twenty-ninth of november of two-thousand and thirteen

Quarter to twelve in the morning. 

I sit a little uncomfortably on our three-man white sofa, in my beloved apartment in relatively central Malmö. I've had breakfast -granola with my favorite banana yogurt- and a cup of coffee with two (or was it one?) gingerbread cookies. Strangely enough it feels like it was forever ago, but I ate a little before eleven.

Alex sits to my right, on the smaller white sofa. He's playing Coldplay - "...Lights wills guide you home, and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you" as he bites his nails and stares at something into his own laptop.

Pepe and Malin are in my room, possibly half awake half asleep. I've heard them click the snooze button at least three times already. Malin's alarm is the sound of birds singing, and I first heard it from mom's room this morning -where I slept tonight-, thinking "Birds singing in central Malmö? That's the first time I hear them since we moved here a year ago!". And so while I was in the kitchen making breakfast I heard them again, realizing  it was an alarm, and sadly, not real birds. And now I hear it again. Definitely not birds. 

I think they're finally getting up. Last night they said they wanted to leave for a day trip to Copenhagen at twelve. But it's twelve now and they're both still in bed. Now I hear a few voices; Pepe's typical I-just-woke-up-ugh-I-wanna-stay-in-bed voice and a few quite words from Malin.

"Or am I part of the disease.....?"

Now I hear drilling noises coming from upstairs. I think they're fixing the apartment on the 6th floor that caught on fire during the summer. The sound is so awful but I think today is the last day they'll drill and finally stop making that awful sound that rings everywhere in our apartment.

There's a siren in the background.

More Coldplay songs; this one I've heard before, but can't quite remember it.

Pepe just came into the room, in his dirty looking grey tank, kneeling down by the TV to charge his phone. Malin peeked in and said good morning, with her long and gorgeous ginger hair everywhere, still in her cute red checkered pajamas. 

I should probably mention the weather: it's grey. But I don't mind. The day still seems perfect.

This is my present moment.



And so she created her own world.
A world where every wanting-thought of hers was real.
His curls and his heavy beats; the way he swayed as his music played.
His fingers, turning the different buttons and controls, oh so beautiful.
And his dark clothing and shy ways.
In this world,
it was all hers.

She could pick anything she ever desired and have it right there.
Everything she ever wanted to do but didn't was made possible.
Always happy, always proud of what she did and had.
No waste of time, no, never. It was all so fucking perfect.
And it all seemed so real, maybe that was the problem.

The swaying, the way his body truly followed the music.
How could someone's movements be so captivating?

Too bad she always woke up.


how can someone make such music



so very well done
never thought i'd find twerking acceptable
but i think i do, in this video
she hit the right spot




Everything hurts
my head
my back
my head
my rib-cage
my feet
my thighs

and the bus driver just had to be such a dick
"don't lie to me"
no fuck you
why would i lie to a bus driver liksom

still a nice day


Why'd you only

I have nice days
and nice nights
and so everything is plainly just nice

I tend to write more when I'm feeling more than just nice,
so I don't know what I entirely prefer
To feel great but to write less,
or to feel too much and write much more

I have so many books to read its overwhelming
I have run out of tea
Dad's in India and I miss him

Otherwise everything is as good as it gets



Sweden, with its long winters and its beautiful short summers
Sweden, with good opportunities
Sweden, with Stadsparken in the autumn
Sweden, with the buses that are the perfect place to read
Sweden, with cozy candle lit friday movie nights
Sweden, with the fact that I walk home at 4 in the morning and nothing happens
Sweden, with the dentist sending me a letter twice a year to see me and tell me I need to floss
Sweden, with the men who push the strollers
Sweden, with summer festivals
Sweden, with getting so drunk you can barely see
Sweden, with top rated free universities
Sweden, with nice people
Sweden, with all the bikes
Sweden, with her, and her, and her, and him and others
Sweden, with the people who believe it's truly bad here
Sweden, with Malmö
Sweden, with Valborg in Lund
Sweden, with the julmust and the cozy Christmas times
Sweden, with getting money for going to school, for becoming better
Sweden, with my family
Sweden, with love


And im sorry, but the cake thing was just too funny. I mean yes, he should have the right to express his opinions, but was he really ATTACKED!? No. And no, Sweden is not unsafe because a politician gets a little cake on his face.


To write

Are any of the words I write even original?
I have heard them all before
or read them, otherwise how could I write?
How would all of this make any sense at all?

But at the same time there are so many phrases that have never been said
So many stories that have never been written down
So many ideas and thoughts that have not been put on a computer screen
or a piece of paper

Because the possibilities really are endless



I just don't really know what to do about anything at all

And yes I think about the same things every day

And yes it's the same things that keep me awake at night

And no it doesn't hurt, not at all

But it's an annoying feeling

And I guess it just needs more time