Journeys and fairytales

Talked on the phone with someone I haven't heard from in a long time. Going to see someone else I haven't seen in a long time. Emotions rising and dwindling. Good feasty flesh for my writing demon. Going away, be back in about 5 days. Here's a poem to enjoy till next time.

Tears

I save my tears for bedtime
shred them on fairytales
rather than wet your shoulder
over all the ways hearts can fail.
In dreams of vivid collection
all of my sorrows can vent
and alone I may be forever
but the time with you was well spent.

I am the Materia-girl ^^

I've been thinking about materialism. Mainly because, as those who know me will have noticed, my prioritizing isn't quite of the spiritual kind. I suppose I can stand for that I may say "I can't afford coming to this or that party" and the next moment buy a new game or parts for my computer - or just a silly amount of candy. (Sorry if any of you have taken offense sometime.) In my next breath I brag about how much money I save by not buying alcohol at the drop of a hat.

I guess everyone has their thing, y'know? The money one spends on one thing, someone else spends on something else, but we all spend it, right? (Okay, so the saints may give it away, but they darn well don't just pile it either.) Should the economic market steer everything? I can't say I agree, because that would mean the global, powerful companies would run everything, as they're already well on their way doing. And power corrupts, as we all know. But should materialism be clanked on? Well, if someone is going to do that they should be careful to clean out their own closet first.

Happiness *can* be bought, just don't forget that the prizes aren't always set in money.

Having The Biggest Gun

My brother is buying a new video card, (ATI Radeon 2600 Pro 512Mb HIS for those who care), and I am sorely jealous. (Jealous is a pretty ugly word in English, btw, in its written form, even if it's beautiful in speech. Kind of like the Swedish spelling of juice, jos. Sooo ugly.) Now my wondering is, how big difference does those 512Mb compared to 256Mb, aside from 400 crowns? That's my Question Of The Year.

And, more importantly, which one is more important? Graphix card or Magna Carta and Dark Chronicle for PS2? Spelbutiken.se's sale is going to be the death of me. There are dozens of games I've been wanting to play for the last three-four years. MC and Dark Chronicle are just the top of an iceberg. I mean, Devil May Cry 3: Special Edition? God of War 2? And those of you who haven't played Dreamfall yet, go get the Limited Edition for 150 crowns. As for other computer games there are at least better possibilities to try them before buying them, so I can make a more clean list.

Just to complete the geekness I have to tell I've spent Christmas break completing FF7:Dirge of Cereberus with all files and getting the Ultimate Weapon. Now I just have to finish it on Extra Hard Mode, some Extra Missions, and then finish God of War on highest difficulty. Then I will have the confidence that I suppose corresponds to what men refer to as having the biggest gun.
Ta ta, darlings!

Creative breakdown

Hehe, first I pick on you guys for not blogging, then I sigh because I suddenly have to read lotz.

My writing is behaving strangely. (In case anyone wondered what happened to Kirya.) For one, I am nullifying the latest Chapter, The Way Through Heaven, because... well, I had plans, and I have new plans, and all in all no plans I ever make add up correctly, and I just think half of the chapter is the victim of inconsequential and very bad writing, especially the ending.

The better, more professional form my writing gets, the more crap I write. Or rather; the better I know I can do, the harder I judge what I do until the smallest story turn into a novel project on life and death. And Kirya has hit a wall because Shemhazai is important, and I have to make him important without fucking up Kirya's importance, and I seem to have lost all contact with Obon's personality, and I'm just too fucking hard on myself.

And I'm writing this because I just copied the Kirya-file from my hard-drive to my memorystick and forgot that it was the file on the stick that was the latest version so I have just lost the remake of the latest chapter as well as two pages of the next. Shoot me. No seriously. Either shoot me or get me a boyfriend (perferrably doubling as muse), because anything in-between and I'll go raving mad.

It will take me days to recover from this (I know this from experience with lost texts). And I don't have days. Christmas break is soon over! Dammit.

