Jittery

Day 2 of Uppsala. Or day 1, depending on how you see it. It took a hell of a lot of time to get here yesterday. But the night ended on McDonalds (the looks of pain on my friends' faces as we gave up finding cheap food and headed for the Donc, they were so worth coming here for) and with some roleplaying. I can't say I've grasped the feeling of Exalted yet, but it will come, I hope. It didn't go straight home like Vampire, but we'll see over time.

I managed to prepare some stuff and think some stuff about Kirya and other things on the train too. So honestly, I'm pretty jitterish here about not being able to write until I get back home. I sit around making secret plans of how to steal people's computers since I, asocial as I am, brought my USB-stick with the writings "just in case". =P And I have homework I should do when I get back home too... as if.

Chapter 5

I should have vacations more often =P Wow... life like a real author might be like this... damn, I want it! Got into a flow and here is chapter 5.
Theme of this chapter: Obon <3

Matters of the Closed Fist

I'm not entirely sure of that this chapter is completely finished; if it's too angsty tell me!!! I don't want it to go all whine whine, but there's also truths to be told, and a feeling to be established for the continuation. So you say; but how can we know if it's too angsty until we read the rest? Well, the point is to know if it's too angsty when you don't know the future. So Tell Me! ^^

I feel I need to move on a little, been standing a bit still for a while. But don't want to shorten the style when the beginning has been flowing so nicely. Maybe one or two chapters more, hopefully only one, and a character whom I've been waiting so much for will finally appear! ^^ Not that I'll tell you who that is even when I present him/her, but anyways... =P So bear with me, I have big plans.

**Going on a trip, may not post for five or so days**

Chapter 4

Theme of this chapter: speaking up.

Truth of Words Unsaid (Kirya Chapter 4)

This thing about adding new characters is a delicate business: too many names, even if it's only sidecharacters, confuses a story and dulls the focus. But often people solve this by re-using characters earlier introduces in places where they shouldn't appear naturally, and I refuse to do that. And if the reader knows, automatically, that every character that is introduced has an important role to play, they sit and wait for something big to happen them. That's not how reality is. So I work a lot on what character to add and what to not, and how to have them come and go.

The whole Tales of Ruins sequence (it's actually named One World, Tales of Ruins is just a part) is the story of a world, with all that means considering politics and games for power. I try to make it real, but focus on smaller people caught in the middle, or it would be as fun as reading a history book (Okay, history books are fun, but maybe not *this* fun ^^). Anyway, some stories handle bigger events, like Tales of Ruins, some concern smaller.

And what category does Kirya belong to? You'll find out if you keep reading. :3

Smile

Nyum nyumm... :3 <-- me-happy-sound


Swedish poem time:

Det finns många små ögonblick.

... som att dra någons blick från TV:n mitt i reklamen utan att säga eller göra nåt.
... som att få köttbullar till nudlarna av någon man inte känner.
... som att få en flytväst i handen utan förvarning eller ifrågasättande.
... som att snyggisen klappar i händerna efter sitt ex framträdande.
... som att springa ihop med någon som håller bussen åt en.
... som att någon skrämmer bort det där fyllot genom att prata om plankor.
... som att upptäcka att man förstår en människa ingen annan tycker om.
... som att läsa en artikel om sin far i lokaltidningen skriven av nån som försöker förståsigpå.
... som att få ett felsms som undrar om man vill behålla barnet.
... och en massa andra saker som får folk att fråga en: Vad fan går du runt och flinar om?

Words from Lavender

I still have nothing to write so I'll post an excerpt from chapter 4 that I am exceptionally proud of. ^^

The rest of the day he drew symbols in the sand near the road and connected each one to a sound from his mouth, chaining them together into words and meanings. He showed her how to write her name, and she stared at the strange signs that her own hands had made, who were calling for her from the earth itself. These symbols, in this very order and form, was she, was her and everything she was. Just like the symbols for ‘tree’ incorporated the essence of a tree, and nothing else. A powerful force, that Obon treated most carelessly, hastily scribbling them with a stick.
She was more careful, took her time to form the lines and curves, and watched the word ‘tree’, almost expecting the stem and roots and leaves to spring from the ground. But they didn’t, and she understood that too, eventually, even if Obon said nothing of it. It was not the tree itself that hid within the word, but the spirit of it, a bubbling force swirling invisibly along the spirals of the letters.
And utilizing this force, she could speak.

