Fourteenth note: Just right now a big aaaaaaaaaa

Just right now my mind is somewhere in between getting crazy and feeling perfectly sound.

Let me explain to you.

I am getting more and more aware of the horrible connection between talents and pacifying fear. Talents are what I have pacifying fear is what I feel. I think I know the roots of the fears to. But the roots are firmly plated into concrete earth and I keep disappointing myself with always letting myself standing still when I feel the earth move and take the chance to escape.

I wish I could just be less afraid of what would happen if I would bare my naked soul and go where daring people go. Reading a book by the Swedish author Marcus Birro. He is truly amazing, one minute I want to slap him because he seems so full of himself and the other I love him because he states something that perfectly suits my heart and soul. I think what makes me even bother to read it is that I know that what he says fits me so well. A bit like the perfect teacher. He inspires like a bitter and angry rock star, but also demands like a pesky friend. You simply have to live upto what he (without knowing it) thinks you are capable of. And in my case there lies a little bit more behind the words.

A few years back ago I wrote a poem, which I later read on the air in Frank in P3. A really big radio show in Sweden. Marcus Birro had this segment there called Diktskola, which translates to Poem School. After you read your poem he commented on it and gave a few tips and ideas. What was so magical in my case was that what he said suited my poem so well. Exactly where I felt I had pushed to get something out of myself he had said that it felt just like it was something that had not come naturally.
I absolutely love that moment. I also wonder if more people can sense when something feels forced in my writing.

Do you sense when I force the next line?

In the book I am reading he teaches how to write, giving you rules and regulations only to tell you to break them totally. Kind of stirs you up. But there is one thing he always returns to, if YOU feel you are a writer. Then you are. There are too many writers that have lost their dream and aren't writing anymore. This is the forementioned Poem School in book form.

So where am I now?

I am in a state of mind where I have just realised that I probably am a painter and a writer first. Someone who wants to live with art first of all (not only paintings). Art is so big, art is everything.
In two seconds I have changed my mind and I want to become a politician. But they walk the same road...art and politics...hopefully.

While I am here, though no one seems to read my fucking blog I am going to send some sweet regards to a few people.
If you see your name here and know it is you, please write something to me. Like a comment here or something.

Ulrika, Björn, Eva, Cissi, Lina, Sanna, Jonas, Magnus, Louise. Mother, father, sister, brother.

Whatever...I just feel like I want to sort out shit and move on.

Current film: Anything by Kevin Smith, Lost in Translation, A Love Song For Bobby Long and the Station Agent.
Current song: Beach Boys version of California Dreamin or Mary Mary by Chumbawamba
Current tickle(s): Frida Kahlo and Salvador Dali, interesting texts, music, food, love and life. (Ulrika make me live again, I promise to stop complaining)

ps. A thing I've noticed about the guys I like is that they often have the same name. Easy way of staying out of trouble if you call out for the wring person in bed...maybe?