The Thoughts Of Those Left Behind

My recently started "list of things so difficult to decide about that I'd rather blow my head up" has gotten another post. The previous entries included items such as abortion, religious freedom, freedom of speech and capital punishment. The new item reads: euthanasia.

This isn't a woe-me post and I want no comments of the sort. Instead, it's a post about the enormous difficulties with euthanasia, from a strictly non-political, emotional standing.

Gramps and grandmother came to our place for Christmas dinner. Sometimes she's like a little kid, you can say; "Wouldn't you like more food?" and she'll agree, but if you'd said "You don't want more food, do you?" she'd agree with that too, and she's the kind of person who could do that on purpose, but you can't be sure that she's aware of doing it. The one thing she says that I really think comes from her heart, is that she's tired. She's tired of being a liability to others and herself, she's tired of not being able to think. Father spent most of Christmas helping her getting dressed, eating, walking from one chair to the other, talking to her, holding her hand. That's all you can do, and it's not enough, because whether she'll remember it tomorrow or not, she finds no real happiness in it anymore. And being so utterly powerless... It breaks my heart, but then what does it do to my father? It's his mother. I don't want to go all to personal, because I'm starting to scratch on other people's privacy here, but summing it up my father is the most loving person I ever met, but perhaps also the one it shows least on until you get to know him. He's seen things most people refrain from even trying to imagine, and it hardens him, but it also makes him more fragile, I think. Like hardened steel, y'know?

What would it do to my father if the option to end her suffering was in his head too?

And that, simply, is why I cannot, ever, wholeheartedly speak for euthanasia, even as my logical self believes in that it should be every man's right.

Big Mysterious Mafia Event: BMME

It's only days until this big, mysterious, exotic event now that everyone is talking about, I think they called it krismas or maybe it was christnus. All internet-bought presents have arrived, the lines of cars in the city is dumbfoundingly slow, and the sky absolutely shines of absolute gray unshinyness. The secretive nature of my existance forbids that my by name related family would suspect any form of wishes for this event, thus I can hope no more for fun presents in the direction indicated by green, pointy arrow. The red pointy arrow seems to be working well, though, to my apparant relief and satisfaction.

Do you know a "party"game called Mafia? It absolutely rul-ez. Play it with all your friendly neighborhood manipulative bastards, excentric old men and psychopathic dictators. It's not only a perfect game to spend time, witch-hunt your friends, test your subterfuge-skills and murder the innocent, but also a great way to get to know people (as long as they dare to play with you). The rules are to find on Wikipedia, though they appear slightly more complicated than they are in practice, thus allowing you to practice your tactical skills before even knowing the game. Go ahead. Kill someone. Or even better: fool someone else to kill someone innocent.

Bachsalen

It appears that, except for a very regularly updated though not very regular christmas calendar, my friends blogging has ceased in the face of Santa, but I will hang on 'til the bitter end. We had christmas dinner today at school. I hate parties, if I don't know more than three quarters personally and the total sum rests safely below twenty. I made happy face, dressed up reasonably and went anyway, for the sake of social common sense.

On to the more important issue, as have become a habit these latest posts.

Tomorrow at 0700 there's an assembly in the "religious hall" of this school. Remember, there are courses for priest-persons and playing-piano-in-church-persons here, so they have meeting (mass? what's it called?) at 1800 sometimes (maybe it's only sundays? I keep no check on such) and that's what they do in that hall. It's when people are supposed to say goodbye before christmas break. Now, people will believe I don't go because I'm a lazy bastard and it's too early in the morning, but the truth is I feel like I'm disrespecting christianity by going. And screw you (christian or not) who say oh, but church is for anyone, and it's just a tradition anyway and whatever else. Who gives a shit what you think? What I'm talking about is religion, and my religion states that it makes me uncomfortable to hang around places that belong to other people's religion when they're doing religious stuff and I have nothing to do there. I'm talking about that it makes me feel like I'm bothering your God, and screw you really hard if you think you know that better than I do. I can go to a church, look at it like a tourist, watch a wedding or just sit and think, that's one thing. But listening to religious songs and hallelujas, fine, you may think it means nothing, but to me it means that I'm not standing for the belief that I have. It's like talking shit about someone and then when they ask, deny it. Stand for your shit. That's what I'm doing. If God exists and is pissed at me for not being christian, then I'll take my punishment for that. Not running around church being in the way for people who really do believe.