Soooo... I've actually drawn a Random-Female-Lunar and Keloria today, but on paper, so sorry... but I don't think I could draw those layers and layers of clothes nicely with the tablet. -_- Also I am now editor of the anthology my class writes, collects and prints together. Fun! ^^ Though I don't know what to fill my part of it with: I write novels, not prose or poems, normally. I guess I'll have to write some sort of short story again for it, one that is actually good. =P

Loss

I discover new losses with my memory card every moment.

The levels and aeons of FFX. All the old Ratchet & Clank, that I need for the new games. The file with an almost completed Resident Evil 4. All the money and equipment earned in Soul Calibur 3. The file in Kingdom Hearts 2 where I was about to deafeat Sephiroth. The 100% in Final Fantasy X-2. The damned work I put down on Devil May Cry 2. //.Hack, that I'll never finish again. Okami. Shadow of the Colossus. ICO. Syberia... and so much more. Hundreds of hundreds of hours vanished with one stupid person's ignorance. The list goes on and on and... what should I do?

What. Should. I. Do?!?!

Self-Portrait

Yup, that's me, up there to the left ^^ I like the new banner. And the new catchphrase. It suits me.

It appears the vets doesn't know what's wrong with my kitty, even as they had him a whole day x-raying and poking the poor thing, but as always they gave us some antibiotics that'll be hell to get into him, and billed us for a good portion of green. Well, if the meds actually help his breathing and fixes the coughing, I don't care. To be honest, I'm just happy he didn't have lungcancer or some other of the thousande scenarios I made up.

Unproductive

Soon vacation. I feel like I've been rather unproductive these last days. No poems, no drawings, nothing valuable to say. I heard EB Games had been looking for personnel, and maybe it's lucky I didn't hear until too late, because if I could have gotten that job... who knows if I'd still be here. Yes, I know, education and all that. But I'm soooo lazy, and I'm not going to be a brainsurgeon anyway. I think when whoever put me together gave me the better parts of my mind, they forgot to give me the necessary parts for survival. Like responsability and disciplin. ^^ Yet I'm here... mostly because it's easy. If walking away was easier than staying, you'd be eating my dust.

Let's make a new banner for the blog.

To All My Friends

Most important in my life: people who like me.

I am somewhat of a lone wolf who tends to not discuss my decision processes and sometimes grow quite controversial opinions that prohibit me from expressing my thoughts in public, but I am *completely dependent* on people who like me enough to express it, even if I'm slow to express my own appreciation, and who can give me compliments without me asking for them, since I seldom do.

Thus, thank you, all my friends, and especially those who know what I'm talking about now. I pretend to be many things, many many many things, and I'm doing quite a good job of it, to the point where I don't even want the people I love to know the truth about me, even when I feel bad about not being able to be who I am. The human mind is truly amazing. *sigh*

Another discovery about myself: the hunt is so much better than the catch. I am a hunter. Leave to others to enjoy the defeated prey. Translated: Once people want me, I've won, and I have no interest in being anything but friends. So sorry. Be careful, I'm evil.

Sara, I will care for your diary as if was it the love child of my cat. (And don't underestimate the seriousness of that, I still feel physically sick when I think about anything bad happening to that cat.)

On Lunars:

Since I'm pissed as hell at whatever idiot has stolen my PS2 memory card, I really don't feel like elaborating on my mental state. What I really feel like is slowly stabbing someone to death with my fingernails. But nevermind.

Instead, I'll answer some critizism over Falorn.

This is hard without writing an entire essay, but okay. Barbaric: yes. Lunars are rather civilized, but they make an effort to appear simpler in public. They're too proud to sink as low as to appear just stupid, though, so they tend to gravitate toward imitating the "strong and silent" type. The scarce clothing is also a way to show off their tattoos, since more and more complicated tattoos indicate power and authority, as well as a remnant from their tribal days. It is possible by the fact that they have very high resistance to cold. At first sight they may seem *very* barbaric and many fear violence judging them by appearance, but the Lunars emit a friendly, calming aura, especially under moonlight. Get close enough inside that aura, and all you're going to see is a big, blue, favorite uncle, which is a theatre the Lunars are happy to enforce.

Falorn is one of the best, sharpest Lunars. His favorite take on a situation is to rush in to the aid of people (preferrably women) as the perfect, low key gentleman and offer his service to "help" whatever this person may need, only cleverly twisting it to his own advantage. The other Lunars respect his skills, but he is not the most popular character, since sometimes his methods are harsh even for them (which, let me tell you... this guy is not someone you want to meet the real personality of).

