the last squeeky hours of a year that passed away way too quick

i reckon

this year has been weird, but most of all, it went fast.
i've been working as a chef. what nice experience. it felt like i was doing hard time, but most of all worth it. worth the effort of getting sicker by the hour.

my head is now stuck on scroll. multitasking. i've not recovered since that job. but i've been very good at drinking beer and hitting the town, both for concerts and just in sheer enjoyment of getting drunk. getting there. it has all gone very fast, it has all been a blast. but i can't remember too much of it. this was the year i started losing myself, started drinking coke zero again, started eating different stupid things such as diary and eggs again, having had too much tinned tuna and having had way too little excersise these last four months or so.
having spent too much time doing nothing. getting lazy and unfit. this is the year of ups and downs, of extremes.

five festivals, at least 85 concerts. next year will be just as slick.
next year i'll become the superwoman i am.

haha! KITTYCAT. stuck in the railway

i just need a fork to jam in my eye

other

other.


otter.


iiiiiiiiiii'm confuzzed. i'll probably be just as depressed through 2012 too, i guess.

but i'll try to become a better version of myself still. keep getting fitter.

fitter happier.

but first and foremost i'll try to get better. get well. free myself from disease and become at ease instead.

fuck this, ranting is all i do.

enough now. i'll try adding some dicipline to the things i do.

happy newsyear and fuck the numbers that just keeps getting bigger.

walking around with shit on my shoes -

ah well here it comes.

my oh my. what an evening.
talk is cheap, wine is expensive.

my noggin.
eggnod.

snowy winterhills, wintergardens and springs.
fill up on it and feel

i'm stressed out and restless.

if i tilt my head i become drunk again. the world twirls.
amusementpark in the pitch dark.
greenroom and set sails.

i am my own lord, i am my own lard.

stressed out and restless, useless.

little soliders putting on pink shoes
the young girl that cries at beauty
microphones should be tiny
and i shall become an elf

memories of a faded time in your history

i'm reduced to this, starting to fade as the days grow thicker.

i keep thinking i have nothing new to offer anyone and i'm not worth recognising. if i could, i would alter my appearance after each time i ventured out in the world to seek companionship with fellow humans.

we're the same race. genepool.
it's ours. it is only 2 per cent away from a chimpanzees.
the fear of being lonely has never been bigger, i guess. we have too many social medias that tells us being alone is abnormal.

i'm sick of feeling undernourished. now when i won't allow my body to feel at ease and out of the stress i put on it by not eating enough i feel an enrichment of my inner life. but there is no way i'm able to communicate that to the others around me.

cellphones and broken bones. my heart bleeds for each time it beats. i no longer cut my nails or shave my legs. all meaning has frozen into glass as the sun that is my passion always lose heat at the end of all seconds.

longing for them moments.
you know what i mean, we no longer live in the moment that's about to pass.
parents, feed your children well with emotinal life. don't kill their curiosity just because it once killed some cats.
don't put helmets on them, don't think too much. let them climb trees and let them seek the opportunity to die a healthy death by being truely alive.

fish on the open sea, put my lentil in the pot. darkness forces the light to convince itself it's no longer needed. all alone in the place you call home, seek true passion by being ready and able.
feel up on the old things in spent lives. death has to arrive, just enjoy the time you won't spend dying. although, you're continuously taking steps towards the inevitable.
fear has too much ransom.

look at the television, it contains people. are they truely able to free you from loneliness.

i can't remember feeling more lonely than when christmas is upon this very country. this world. tellus, earth.
it's when i'm at my loneliest i feel like asking people to leave me alone. why is that. well d'oh, i'm vulnerable, constantly thinking about what i should have done instead of what i acted upon.

why is that, the moment when alcohol hits you, you can't even remotely assume how it's like to be sober? even the slightest amounts make you forget that sobriety exist.
all is not but vague ideas. christmas is the time of year i'm at my worst. worst is of course defined by what you think of it. is it my worst or is it my better? am i closer to something more real now or is the bliss of 'fake it to make it' genuine enough to let me come across as an impressive person?