There are so many reasons people totally run me over with a six ton truck when I say stuff like that (remember dogs are stupid, anyone?) but whatever. It's what I believe, thus it's my truth.
So put your christmas meeting somewhere else and I'll be there at 0500 in the morning if you want, but over there, no.

Secret Conviction

I was going to write about leaving for christmas, but then I had the strongest Déjà Vu and will take that as a hint to not. Instead I will write about things people don't tell just anyone and why that may be important.

As may be seen from this blog, I have always been one to openly discuss anything, embarrassing or not. But since I came to this school, i have begun to wonder wheather that is the right thing. Maybe some things are to be kept, only told to the ones you trust. But this is a double edged sword. As follows:

It seemed Jonas (my teacher) liked my christmas compendium, since I was asked to read aloud from it several pieces. In my greedy, selfish folly, though, I was still disappointed with that no one seemed to pay Trosbekännelsen any attention at all, while at the same time I would not be able to explain it if anyone did.

In a similar fashion I disappointed myself in our religion-class. We were supposed to bring something that symbolized "the religion of ourselves", something that meant much to us and stood for our lives in some way. I thought I'd show them my Iceye-symbol (seen as the signature on my banner). But while listening to the others I realized I was doing crime against my own conviction: the most important symbol of my life would easily be Cloud. More than anything else, to me. But this would be close to inexplicable to anyone else unless I write an essay (as proven here, and that only covered the actual facts, not the spiritual, emotional and psychological stuff and what practice it means in real life). Also, I worried that as people don't understand, they condemn, and the picture of me would change in their heads in a direction that would be directly faulty. Thus I proceeded with my Iceye-symbol, while I felt like , I suppose, a Catholic would feel denying God. I know it's silly, it was such a small thing, and I was talking to people I might never see again after next term, and what would it matter what they think of me or what they know? But some things are that way. So important to yourself that the actual, practical effects are meaningless; it is the principle, the gut feeling.

We have secrets that are kept more for our own sake than the effects on the surroundings, and when we one day tell someone special, the secrets will be the measuring stick after which to judge them: how do they treat our most special things, how do they handle that our biggest secret is small and meaningless, how do they carry the trust we put in them? And that is why I have concluded that some things are to kept secret and private, where I previously thought it was pointless.

Heart of Darkness

I finished Heart of Darkness today. It was a good book, quite a bit of work, more than just a story, a novel. It felt like an attempt to make a book without words, on some level. I'm going to write about it a little now, it's a highly uneducated and personal analysis, but I'll try to keep it short and objective.

The first thing I'm hit by is the way the story begins with the people who tell the story. What do we know about them, why are they here, what function has the "I" in that perspective? Why did the author not choose to have Marlow speak directly to the reader, instead of giving us a person to stand in for us, one we hardly know anything about? It could be the signal, right there in the beginning of the book, to read this not as ourselves but as the person there with Marlow, to look beyond our immediate surroundings and lives, even ourselves.

The story is then told that way, like a story around a forest campfire, all in one bout, never once slipping from this clear personal perspective. We're not given a grand amount of pure fact, despite the enormous flow of words; we're given sights, thoughts, emotions. What has Mr.Kurtz really done? We understand what, though most of it is never fully stated. And that is what the book heavily relies on, that we understand though we're not always led like the blind; we must use our own eyes and ears and that is why we need the guidance of looking away from ourselves in the beginning or we might interpret things from the wrong perspective.

So what is it that he wants us to interpret, to see in this darkness? The Heart of Darkness deals very little in good and evil, right and wrong, it states its story proudly and attempts something much more respectable: to dive in behind such concepts into mind and soul, but from a grounded starting point, not soaring up into academy philosophy or righteous religion, creeping at its target looking from below, from outside. It is an exploration of a broken mind without intention of mending or understanding, but also of how the breaking itself may affect everything around the person, even more than the person himself.