Finally, Lunars are vain. They hide it, they deny it, but they are hopelessly vain. The Lunar males noticed that they came off more impressive when they *undressed*, since they are large and muscular of build naturally. (Look at Felahr here -->, he's still a young male, and the other Lunars think he's a skinny mommy's boy.) (The females dress is miles of thin, light cloth draped in all shapes and manners, except the few who fight.)

Blehg... there's loads to say. This is enough to explain the barbaric appearance of them, though. They're not supposed to come off as fair like elves, I hope they didn't in my writing. Just, the aura of a Lunar makes just as much impact on how he appears as his actual features and clothes, only that can't be shown in a picture. And they actually control their auras.

The Reinians have a saying about Lunars: "The only way to know if a Lunar is lying is to kill him. If his ghost seems insulted, then he might have been telling the truth."

Dates

Halloween party 9/11. Nice.

Mikael leaves this Friday, comes back after the break (29/10 - 2/11) a mini-taste of how the spring term will be, since he only stayes until Christmas.

Therese had a presentation today about SAC. Some form of socialistic, half-ass non-political, group for workers who don't believe in capitalism and hierarchy. It was interesting and thought-provoking, and a little scary. I feel our opinions about one or two things might clash a bit, but strangely enough I also feel I - we - could handle that, which is unusual, since I don't like conflicts. Must be beacuse she's so cool =P

I'm going to Uppsala to visit people 30/11 and comes back 3/11. Mmm, long train travels alone. Seriously. The world doesn't offer a better opportunity to think.

I have too many movies to watch. Someone tell me if Planet Terror is worth the time, please?

And that's Falorn, though I'm not completely satisfied with how the clothes turned out. Also, there's no frame of reference here, but he's about 2 meters tall and usually quite looming.

Cya

Ännu en fin liten modernistisk dikt (jag fattar fortfarande inte om den är modernistisk eller inte, men whatevs) som inte har någon titel och inte heller ska ha någon.

Det ska sitta en lapp här,
enligt förpackningen.
En lapp som säger
vad som helst.
Jag ska sätta dit den själv.

Den ska sitta precis här,
enligt bruksanvisningen.
En liten lapp på en
välaviserad plats.
Jag ska skriva på den själv.

Men där finns ingen lapp
inuti plasten.
Ingen vit och ingen svart
och ingenting säger den.
Så vad ska jag skriva på den?

Rockstaaaaaar!!!

Hmm... that poem (Emotions, damn what a corny title, I'll make a new one, look up) would be perfect for a song. I just need a chorus...

Turn away from me and taste the world outside.
Walk away from me and let me run and hide.
Forget me, so I can hate in peace.
Forgive me, so I can return to being me.

There! Good. Now... eh...
The sad thing is, I attend a school full of musicians, but I don't dare to ask any of them to make music for me. Why? Well... I don't feel like writing an essay about that right now.

(Okay, I wasn't entirely serious about that title. Let me go to sleep.)

Emotions

I hate the color of your eyes
that I can't remember
I hate the stature of your body
not waiting for me at dawn
I hate your silent gaze
that I never understood
I hate the feelings
running through my blood.

I hate the color of your house
it's everywhere to remind me
I hate the smell of your body
that makes me dizzy still
I hate your faked confidence
that somehow made me strong
I hate emotions
stringing me along.


Oh, come on, I can at least mention him in poems, right? Or there won't be many poems here =P

Sorry, no phone calls will be taken.

Hehe, hey, look *waves* I'm alive!

Though not at school today, thank Pillow. I haven't written that modernistic/futuristic/surrealistic poem we were supposed to, and I seriously consider not doing it at all. I like that we get to try out different styles, but modernism has never-ever-ever been a thing for me. I may like it, like some of Salvador Dali, but I can't do it, and certainly not write it. If it was a drawing, then maybe.

My throat still doesn't like it's new population of acid clot-beings, but I guess they'll come to terms eventually. In the meantime, though, I'm thankful if I can avoid speaking. So phone calls will be turned down kindly unless my grandma is dying. Sorry.

Actually, you should be thankful. My brother keeps laughing at how I sound when I try to speak. I can't say m, n, ng, b and so on, and most of the time when I start a sentence I sound like a suffocated rat. "Automatvapen" is for some reason no problem to say, though.