reality has too many variables, and people seem to be more manic than the amount i can take. x-mas has no value anymore and next year, when i'm rich and famous, i'll spend it in another hell than this. i'll climb onto the top of the bottom of the sea and search for spirits that haunt the feeling of not fitting in.

i am my own enabler and my abilities go to such waste. the value i at some point posess is wasted on depression and feelings of not being worth even the smallest amount of effort you could possibly think of.

i just want to drink.
and shrink.
and not think.

i wish i was an intellectual.

only reading and seeking will get me there.

i'm too much alone to even keep in touch with the oldest of friends.
i'm bored but i don't admit to it.
i'm depressed and keep getting drunk in whatever manner suits my freetime best.
i have some ideas but i never develop them due to lack of confidence and too much conciousness.
i think i'm going to get better, but act upon the oposite habits.
i change for the worse and it's pleasing in its own sick way.
i'm sick of being sick and only getting sicker, but i'm nowhere near the energylevels of a cow chewing long dead grass.
only barely alive and only barely able to recognise that i'm still here.
that i still keep taking shallow breaths, that i keep hearing laughter and glance by happy faces, towards the end of all seasons i miss them the most, regretting i didn't do more out of it.

i'm just so sick of it all and i'm pretty certain i will no longer take it.

it's way passed my bedtime of eternal sleep, but still i see no real reason for taking my last shallow breath in these very moments.

i am alive but i lack the most vital nutrients for substaining life itself.

the cure against all odds.

steep hills and rotten bones.
we'll eat you alive, you won't feel a thing - numb as the asphalt around your heart.

if i make it through this, i will carve my name into the stars by changing gravity and all of natures laws, because against all odds, i picked up a fight.

no, it's not a gift. it's common sense.

i feel like a mutant that has all the wrong genes playing important parts.

i want to get smarter. extract nutrients from words, books, people and places. lectures.

feed me whatever pill you're on, if you're still alive it obviously helps.

icecold and exposed, seen through as the lies pile up like bodies after a pandemic episode

things are usually good. but they are more usually even greater when understood.

so to speak, the struggle of understanding things is well worth the effort of getting there.

this goes for all aspects in life, but understanding ones own thoughts and analysis is way easier than taking a chew on somebody elses. this translates to me thinking alot because i'm too lazy to read up on what others think.

which also means i tend towards creating my own reality to some extent. it's alot of fun for me but way confusing for others.


i've come to realise i'm not all that depressed. i'm just overly sensitive towards people i find lacking in certain areas. for instance, we have this head of mine that obviously live in another place, with other rules and other importancies than treating people politically correct and polite - my own rules have been applied and those are the ones to follow. when people stomp their way straight passed them i get seriously agitated.
this is a buirden, yes. but it is also i sign i should get out more and absorb the average reality of the people i find quite interesting. that may enhance my mindfullness, my intellect and my general understanding of the tree dimentions we usually occupy ourselves in.

the hang towards being polite and following common rules is the easiest path to follow for an easy life and a well of polite people that really like you because you're polite too. you show a common understanding for eachothers learned rules, norms and habits. it's all nice when you suddenly meet them in the mall, you always have loads to talk about because you're both polite enough to bother catching up with eachother.

well. at most times, i couldn't care less how other peoples life go. how their kid is doing or how their job is fulfilling/exhausting. how they either badmouth others with awful gossip or how they plan to travel with friends to common places with common people they'd absolutely love to catch up with.

this is the hardest thing, at times. i feel not at home here, nor there. the place i'm at home is in my own head when it pleases me with different and exhilarating thoughts and perspectives on both the weirdest and the most common things within reach of our senses.

being polite is not my thing, but i know i have to learn it.
that will be my mission.


errrr... or not. i will use this to my advantage - which of course allows me to continue being lazy.