And of all this, I understand only a little. I would need to read the book at least twice again, improve my vocabulary of the old form of English, and then write a full essay to gather my thoughts to catch the full vision. Especially the ending seems odd and as if carrying a great weight I cannot track. I did like the book, not with grim happiness as in The Perfume, painful satisfaction as in Of Mice and Men or mind-numbing love like The Tollbridge, but with calm amazement, somehow like I imagine Marlow himself feeling, watching this event unfold before ones eyes, knowing you understand only little, but your soul understand so much more.

Well, that's what I had to say. It's said that some books you cannot understand unless you have read other books before, just like you learn about life as you live it. Someday, I imagine, I will read it again, and maybe then I will have read the right books and lived the right life and understand more.

Fool each other, it's Christmas!

Never really understood Christmas. Sure, back in the day I bet it was nice, getting gifts like that. But in this modern day when your parents can't even read the words on your wishing list and your grandparents can only dream about understanding your plzkthxbye language, and god forbid that either of them have any idea of how to get hold of it, and if they find it they pay thrice the value because they don't know what they're doing, it's hardly the same anymore. I can't exactly write "new graphics card" on my wishlist, they would have no idea what to do with that. And what else do I wish for? Well, I don't need clothes, furniture, movies, music or tickets to wherever. I'd love to have a cat, but I'm not allowed here, I'd want a teleporter, but they don't exist, I'd like to know what path to take next year, but it's hard to wrap the future in gift wrappings and little stickers.

That said, after having the gifts ready and christmas calendar faily worked out, when to meet who, what to eat where, I'm looking forward to it. Because I'm so conditioned for it, with all memories of the shiny new toys of my childhood? I'm also afraid like hell that dad won't like my gift, that people will start nagging each other, that I won't have anything to say, that grandma will start crying about how she wants to die, that brother will show the same heartbreakingly disinterest in any of the old folks like always, and I know most of this will happen.

Is that christmas? Decorating, baking, planning, buying gifts, talking about fun parties here and there, wishing people merry christmas, when we all know we're going home to the same dark winter mess as every other day? Is Christmas just an excuse to pretend in front of each other that we're not, so that when everybody pretends, we can all fool each other to be happy? And then to crash when reality hits us?

Maybe it's time to make new traditions, especially for the ones of us who don't believe in God. Like how I'm going to spend New Year's with friends; no strings attached, just a bunch of people who really like each other. That makes me happy.

231, 1600, 4600

I have the entire amount of 231 bucks (swedish kronor that is) to my name until the last of December (aside from getting money for christmas that will have to be used to pay for the trip to Arvika and to pay back the loan of 1600 bucks (that actually is 4600) I already have) all because I bought christmas presents with my brother and he has no money until christmas either. These 231 bucks will have to be used on going to and from Karlstad on Wednesday to meet my dear friends, and if I spend any more than that... well, I litterally can't spend more than that. BUT on the bright side is, I got the presents for mom and dad that I really wanted to give them.

I'm not exactly whining. Not looking for compassion or gifts. I just wanted to tell someone, for some reason, that the absurd fact is that I spend beyond what I have, and I never done that in my life and never thought I would. (Because not having money puts me in inferior position and I don't remain in inferior positions and sure as hell don't look them up.) What the hell happened to my morals? Next thing you see, I'll spend the christmas money on skin crémes, make-up and fancy shirts instead of rent, books, games and a new graphics card. What the hell is the world coming to?!?

No seriously, I have to stop spending money at all. Those 4600 shall be back in their rightful place come summer or help me god. My makeover will have to wait until I sell books, appear on television and get filthy rich.