God, that short story in swedish, over there <---, it just gets worse for every time I read it. What the hell was I thinking? It's like some stupid vending machine love story written by some 50 yo lady. I have to do something about it.

Bus 300 at 13.52 next! (WARNING: extensive whining)

Friday morning I woke up, felt that my throat had become the victim of vicious, acid clot-beings, turned off my alarm and slept until 13.30. By 16.30 I realized I had to eat something and went to dinner, despite the headache. By the time I had eaten, I felt ready to faint on the floor. After having turned down a glass of gold (whiskey, which I gravely regretted I didn't accept afterwards, we'll get to that) I went to my room and thought that I'd feel better if I distracted myself. Twenty minutes later I was shaking so bad I couldn't use the computer anymore. I went to bed, but, mark my idiocy, I took off my pants. Which meant I spent the next hour and a half in heavy - heavy - fever, feeling as if my legs would freeze and fall off any moment, yet was half-unconscious and unable to move thus could not get the pants back. That was when I began regretting the whole alcohol turndown.

Five hours later, I was at least feeling alive enough to be bored with lying there. Not like there was anything else I could do, I was still fevery and dizzy, but I always feel bored when I'm ill. And I was regretting not going home, like mom and several other people told me to, and I was missing my Wow account, and whining together a whole novel of why life sucked and why I would end up incapacitated for my whole life because of my fucking stunt with the pants.

I still have a fever, and I'm not typing as fast as I normally would, because motor skills seem to have dropped 5 points, but at least I can move around. My right leg still feels strange, though, which is creepy. And also why I write this. Because if my leg falls off in six months, I want to remember why.

Which leads me to this glorious conclusion:
Fuck this, I'm going home.

The Machine

Poem made from a manual to a certan machin, translated, but I have not exchanged any words or even word order, only moved the sentences. It was a school-thing (we do so many fun school-things in writing-class) and I think it turned out really cute.

The Machine

WARNING! gasoline
is very flammable.
Do not smoke while filling the tank
nor in the vicinity of the tank.
Do not leave
the machine
without turning off the engine.

Never let children,
or other people who do not know
the machine,
drive
the machine.
Inform every other person who is going to drive
the machine
of the risks involved.

Wear suitable pants and shoes.
Keep hands and feet away from the spinning blades.

Warcraft is dead *sad*

My Wow account expires today and I can't really afford renewing it. Especially as my internet keeps throwing me out every five minutes. Makes it awfully hard to quest, or just survive in general. It sucks, because I was beginning to get my wow inspiration back.

So now my dear lvl 43 warrior will have to wait for me in silence until next year, I think. Unless I move to another room and the new house has better internet, but I doubt that will happen. I can't afford that either, you see. In fact, don't ask, because I can't afford anything. Except candy. Candy takes precedance to everything else. Is precedance a real word or did I just make that one up?

Gimme a minute, have to fetch a notebook from inside, and I'll give you a really cute poem.

Chapter 3 is up!

Puh, right, finally finished chapter 3 in the Kirya series. The links are to the left, but here, I'll post it right here too ^^

Visions from the Light Above

I'm still not 100% satisfied with how it turned out, some parts somehow seems to damage the flow of the story a little, even if I solved the major problems. And the last part is perfect.

The main plot is beginning to shape up now, and I've figured out a way to tell something I had no idea how to do just this morning. Being bored in busses, dieing from stomach pains and listening to insane (and I mean insane) church organ music seems to give me inspiration. But all I really needed to do was take the time to listen to what Crow had to say and he cleared it all up for me. I'm a little unsure about the name now, Crow, does it fit him? But I'm not so happy about changing it either, considering I'll have to poke at Tales of Ruins...

I watched Poseidon some nights ago, and I have to say, the original movie is a lot more dramatic and traumatic. It's called S.O.S. Poseidon, I think, and was made some fifteen years ago, or something. And though the newer one may have cooler (marginally) special effects, I think the original is better. Then again, I can't say I'm thrilled with either one of them.

Weekend Visit

Saw my old buddies this weekend, and goddamned stinking pile of shit how much I miss them.

We played Exalted a while, but ended up discussing, well, discussioning, among other things. The general male opinion seemed to be that it's fun to wreck people's worlds, while me and Eva tried to air the information that that is not the only way to convince people. And it pissed me off mostly because of the gender division. I don't want to be a product of my girl-upbringing.

