Riding on the wind...

When days are long, 

I drift away,

I play that song,

I used to play.

When skies are always summertime blue,

just like that, 

I'm back to loving life again.

Put me in the slammer...

These feelings aren't going away. They are linger. Hovering. They are with me always. These emotions are my roommates now, bunking up beside me at night. They are determined to ruin me, and yet I can never fully evict them from my brain. Most days now, they lie dormant in me. Sometimes it gets so quiet in my brain I think they've finally packed up and left. But then, suddenly, I start raging over the smallest of things. At first I'm perplexed, and then I remember: it's here again. I am still quite a bit mad.

Drop another hammer...

First: breakdown, impossible to sleep, impossible to stay awake, impossible to endure life, or, more exactly, the course of life. The clocks are not in unison; the inner one runs crazily on at a devilish or demoniac or in any case inhuman pace, the outer one limps along at its usual speed. What else can happen but that the two worlds split apart?

Everything turns in circles and spirals with the cosmic heart until infinity. Everything has a vibration that spirals inward or outward, and everything turns together in the same direction at the same time. This vibration keeps going: it becomes born and expands or closes and destructs, only to repeat the cycle again in the opposite current. Like a lotus, it opens or closes, dies and is born again. Such is also the story of the sun and moon, of him and his life. Nothing truly dies.

The moment or the night...

It was literally true: I was going through life asleep. I was both a body on the verge of sleep and a mind determined to stay awake. My body had no more feeling than a drowned corpse. My very existence, my life in the world, seemed like a hallucination. A strong wind would make me think that my body was about to be blown to the end of the earth, to some land I had never seen or heard of, where my mind and body would separate forever. Hold tight, I would tell myself, but there was nothing for me to hold on to.

Hold me it’s just another dream...

So I guess that it's true...

Rein me in...

In the cold,

to warm me up again

the weather's coming in.

Breathing out,

a force to breathe back in,

the panic's setting in.

Let me out,

so I can get back in,

I'm freaking out again.

When days are long, I drift away...

He wonders if there is something wrong with him; that he can get so much from so little. All his joy comes from not doing much of anything at all. And especially nothing that involves other people. How he came to be like this, is uncertain. He must be very selfish, he thought, for he sets nothing and no-one right; all he wants is to be left in peace to make what he can of this problem called life for himself and his family. Is such a life sustainable? The only constant so far has been that people have left, for he knows he isn't really someone that brightens your day. And he has never really had a problem with that at all. 

If I stop, it's just pain...

It is warm, he is alive, he is calm and sad, he hardly knows why. In this existence so even, so tranquil, and so gentle as he has here, he falls into melancholies of honey and roses. It seems to him that all those friends he loves forget him.

The unreality of the past weeks lifted like a fog, but its residue remained. All of the past is like that, but most especially the parts that are out of the ordinary. I step back further, until I feel cold tiles against my back. It is then I get the glimmer that I associate with memory. As my mind tries to settle on it, it flutters away, like ashes caught in a breeze, and I realize that in my life there is a then, a before, though before what I cannot say, and there is a now, and there is nothing between the two but a long, silent emptiness that has led me here, to me and him, in this home.

The one who always runs...

Leave it all in my head...

In that moment, I felt the canvas of my life lift away from my head, walls flying off me, and a pressure I've never put into words hisses somewhere at the back of my mind as the size of the universe assembles itself in my mind. If I close my eyes, I can see it, the endlessness beyond my ears, and knowing I'm only in a corner of that vastness doesn't make me feel tiny. It is amazing that, though I am small and so insignificant, even I can appreciate the scale of life. And from this perch in my mind, for this moment at least, it seems unimportant whether I will go somewhere, anywhere, when it's all over.

Tell me who's to blame...

All of my favorite stories,

end in some kind of catastrophe,

but I don't need someone to save me,

because this thing that is not a blog and I will never die.