Tempest

I was going to write, prepare for a test on friday and stuff. But no. I didn't even continue working on the sixteen thousand projects I already have in the air, I started a new one. Why? Because I sat down to draw Koffein the Hummingbird and got an idea and then stuff trailed off and completely lost it, and I spent the entire day drawing a flash animation for a "movie" from a "book" that I have planned to write after Kirya and two other unfinished books. Right. Well, I love the idea, and I think the animation turned out pretty okay despite the program bugging together just at the end (which is why it doesn't say Iceye Enterprises as many times as I wanted it to, and why I won't color it or improve on anything even if there's a lot to improve).

It's a lot better in original, but Blogger, as usual, doesn't want to cooperate. So it's lagging. But nevermind. If you desperately want it, download it here. I would also love to have a soundtrack, but as I said, the program lagged together, I think I did something wrong since I haven't learned how it works yet. Nevermind. It was just a fun thing anyway.




Tempest (as I'm calling it meanwhile I think of something else; that's how I treat all my titles) is about these twin worlds and Mikaela from one, Jace from the other (also names-in-progress). It works much like a tv-series with independant "episodes" from each or both worlds. Mikaela and Jace for different reasons (I'm not gonna tell you) have to remain on their respective side. Well, that's the gist of it, I'm not saying more in case I someday eventually get to writing it down. It's one of the most entertaining ideas I've ever had, so I really hope so.

"Det svåra är inte att gå vidare,

det svåra är att inte gå tillbaka." - Jenni

Shopping Report

Regarding presents: I think I'm too picky, or maybe my complete inability to make decisions comes off as pickiness. I see lots of things, but they're not *quite* good enough as presents. And I really suck at seeing anything to start with, so four hours in Karlstad ended with me buying one single present. (Though I figured out two others that I'll have to order.) On the other hand I bought two shirts for myself (because I'm way better at picking out things for myself, even if I still wander around the shop for twenty minutes before I can make the decision to actually buy something) and got my hair cut. And, lol, when I came back and put on the new shirt, Alexander went "What the hell are you doing, now I might have to flirt with you!" I was a good girl, refrained from saying "What was wrong with how I looked before?" and just smiled the way Asian girls smile when they're concealing their psycopathic tendencies. So I'm actually trying hard to learn to take compliments and to think I do deserve them. That sounds horrible so I have to add; I was also happy that he said that.

People call me by my name a lot more often here than they do anywhere else. (Well, "people" may be an exageration, it's Alex and Anna who stand for the show, like always.) I think I might actually be starting to get used to hearing it (though I still think it's horribly long, stand-offish and complicated and rather unpretty as written out). The.... *brainfreeze*... coiffeuse thought it was a pretty name, but she misspelled it.

As for how I look in my new hair and clothes, I'll quote another comment heard today (though they talked so much I don't remember who said it): Yay, go for the Asian style! ^^

I also tried to buy foundation. But the shopclerk who was supposed to give me advice looked down her nose at me, gave me some test products and sent me home. Weird that they don't want my money, but okay, I'll test it and come back and buy more later. o_O This was before I got my haircut, though, and I'd run around on town for three hours, so she probably thought I looked too ugly to be allowed to wear her snotty make-up. ;P

Hello. If anyone's wondering why I'm awake at this hour on a tuesday (I'm free on tuesdays) it's because I'm going to Karlstad to buy christmas presents. I hate buying christmas presents. I also had to borrow money to be able to buy them. Christmas is a weird time.

Heart of Darkness was a difficult book to read while half asleep on a bus. I'll make another try today. I also forgot to bring my mp3-player, so I might get pretty bored over there. A good growing ground for creativity.

And why am I here writing this? I need to get ready for the bus!

K, guys, suit yourselves.

Let's tell the story of the Cloud-thing for those who weren't there for the very beginning. (Wait... who *was* there?) It's a (kinda long) story about a little girl who finally got the one thing she wanted most in the whole world: a Playstation. The problem was that she needed something to play on that Playstation too, and since her parents had done their best to keep her away from dangerous electronic stuff she wasn't all too informed in the subject. What she figured was this: the more discs a game has, the longer time you can play it, right? So she found the game with the most discs at the lowest price, and it just happened to be Final Fantasy 7. Logic *and* destiny, I tell you, can it get better than that?