to bring out the best in me. what is that and who does that? what does that? who is in charge and what responsibility will follow such vast assumptions?
i think i know when i'm at my best. it's called flow.
but flow and conciousness has a hard time collaborating. at least in my nutcase. at times.
at most times. at all times. slightly concious is always good. overconcious is poison.
the best in me is at rest. it lies there, waiting for that sudden moment that'll tease it towards the surface of my face. of my being.
being me.

we humans have so much freetime, in which we read what other people does with theirs.


when we were children and bored, we let our fantasy take over and played. what we do now when bored, is watching other people play. acting, you know. television.
whic also brings out a certain nostalgia in me, because i sure miss being able to spend my time inside a fantasy.


but whatever. i'm really tired and recently happened to notice i have been hungry for at least a month. or something down that road. depression. it deprives me of a healthy apetite.


one can't boil down a soup out of an empty soul.
stupidity chokes me. pardon.

ill

it had nothing to do with less. operation failed. it had to do with more.

i read in the paper, a quote from an ancient frenchman, that it does more damage to a person if you are somewhat overly kind with them rather than doing them less good.
which means it does matter how you treat people and you should not drown them in good intentions and actions. it makes sense on my behalf because kindness is addictive and it is one of the first things we take for granted in a relation.

i feel neglected by myself. in ruins. have i lost?

unable to concentrate energies and thoughts,
in severe lack of said energy.
mentions and random quotes. even talking has had me fed up now.

the simplest things become torture to my being. to me being.

nothing new, i just need to cut back on the consumption of aspartame.

easy, readily available sollutions.
it's all fiction.

you're an addict.

living in a glasshouse (she keeps all heads calm, the icemachine pays off, plentyful. do your thing)

i am pleased. somewhat.
i'm cold, hungry and depressed all of the time i spend being awake. feeling selfdestructive. the only path i know now. yes, i've spent many an hour walking up and down to that mill that is my head.
i am curious, but only when i'm half asleep. half awake. i seek this state at all costs, but it shrinks with an audience.
blissfully aware of things to come, not so much.
my hair growing longer is the only way that enables me to see what time really is, that it really does pass and haven't given up on me entirely - it still kills in the end and i long for the moment when that very end comes close enough to engulf my diseaseridden soul.
knit a buttercup, cook them all. birds are excellent builders and mushrooms cling to their tasks. i admire their courage, their spirit and mindset, their ambition and mission.
step away from the microwave and set the alarms to reset. replay. rip. tear. flare and don't care. step away, just be careful. noone cares, but be careful.

keep your head in the fridge but resent from eating. hollow despair and transparent problems. i see through the essay of your life, the stories make no sense. they come in no order, but i sort of sort them all out. stuff and stack, play with cheerful expressions. be the change you want to see and reap the benefits of good health. not anymore, noone cares, but be careful. you're a part of the gang now, you're a part of the pack. you're a part of the plan, take nothing back.

horses complain but cease to do so when under the spell of your commands. be assertive, i'm ready to swollow it all.

clash into my spirit and regret the day you became concious.
age kicks you in the face and drags you by the ear. our very existance laughs so loud and takes us nowhere new. your ticket has no value, it's all done for. complain, but be gentle. take care.

and most important of all things:
don't get any
         big ideas

boredom used to be a virtue. now it's only boring. what happened?

i want to make a t-shirt that says "you'll thank me later" so that i'll have an excuse for behaving the way i want.

also, i want a shirt with signs that points in many different directions and every sign says "sofie"

also. i want.
so much.

a life, plx. being retarded is only fun in the short run.


i guess i inherited my dad's lazyness.

i went for a walk in our yard and there's probably no other place in this area that holds comparable amounts of mess.

well. all i could think of was "hey... this is exactly how my brain works!"

do not know if that's a good or bad thing.
probably bad because lazyness means i never finish things.

ah.. whatever.

i enjoy the fact that people usually break out in laughter when i ask "what do you think the world would be like if every person was an exact replica of me?"

and now i'm all out of stories to tell you.

but i have some brand sparkin' new ideas



..... no, i don't.


ah well. hopelessnessiousityness.