rescue me… the currants wouldn’t allow it.

A home perhaps

2006-02-14T00:41:00.000+01:00

I will try to translate the one below now. But, I have to as a sort of disclaimer say that I've worked with this translation for far less time than the actual poem. And, and english isn't my native tongue.

Here we go.

A home perhaps

Here I stand.....................................now
Keeping my balance with my toes
Forward
Keeping my balance with my knees
Backwards

Sore eyes and
Rocking waves
Images billow back
And............................................forth
I'm swept away

I'm hanging by the foot of a seagull
I fall into the saddle
I'm dressed in armour
I'm cooking pancakes
And.......................................frying jam

Here I stand.....................................now
naked [I could possibly end the poem here] in armour
The inbedding wet cover
Canalize and................................protects

Here I stand now
Warm with the hitting on....................the door
Soon shall I exit into
The cold.......................................again

So what do you think? What should or could I alter? Where can my english improve?

I will try at least

2006-02-13T00:43:00.000+01:00

This first is in swedish... perhaps I will try to translate it sometime.

Heck, stay tuned! I will surely translate it tomorrow! At least I will try. The title is "A home maybe", though.

I'm not sure what I'm hoping for posting these. Some feedback perhaps.

Ett hem kanske

Här står.................................. jag nu
Håller balansen med tårna
Fråmåt
Håller balansen med knäna
Bakåt

Grusade ögon och
Gungande vågor
Bilder böljar fram
Och.........................................tillbaka
Jag rycks med

Jag hänger i en måsfot
Jag ramlar ner i sadeln
Jag är iförd rustning
Jag kokar pannkakor
och.....................................steker sylt

Här står....................................jag nu
Naken iförd rustning
Det varma våta täcket
Kanaliserar och....................skyddar

Här står jag nu
Uppvärmd med banket på dörren
Snart ska jag ut i
Kylan...........................................igen

By Niklas

Yikes too much wine

2006-02-13T00:09:00.000+01:00

I'm struggling with what to put into my blog. It's not actually a struggle about the blog, nor about what to put in it. Fuck, I'm 27. Should I but in some of my poems I made several years ago? Nah! fuck it! I'm 27. What have I to reveal? What to reveal?

Short stories? Old photos, what I did today? The uncertainty of things?