Now she wasn't all that into boys either. A couple of years later, she could sorta' tell that main character dude was pretty pretty, and to add blonde which was an amazing magical thing at that age (my first crush is still, I insist, the blondest guy I've ever seen, and no it wasn't Cloud) and then, yet another few years later, she knew english well enough to actually take the story of FF7 to heart. It was a revelation in the weight class of realizing Squall actually nods to Rinoa to come over at the ball, and dude, did that rock my world! It was one of the first heavy stories that I got to ponder upon as a young girl, before the boredness of being jaded. Cloud became that cool guy that all other guys (my age) failed to be because they were kids.

Yet another few years later, I knew english even better and paid more attention as I played. I (re)discovered the entire part about Cloud being psychotic and weak, and he went from cool guy to pathetic wuss in the whole span of one or two hours. (Sometimes I think all guys have to make that journey in your head before you can really love them, the trick is how they rise again.) And Cloud did rise again. It sounds silly, but it made me ponder upon another heavy thing; can weakness be forgiven, can people be imperfect? It took more than a year to realize, that yes, they can, and they are. And I forgave him.

Over the following years my love grew slowly, like in a marriage where all secrets have been revealed and love can thrive in that calm, secure way. Then came the movie. Those who knew me at the time know I freaked around about the movie for a good six months, bouncing franticly whenever I talked about it. (Sorry!) I swear, I smiled like a fool every time I thought about it: Cloud is going to be in a movie! Perhaps the single time in my life, I put absolute faith in something. I put absolute, heartbreaking faith in that the movie would be good. I never do that, I always keep a back door, I always say *maybe*, *what if*, cuz you can never be sure, y'know. You can't. And it was good, he was beautiful, and I fell in love again, like after living with a husband ten years you suddenly rediscover him.

The latest battle I've had over him is appearances. I've been mad about blonde guys all my life, but to be honest, the last years it's been fading. For a while some part of me said; if you admit you're not as into blondes anymore, you'll come across as loving Cloud less. Then I had to take a new fight about appearaces, and came to the conclusion that no, wow, I don't love him for his looks, like one would think about a game-character. He's become so much more to me than blonde spikes and skinny strength.

Now one can make a hundred psychological conclusions from this, but I refuse to even debate that.

If I ever fall in love, y'know fall in love-fall in love. Then I imagine it would take a somewhat similar course as this relationship. Let me make a list and illustrate, and I think you'll agree:

1. Fate making your roads cross
2. Wow, that guy looks nice
3. He's perfect
4. Realizing he had bad, frustrating, disappointing sides.
5. Accepting he has bad, frustrating, disappointing sides.
6. Realizing you love him anyway.
7. Establishing your relationship and telling it to the world.
8. Falling in love again with the person you know so well.
9. Coming to peace with that you love the person, not the looks (since people grow old)
10. Live happily ever after.

This became a pretty loooooongcat. But now you're all initiated in the "Iceye and Cloud-cult". And if you actually read all this... you guys are idiots. But so very loveable. XD

Wow... it looks even better like this than the structure I had in my head. Makes so much sense.

I cried, but only a little.

I'm row row rowing my boat gently down the stream of impending depression, like every winter the last four years. This time it's arriving a little later than usual, probably because school is merciful on me, but I can feel its hand hovering in the air as it hesitates before knocking on my counsciousness. I wonder if life will be such a battle for survival every January for the rest of my life?

I always feel like I'm contageous. Like I can show that I'm down, but I have to keep at least a reasonable sanity, because you can't help me, and we all know that, and letting that show with it's full sadness will only make it worse. Compassion and mercy and pity and hugs and smiles and cheerings, it just makes me more and more and more angry until I just want to scream, but I can't: I've forgotten how to do it. So calm, I'm blind to my own ripples on the surface. I can't be angry because I don't know how to anymore. I can't be angry because what if I tear something apart that I can't fix later? I couldn't survive knowing I did that. So I scream inside my head instead, and wish someone could shut me up. Whine whine whine. Whatever I do, it's boring, it's old, words and actions said and done a hundred times that doesn't give me anything and God, can't you give me something new? Something mine?