It's such a fucked situation,

petal in the pavement,

just as long as he keeps getting it right,

heartbreak won't bite,

here in paradise.

I hear her in the silence...

Tomorrow is coming faster than expected, as if the future were never somewhere else, but all along part of the fabric of my every present, merely untwining itself again and again into a new distinction that could never truly be new. So I start now to move on not forgetting, but taking the memories with me in my heart and in ink. It's the only way I can somehow hold onto them. Or at least slow down enough every other day to remind myself that I am still here. Somehow the leaf has fallen and it's time for a new one to grow before I let my life live me to death.

Endless pictures of a life that isn't mine...

Each wave that rolls onto the shore has to release back to the ocean. I am the same. Each wave of action I take must release back to the peace within me. I get the most stressed when I resist this natural process. If anything is evident, is that I need a break. Denying it, isn't doing me any good. I need to let myself go and settle with the notion that sometimes, the best thing to do, is absolutely nothing.

He is not a victim of circumstance, situation, nor any external condition of life. He is an active participant in the creation of his reality. He is actively participating in the creation of what he thinks, what he feels, what he spends his time on, who he spends his time with, what he consumes mentally and physically, and all the blessings and contrastive experiences that come his way. Every effect has a cause and every cause has an effect, all of which include him because it is his life to live, his life to use, and his life to throw away.

Loving you like that...

I'm sure you've heard it all before...

Put me in the sky...

Heartbeat, slow and low,

moving like a shadow flow.

Every step, every breath,

pulls me deeper in your chest.

We don't need a reason why,

no tomorrow, just tonight.

If we fall, let it be,

you're the only place I need.

I feel like the last one left...

A piece of writing comes to life, when I can feel it, when it talks to me and starts raising questions. It may dispel biased perceptions; make me recognize ignored fragments and remember forsaken episodes of my life story. And it may sometimes even be nasty and disturbing, especially when I don't want to consent to its philosophy or concept, but it might, in the end, perhaps reconcile us with ourselves. So after twenty-some pieces later of woven tapestry of words, we cradle our hands together, holding a hefty bronze key the size of his palm. There are cracks all over from how it's puzzled together, but it's in the proper shape of a key, and most of all, even if it was once broken, it looks whole again.

This fate of mine...

I knew I was broken too. I was scared and anxious and sad lots of the time, and I didn't know why. Sometimes we really aren't supposed to be the way we are. It's not good for us. And people don't like it. I've got to change. I've got to try harder and do deep breathing and maybe one day learn tricks so I can pretend to be more like other people. But maybe she was right all along, and all those other people were broken too in their own ways. Maybe we all spent too much time pretending we weren't.

Hit the wall...

He is not ruin, no lighting-struck tree: he is green and vigorous. Plants will grow about his roots, whether he asks them or not, because they take delight in his bountiful shadow; and as they grow they will lean towards him, and wind round him, because his strength offers them so safe a prop.

I'm not sure about all the particulars that led to this moment. Do I believe life is a series of dots to be connected, or that no one can outrun destiny, or that all roads lead to truth and coincidence is a lie to distract us? The reason I was in this place no longer mattered. The harsh reality stared me in the face and demanded an immediate decision. Walk away and blame it on fate. Or stay and try to find a way out of the mess I find myself in. Who am I kidding? A mess I intentionally created. 

My home for tonight...

Know I'm not blind...

Of course, in the stories I read and would want to write about, people's hearts break, and they die, and that is the end of it; and in a story this is very convenient. But in real life we do not die when all that makes life bright dies to us. There is a most busy and important round of eating, drinking, dressing, walking, visiting, buying, selling, talking, reading, and all that makes up what is commonly called living, yet to be gone through. And that is by far the absolute worst thing about this journey; that it goes on, even when every fiber of my being would want it to hold still, just for a moment.

Too little, too late...

I've got nothing on,

but my hands are tied.

So save your breath, 

you'll need it dear,

it’s cold out on that limb, I hear.