Jocke's cat had a speciality of stealing food: jump onto chair/person sitting in chair, swipe at the table with claws out and hope that food gets stuck on the paw.

Page 2

Most famous authors follow a distinct pattern: odd as children, bright but fragile through life, finally breaking and commiting suicide. Great. Can I have some more cheerful role models, please?

As for "The last of your clan" on the previous comic page, it's maybe not obvious in the novel, but not overly important either. The human families who belong to different Lifestealers are called clans, and depending on the lifeforce of the clans they are rankedin "quality of blood". The clans often not only keep their masters fed, but also protect their lives and honor, since their well-being depended on them. Obon's clan was chosen specifically for the Guard Captain because they were the highest ranking. So Obon is actually the single highest ranking human in the Midnight City and could have moved to a powerful Lifestealer family when the Guard Captain was exiled, but since he ran away to be with Kirya, as his mother wished, he's thought dead, and people who see him think he's just common trash.

This one was made exclusively in Photoshop, so it looks different from the first. Different programs can do different things, and while Photoshop doesn't have a lot of functions I like with Open Canvas or Manga Studio (or I can't find them) it's best overall. Which sucks. I liked the look of the first page better, but it kept crashing while I drew, so back to PS it is. -_-

Comicking

Oh, and by the way, I tried out a new drawing program (which sucked so I switched back to Photoshop) and ended up drawing a "first page" for a Kirya-comic. Thing is, the first ten pages of a comic is dreadfully boring to draw, so I never get to the fun part until I tire, or start sucking so bad I have to stop. So I'll never be a comic artist unless someone writes me a good script (I can't really think comic). Also, drawing the same person 20 times can be dreadfully difficult.
I did get some nice ideas and a little confidence from watching the video of how Quinn from Geek Blather (online comic) draws and colors her strips. It's on their site.
I also understand now why Wacom owns the drawing tablet industry. But mine (Trust) is pretty good anyway, I think, and mostly I just need to teach my hand to be steady.

Leeching

Therese and Isabell are off to Karlstad to swim, and I don't have a swimsuit so I can't go -_- I sit here and wonder what the hell it is Lisa wants us to do for Naturkunskapen, because all her instructions are completely up the walls, they make sense and all when you listen, but an hour later you think back and go: huh?

Evis is coming after dinner to steal the Sims 2 expantions from me (whoa, I'm confessing a crime on a public blog, how scandalous... though since she's going down with me at least I'll have good-looking company in jail). I think she waited so long because she didn't want me to think she only talks to me because I'm a geek and happen to have what she wants. But the funny thing is, I don't mind if people do that, because only pure embarrassment stop me from going full fledged leech on anyone and everyone around me.

As long as it doesn't demand grand things from them, why not make use of people around you? Friendship is exchange of ideas. Leech-ship is exchange of material possessions. And both doesn't have to be direct, but can be formed based only on common interests, contacts or locations.

Father

Never forget the moment
your father became a mortal
That fearfully simple moment
when the sun shone and the birds sung.
Never forget the thought
that his gun really was a gun,
Before your eyes in that thought
his badge became a target.
Never forget the day
when justice became personal,
And always remember this The Day
when you forget the fragility of his heart.

I was maybe 12, and I had read in the papers about the robbers who shot a cop to death, I think it was Malexander, or sometime after that. Dad told us this story about stopping a car, I can't remember exactly why but it wasn't for any big reason. They found loads of drugs. And they found several weapons in the back, among them a shotgun with the pipe cut off. He told it like a funny occurance at the job. I think, looking back, that he just needed to say it to get it off his chest.

And I thought, no, I understood for the first time: My father is a policeman. My father could be killed any day. By some random thug on the street whose life isn't worth crap compared to the man my father is.

And I was afraid for days.

Love you, dad.

On the phone:

Roughly translated:

Kristin: movies and stuff blablabla immortality would be useful...

Me: Immortality would only be good for watching all movies you wanna watch, and read all books you wanna read and...

Kristin: Learn all things you want to learn, and go all places you want to go... and then you might want to do those social things too, like having kids and stuff.

Me: ... Social things. ^^

Kristin: ... What?

Me: ^^

I found a program to make screenmates. So now I have four little gif chocobos in different colors running around the bottom edge of my desktop. I like them.

I also have the best chocolate cookies in the world. They're crunchy - and have chocolate!