Be strong. Cheer up. Pretend you're happy because that will make you happy. Do something even if it kills you, because it won't. Smile. Play. Hide.

Can't someone just knock me unconscious so I don't have to be aware?

You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. Because I would never say this face to face. And I think maybe, being who you are, meaning what you do to me, you should to know. Thay always say in interviews after someone kills themselves; "We should have known." But that's idiotic. No one can know another human for sure. Not in real life. But that scene in FF8 where they think Seifer is dead and they all start to talk well about him and Squall freaks out because he doesn't want anyone to talk about him that way when he's dead... it hit me. So hard it hurt. And this is like that. I want at least someone to know who I was when I'm gone. I don't want people standing around saying shit just because they miss me, because death scares them. I want truth. And truth is dark. But so releasingly uncomplicated. I'm the only one who knows who I am, and I'm the only one who knows the people you are inside my head. All this will be gone without me. And that's why I don't want to die. Because I'm a squirrel; and you're my nuts.

Is there nothing original left in the world? Is there nothing that can touch me at my very core?

And guys, don't think I don't know you're sucking up. 5 votes on We want more Cloud? You're all idiots. But I love you.

Cell Block Tango

There's a Musictheatre class here at school and they're doing four shows this and next week. The previous one they did, short theatre forms of Allrakäraste syster, Barnen från Frostmofjället and Skinn Skärping, were wonderful (Skinn Skärping var jätteläskig!), this show is about war and isn't quite that good but still okay. The best part is where six of the girls perform a Swedish version of the Cell Block Tango (from the movie Chicago) and if you don't know what that is, click the link and enjoy ^^ I got absolutely charmed by it. (With a special wink to Kristin, maybe? ^_~)

On a side note, I was madly in love with Allrakärastesyster when I was a kid, the words, the pictures, I still feel happy just thinking about them. But I've lost the book T_T

Christmas Compendium

Christmas compendium finished! ^^ It's got front, back, poems, illustrations, index, page numbers and copyright symbols. *proud like a mother* Some of the poems I think you've seen, but most of them you should not have, and all illustrations are brand new like the crack of opening a can of cola. So go ahead, see the first real work from Iceye Enterprises Publications. (It looks better in actual paperform, but I can't send y'all those, so it'll have to do.) It goes on print on Thursday. (Sounds a lot more serious than it is: the work is done by a monster of a copying machine.)

"(Good day, Bad day) En Diktsamling Bra och Dåliga Dagar."

Also watched Resident Evil Extinction today. I think Apocalypse was better.

See Me

I do want to be seen. Of course I do. I blog because I want to keep contact with my friends, because I want a diary I keep somewhat true to, but also - to exist. I am on the internet, therefore I am. I don't like making noise when it's silent around me, so I only talk on the phone because there's no other good option. I can't handle compliments. I only look people in the eye when I decide I have to to come across as natural and confident. Thus this, writing, words, pictures, the distance between me and my work is crucial.

There is a difference between self-confidence and self-worth. I am fairly confident in that I draw okay, and I write well. I can go do embarrassing errands here and there, I can speak my opinion, I can play the game. But I don't ever expect anyone to have any interest in me, as such, only my work, my thoughts. I am the factory, my work is the product, and consumers are only interested in products, see?

But, is this something I have to change? I'm not sure. I was browsing through DeviantArt and Tomgeeks.com, and I was thinking, I should make a comic. Why? Because poems and pictures are nice, but novels and comics last in peoples' minds. That's why novels are my main aim; because you get to infect people for a longer time, feed off their interest and capture their hearts for hours and days rather than minutes and seconds. You get longer time to affect them, thus better chance to affect them more. But there is no way I have time to go to school, read, do homework, write, draw, do comics, hang out with friends, keep contact with old friends, play videogames, play computer games, stay updated on everything, keep my family happy, visist my grandparents, shop, eat and sleep. I would need three separate lifetimes for that to happen. So I have to make choices. I have to decide the course of my life. And I've been pushing it forward for weeks and months and years, because it's probably the most important choice of my life.