Isn't it funny how much you see,

when you stop moving fast?

Slowly getting better...

When days are long, I drift away...

I'm trying to catch a new rhythm. A peace of mind that will prepare me for both grandeur and failure. More so the win, failure I've gotten quite accustomed to. I've wondered a lot recently, if I'll ever reach the top of the mountain again, or if I'm destined to trail the summit and then turn back just as the peak comes into view. I wouldn't mind, the journey is still quite beautiful, and I find a bit solace, that I am not alone. Perhaps this is the natural realisation of every life. How one is human, inherently weak and unimportant. I've got some strength left, so I'll keep walking for a bit longer. What I'm trying to say is that I wouldn't mind turning around. I wouldn't mind at all. 

There go all my high hopes...

I feel like I'm in the dark...

Nobody thought it could be done, so nobody had tried before. Standing with one foot in the abyss and the other with a foothold in his dreams, he stood on the edge of a cliff. He took one look behind and with one last deep breath, he leapt with reckless certainty and decisive confidence. Blurring through the sky, for a moment he looked like he would fade into darkness, but in the very last moment when everyone else had given up on him, from his back spread wings. With a leap of faith, he learned to fly.

Have you ever thought; while looking all this time for the magic in the world, it's been inside you all along? For me, it seems that no matter how far I travelled, how wide I spread my wings and learn to fly, the only real comfort I was ever able to find was within me. It's been very hard to accept though. The notion that I am self sufficient, and what that means for my friendships, relationship and family. If I don't need anyone, why have someone at all? If the treasure is inside me, why keep on searching for it in places I know it could never be?

Let me free your mind...

Let me ease your pain,

there's a feeling that I can't erase,

I promise you, I won't give up,

tell me that you feel the same.

You are the place I go to hide,

every day, every night,

love is, love is kind.

Like a train off the track...

When skies are always summertime blue...

It's quite the irony that the writer is unable to finish what is essentially just a longer layout of words. It's a special kind of hell knowing that you are capable of doing something, but unable to navigate the labyrinth of your own mind. Unable to direct your thoughts to put pen onto paper and just fucking finish what you started. That's why I'm not so secretly hoping to simply be derailed by something out of control. That way I can cling to the notion of being denied, instead of throwing in the towel. Not sure it makes a difference though, the ending is the same. Once again, the boy who wanted to fly, realizes that in fact, he does not have wings.

Anything he was...

Fires burn up canyons...

In my daydreams and fantasises I become timeless. I can stretch one breath to the infinite, nestle deep into that single heartbeat, and create something wondrously impossible. I can shape countless new worlds and live each of those imaginary lives to their fullest. As many lives as I want, and in any direction. But I don't know at what point that breath, that heartbeat, will reclaim me and transform everything I've built into forgotten dust. Not even a full memory, only a ghost of a dream, replaced by the incessant light demanding that my body adheres to a reality it so desperately wants to escape from.

Wash my worries away...

Say you want the moon,

watch me learn to fly.

Ain't no mountain you could point to,

I wouldn't climb.

It's crazy, but it's true,

there's nothing I won't do,

I'd risk it all for you.

I can't need this anymore...

I think I need to empty my mind, and relax each other muscle group until I feel like I'm going to melt into the floor. Then I just have to let it all go. All the expectations, all the unneeded worry, all the things other people want for me but I don't want myself.

It's getting quite hard to understand what exactly is wrong with me. And very much impossible to articulate it. I can hear myself saying words that make sense in my head, but I keep hitting a wall with people that are supposed to get me the most. How many more times and in how many more ways can I say that I've had enough? That I need a break. Even if it's filled with delusion, I just want a moment of peace. But I think I'm slowly starting to realize, as we get older, that is a luxury none of us are really awarded. It's just a constant barrage of life happening all at once. Time folds into itself, and unhealed bruises bleed out into the future. 