The truth of Iceye

My english is still dwindling. I write and write and feel as if my insides slowly squeal like raisins at the same pace as my fingers slow down over the keyboard letters, and my head takes desperate tours in Swedish around little corners.
English was my safety and my own world, my exit out of myself and into Iceye. Now it's freezing, dying, like the roses of Salikon, and I am desperate... truly, I am desperate for something to save me. I watch movies without subtitles and mix in english with my swenglish even more often, but it is as if it doesn't matter anymore. I still stare at the black against white on my computer screen and feel like I'm producing mice when I could build an elephant.
Yes, my Swedish is getting a little better. But I don't want it anymore. Take it away! All of it! Erase my mind, but give me my little own world under the rosebush back, and warm my fingers into a tapdance! Take it away! Take me away! I don't want myself anymore, I want Iceye! I want the rush of sentences and delicate pronounciations, I want the flow of the heart of my characters!
I am not Iceye, you must understand this most underlying truth. I am me. Iceye is here, in these letters, in my texts, in my poems. It is outside of me, so it can be greater than me, and it doesn't need me like I need it. And now, caught in Swedish, this language of mortals and men, my poems are becoming me, are abandoning Iceye. Like an imaginary friend no longer of use it is fading, hiding. It mustn't. Because I have no desire to become an author. But Iceye already is, and I must follow it, into death if fate so wills. If I lose her, I am lost.

I Do Like Dogs

Now I did something funny... I volunteered to read a poem of mine in front of the school at our café-night next tuesday. It felt right when I did, but now I'm scardie.

Most of all I don't know which poem to read; the one in ekshärska down there, or this one:

I Like Dogs

Dogs are stupid - and they smell!
Have absolutely nothing that speaks well
of their poor undereducated minds
whose only good lies in to find
little sticks and powdered dust,
and to add, they simply must!
wet their eye and wag their tail
and whimper poorly when they fail
to please their master, speaks it not
how void of pride they are, the lot!
And you must feed them all the time
and they spread dirt just all around!
So listen to me, one and all,
upon your well-being I now call:
for I give very good advice,
I'm sure you'll want to thank me thrice (later)
Yes, though they are dummer than a log,
you all will love - to own a dog!

*bows*, *waves*, and *leaves*

insomnia

Feels like I should give up on even trying to get into bed in time these days (nights). There's too much to do and too much darkness to enjoy. It's like the night can be tasted on the tip of my tongue and it's a drug that I can't live without, even if I feel like shit the morning after.

Some people are smoking the big bad witch-pot over here, I think I know who. And while I don't really care, it annoys me that the school goes all pretentious about prohibiting drugs and alcohol, but when they find out someone's doing drugs, they do virtually nothing. Be an asshole. But be it in the open.

Comment from a loving mother: "There's not a lot of jobs to get that isn't normal nine-to-five."
My rather pissed off answer: "I do intend to look those up anyway."
Sometimes I just wish my parents weren't so completely, utterly, totally, normally, swedishly Svensson. A piece of actually useful advice or at least an opinion that isn't fetched from their own boring growing-ups could be fun once in a while.

If I ever have children, I will so try to look at things from their perspective and encourage them to be themselves, even if that means they rather work nightshift. -_-

Poem in Ekshärska

Var meningen att jag skulle skriva en dikt tills idag, men lat som jag är skriver jag den nu. Nåt pappa sa på vägen hit fick iallafall igång min kreativitet ^^ Så här kommer den... och jag vet inte riktigt hur man skriver på ekshärska, så jag har uppfunnit min egen stavning lite. Ni som vet hur jag pratar får väl försöka uttyda det hela.

Måndagan står sôm spö i backen
å int kan en gär an än å klag tôcken
för dä ä sôm ôm de alri blir rektet ljust.
Å onsdagan står sôm fån å tetter
mett i vecka å skratter å fnettrer
å en bord å gär nô men jä har int lust.
Å på fredagan ä en så förbannade slut
se int ôrker en ta sä ôpp å gå ut
se en hänger här sôm en fesk på tôrk.
Å söndagan ska en int tâl mä mej om!
Sôm en månda igen, nej fy fasen för dôm!
Å se säjer de te'n; var gla du ä hôrk.
Nä, live ä hårt här i klarälvdaln
tes hin håle själv kryper in hit å tar'n
för allt en har ti mä ä å kånk å bär.
Se då kanske ni unrer hur de kommer sä
att ja har ti å sitt här å dikt för dä?
Jo dä ska jä tal om! Dä har ni itnâ mä å gär!

Fun, eh? ^^