I refuse to be the geek girl in a corner reading and adoring other people's work, gossiping about the last X-Men movie. I want to be in that shit, I want to be a part of the process, I want to change the world. But to do that, I have to lose half of myself first. Which half?

Service for Friends

So, I was actually on MSN today *gasp* and Eva talked to me *gaspgasp* (why? more pics of Cloud-lookalike <3) and she showed me Jeff Thomas, and mentioned something that she said would do well as a comic, and when I did it as a comic as a present for her she made me put it up here because she didn't want to make her christmas calendar look unpretty, so darn it, she made me. Here it is. Happy together-day, Anton and Madde.

(This is, like, copyright breaking or something... =P)

Bad sense of time =P

Soooo, I said like four, five days ago that I would post the portrait of the person on my communist banner, but... uh... I have very bad sense of time. So. Here she is, anyway. Her name is, currently, as I said, Leah, but I am open to suggestions, because I'm not certain that it's the best, and I seem to suck at female names, I have noticed. I need equal practice with that as with drawing females, but where one is progressing, one is not. Guess which.

Since I have nothing more to say today after my lashing out yesterday, I will post a poem I just made. (Since blogger refuses my idea with two separate texts next to each other, I've made it into a picture -_-)



*munches Toblerone* Thanks Kristin! And for Pan's Labyrinth and everything too! *hugs*

Why I Don't Like Journalists (sry you serious ones, all five)

I helped my brother with his history homework yesterday (it's actually fun because I get to renew my own knowledge) and he said something kinda striking concerning Hitler and his paranoia: Han ä ingen som får nô bäst vänner iallafall. Hehe ^^

Jag läser den andra boken i Millenium-serien, "Flickan som Lekte med Elden", den är SÅ bra! Den första är bra, men man måste inte läsa den, den här... den är... samhällskritik at it's very very sharpest best, förklädd till fiktion som också är bra i sig själv. Jag tänker ge ett exempel för att övertyga, men om nån tänker läsa den ändå, sluta läsa här.

Den första meningen i boken är: Hon låg fastspänd med läderremmar på en smal brits med en ram av härdat stål. [...]En del av hennes medvetna lyssnade efter ljudet av fotsteg som innebar att han skulle komma. [...] Det var hennes fyrtiotredje dag i fångenskap. Okay. Vad tänker du? Den sista meningen av prologen säger: Det var natten hon fyllde 13 år. Vad tänker du nu? Sedan börjar boken, och fortsätter egentligen där den förra slutade, helt vid sidan av prologen. Den handlar om trafficking, och man gör sina associationer. Så på sidan 398, trehundranittioåtta!, inser man att prologen inte hade någonting med trafficking att göra; att det är beskrivningen av en flicka på "psykiatrisk behandling", och det här, damer och herrar, är bara en liten liten pettitess av alla de små och stora pikar som spretar åt alla håll och vrider om i magtrakten när man tänker på hur så många småsaker faktiskt underminerar all mänsklighet. Inte minst är kritiken mot media och sensationsjournalistik intressant, med tanke på att författaren själv var journalist (en seriös sådan). Jag har alltid haft samma åsiker själv, exemplen på tidningsrubriker är t.ex. en ren orgie i anledningar att hata pressfrihet, och exemplen på den usla psykologi som den flesta människor använder är också rent infuriating.

Den enda anledningen till att den här boken inte bara får mig att grabba min fars tjänstevapen och gå bärsärk är just att kritiken den framställer inte stannar vid mig; den går vidare med varje person som läser den. Jag hoppas bara att den generella intelligensen är ett litet snäpp högre än vad personerna i boken stoltserar med (bortsett från Lisbeth Salander) så att folk ser och förstår.

Men jag hoppas nog in vain.