Go where you don't belong...

He speaks of the power of trying, because he has fallen and struggled to stand. He speaks of generosity because he battles selfishness. He speaks of joy because he has known sorrow. He speaks of faith because he almost lost his, and know what it is to be broken, in need of redemption. He speaks of thanks because he is grateful for the totality of this life. Not just the easy parts. And it seems it won't be getting easier. Not at all. Not one bit. 

And so it spins...

A spark in the dark...

I have a hunch the future is darker than I could ever imagine and there is less reason for hope than I am able to see. It makes me grateful there is only so much I can see, and I am left mostly with questions. Grateful, also, that hope is not a reasonable thing. Though I have seen my share of darkness, I am spared perceiving much of it. And here is why I hope beyond a reasonable doubt: I think that as the darkness grows, it makes the dim lights that are left seem brighter. And the darker it gets, the brighter the light appears, until it is so luminous, eventually, even falling shadows are filled with it.

All you need to say is hi...

I knеw you, 

all your blues like a mood ring changing colors.

You did too, 

therе were times we could fight like brothers.

I watched you drive around the bend,

for what I thought,

would be the last time I saw my friend.

The daze of the blades of the grass in summer...

I guess it hadn't yet dawned on us that life is unpredictable, that one day, one of us could suddenly cease to exist and what then? What would be the joy in having left so much unsaid? With what memories would we fill the empty silence?

Love is giving, love is learning, love is willing to receive love and love in return, love is not only your bloodline, but love is also everywhere. Love is what you make of it, whether it’s the birds singing you a personal melody or the waves in the ocean washing away the hate and turning it into unconditional, endless love. Love is the people who would never think of giving up on you. Love is the people who put your broken pieces back together. Love is when the storm comes— and the wind isn’t too friendly, but it’s here for a purpose as it blows the branches on the trees.

Standing there in the light of the window...

Drifting in and out of memories...

Man, it's been a while...

There were never any limitations to his imagination. Visualization served him well. In his mind’s eye, he always saw a better life. Imagination, visualizing, and dreaming big, combined with hard work, determination, and faith, are what got him where he wanted to go, and they can do the same for you.

There are some beliefs I currently believe, that are in my way. I believe so much in them, and I don't really understand why. And when I believe something, I offer a vibration about it, and I keep recreating it in my mind. Like a fantasy that doesn't want to die down. So, something that happened a long time ago, I keep renewing my membership to. I keep bringing it forwards. And so, then the memory, which could be very slight or non-existent at this point, is really active and alive, because I talked about it today. And I talked about it yesterday. And I talked about it the day before, even if it had happened so long ago.

The mountain is you...

I'm sorry I'm a piece of shit,

I know I'm selfish,

and I have to live with it.

Sometimes, I wish I don't exist,

please tell me why,

why am I like this?

Doomsday alert...

I try hard, but I don't succeed. So I try harder, and harder. But I still just don't succeed, I give it a try once more; only realising it's never going to work out the way I want it to. But then again, I remember; I've tried so much. I've tried to please, I've tried to love and I've tried to not care as much. I think about the reason it would be worth to keep going. I try so hard, what's the point. No one accepts me for who I am, no one sees me for who I am, no one takes the time to ask how I feel, no one takes the time to bother. But then there's you. You try, and try. And you just give up hope, because it's just so much easier.

Peace in the back of my mind...

Not exactly sure where I'm going,

but I'm definitely on my way.  

How he misses wandering around with old souls, aimlessly moving from one place to another. How he misses all his dreams and his goals, and how he's lost himself to find another. Seems like a playful game of hide and seek, but that's how he'll forever play this life - loving and living the truth that he seeks, until embraced he finds his way to strive. Gazing into strangers' eyes to find his soul mates, knowing he's so much closer than he thought. His heart keeps the light that forever radiates, through all the darkness, until love is taught. And yet again he looks into the skies, he sees the stars, the moon, that light, missing his home beyond the nights, living in love until the end of the fight.

Like shadows on the moon...

Wearing that same stupid smile...

I guess I'm giving in...

I have layers over layers of a memory warped in place. There is the deepest layer, with the ones I love the most, or have shared this journey longest with. Years and years and years. Maybe, I think, these are all the memories I'll ever be able to make. If I remain stuck here, I'll slowly but surely dry out. And so here I am, trapped between layers of my life, like wallpaper on top of wallpaper for centuries, and I need to peel everything away, I need to be the bare boards, no memories, nothing left. But to get rid of some things, I would have to get rid of everything. So here I am. Living on. A house with ghosts.

Put me in drive...

A flicker of hope,

a feeling begins,

rattling bones,

and I start beliving in something again.

A smile like the sun,

under the moon,

the beat of my heart is riding the edge,

of the way I'm about to move.

Don't stop until you get enough...

There's a time in our life when we're about to give up fighting battles that we choose not to tell to anyone. We fall apart, we break into pieces, and find it hard to make ourselves whole again. We tried to start over, but found ourselves breaking once more with memories we tried to forget. We found ourselves crashing to the ground again, and all we ever thought was to give up and let ourselves go. We became hopeless. Love slowly fading, and we started to forget who we truly are. That time is very close, but I'm not there just yet.

I'll make you remember...

Če te prosim,

bi počakal z mano,

da spet najdem pot?

I will gather up a lifetime of things unsaid, write them down on this thing that is not a blog, and then offer them all to be lit up and burned. All at once. And then I will watch the whole thing turn to ash. The whole damn thing. Light the match, and watch it burn. If flames could speak, what a story they would tell. One of pathetic yearnings and small moments of victory over ones self and the world around me. Turning bones to ash. And it was the burning up of curses and all things bad as well. The universe knows I have had and still have demons, and even curses. Real ones.

Whisper my name...

Love me for who I am, not who I was...

Initials in the sand...

Connected, I'm so in touch with it all,

feel protected by the moon and the stars.

I'm walking barefoot, feel the grass in between my toes,

Bombshell, wind in my hair, let it blow.

It's been a while since I cried over something so nice.

I'm not coming back...

At the lip of a cliff, he looks out over the countryside, through the bare branches of birches and the melancholy covered branches of aspens and pines. A hard wind blows up out of a cavern and over his face. He knows this place, he knows its seasons - he has hiked these mountains in the summer and walked these winding pathways in the explosion of colour that is a fall. He feels the stirrings of faith that here, in this place, in his heart, serenity and peace will come again. But first the scars left behind by the storm must be waited out. And that waiting has worth.

Come on and change my mind...

How often have I lifted my foot to take a peek at what I'm standing on, only to discover that there's nothing there and that I've been confusing falling with standing. And while it's certain that healing brings a better life, it also threatens to permanently alter life as I've known it. My relationships, my position in the world, even my sense of identity may change. Coping patterns that have served me for a lifetime are being called into question. When I made a commitment to get better, I didn't realise I would be risking losing much of what is familiar. Much of what made life so easy. 

Seasons come like seasons go...

Life is like the river: endlessly moving on, ever seeking, exploring, pushing, overflowing its banks, penetrating every crevice with its water. Impermanent, ceaselessly trying to penetrate, to break down any walls, behind which there is confusion and misery. 

I'm still here. The doubt, the fear, the heartbreak, the depression, the anxiety, the insecurity: it didn’t win. The people who hurt me and let me down: they didn’t win. The disappointment and the failure, and the hopes and deferred dreams: they didn’t win either. I'm not really who I wanted to become, but I'm not someone I entirely hate either. I guess what I'm try to say, is that I'm doing my best, with what I've been given. That's all I can really do. Move on, go forward, try to find more meaning, more joy, more love. Hopefully some more laughs, and a deep awareness, that life moves so quickly: I hope I don't miss it.