Snip Snip

Someone I know once wrote a poem about a lobster being cooked. Either because she felt like it, or because she ran out of epic depth and philosophical bullshit, I'm not sure. I was contemplating this on an especially boring class of mine, and produced this:

Swiftly spinning scissor blades
Wasp and willow swiftly wades
through the swaying, whispering grass
begging to be saved.
Many many morning suns
huffing, puffing, having fun
as the spinning scissor blades
and their engine runs.
But wasp and willow shed a tear
and grass is quivering with fear
Noises loud and frightening as
spinning scissors shear.

The thought of sharp objects did lighten up the boredom slightly.

Somebody kick me, I want to feel pain.

Though the truth is I play this game too well
and the words never leave my lips.
I could swear on my feelings but never admit
that I wish you could read my mind.
I writhe and I scream and I cry inside
and I wonder how it can be
That at the end of the day, it matters not anyway
that the only who sees is me.

Somebody kick me, I want to feel pain.

Consolation

Too much, too many, a waterfall of little transparent beads, spheres, marbles not made of earth or clay or stone, solid until you touch them

As they are to your eyes, such are thoughts to your mind, until words and letters, print and syllables, catch them, grasp them, carry them out into the world like spirits made children through a woman's body

And yet so many pass you by, so many little beads fall silently into oblivion, to the endless depths of the darkness of your mind, where the waterfall scatters them, shatters them, and turns them into a slow-flowing river, silent, vast, persistent

That short moment they pass before you, though, and you know that they are there although your eyes cannot see them, although all you see is the strength and might of the waterfall -

- that is the only moment they have anything in common with emotion.

A shadow passing silently over endless fields, the spread wings of an enormous, invisible creature blocking out the sun, that is what emotions are

Sometimes passing so swiftly you never knew it was there, like a whale passing you beneath the sea unnoticed, or sometimes covering the entire lands in shadow until it is the only thing on your mind

Waterfalls fall in the shadow of this creature the same as grass and stone and sea does, and the many tiny little beads, both the ones caught and the ones forgotten, seem insignificant -

but it is not the shadow that sustains us, or the world around us. It is the sun it blocks out, and it is the water.

Proper

Been reading that old Swedish book again. It makes my head come up with verses in old Swedish, which is by the way much much more fun than modern Swedish. Here's a poem/riddle:

Skulle ni av någon anledning stå utan sällskap

skall jag alltid finnas vid eder sida

till tröst.

Och den enda gång jag skall lämna eder 

voro då ni befinner eder i goda vänners sällskap

ty ingenting missunnar jag eder

Too easy, I think, so perhaps more of a poem. 

Behind blue eyes

It's difficult being angry. Logic very easily picks anger apart, and makes you see how ineffective it is, and points out all the little things that make the anger silly. Justified, righteous anger is something terrible, an unstoppable force. But anger is very, very seldom justified and righteous. Nobody is innocent, nobody is perfect. So anger melts away and hides in a shadowy corner, beaten like a dog for its rashness, with the many lessons of compassion and respect and understanding wielded as weapons leaving deep, ugly scars on its skin. There it waits, rests. Whispers simple syllables dripping of acid, watching with revenge-hungry eyes. And what was once a simple dog with a love for chasing rabbits, becomes a deformed monster with milky-white eyes, greatly enjoying the hunt, the strike, the kill. Into darkness, becoming darkness.

Can I speak of anger? Can I express anger? Can I make poems of anger? No. Do not let the beast out of its cage, compassion says to me. Do not let it bury its claws in you, respect advices. Do not trust it with anything, least of all your passion, says logic, gleefully snapping the whip of understanding. Do not let others see it. Do not let others hear of it. For that which is your greatest strength is also your greatest weakness. It has never been more true than in this case.

Leave it there, in the shadows. When the time comes that you really need it, it will strike down your foes with razor sharp claws and let you stare at them with its eyes, its strength infecting your blood. And it will be justified, it will be righteous, and it will be unstoppable.

Second-guessing.

Blogger suddenly backstabbed me with 1.5 line distance like:

this. Why? It ruins my poetry, and looks ridiculous.

But on to (now redicilously looking) poetry:

---

1. The loaded anger of many little simple syllables.

Words and faces

clothes and places

brain and flesh and matter

Bulky pieces

aunts and nieces

staged fashion disaster

Comfortably numb.

Great ones snoring

small imploring

middle-men are fretting

All these choices

thought-out voices

knowingly are letting

us stay comfortably dumb.

2. A "close my eyes and write fluffy stuff" moment.

If I saw a butterfly I could imagine

that it came from far away with fateful flaps of bright blue wings

that it would land on my doorstep

and spell messages in hidden languages in the snow.

If I saw a butterfly I could imagine

that beneath its many insect eyes lay greater minds

that it would sprinkle bright blue dust upon my eyelids

and give me dreams of greater worlds.

If I saw a butterfly I could imagine

that its wings were the transformed veil of a priestess of the sky

that there were plans and life and fate behind its presence

and that would change my plans and life and fate.

It makes me wonder:

if you see a butterfly

and only see a butterfly

is it prettier than my butterfly?

---

I want this t-shirt :D

A string of moments

I'm in love with moments.

Like the moment when a story comes together. When I've written forty pages not knowing if I can keep up with myself, and that big idea hits, that perfect combination of events that tie everything together into a neat, perfect bundle conveying exactly everything I wanted. When a character speaks to me, through me, and I can see it all clear. When the next breath I take feel like I take it through his or her lungs, breathing in the air of his or her world, and for that moment I live that life, that truth.

Like the moment you're drunk and you're dancing and a random person dances into the ring of friends, and extends a hand and you realize it's for you, it's at you, it is happening in this moment. In that moment that person is the world, although you've never met before and wouldn't mind to never meet again, and the world is in your hand.

Like the moment at the end of a long day, a long chain of events you're not sure you like, one of those days when things have happened all by themselves and what you wanted went too easy and what you didn't want crept up and stabbed you in the back. One of those days when you don't know if it was good or bad, if in a week or a year you'll see it as the first day in a long chain of events that saved or damned you. When you feel the weight of the world and the shadow of fate looming over you. The moment when you're tired and worried and someone does or says something - just the right thing, and you realize that it isn't that important. That everything will be fine, that nothing is ever that important. That your world will go on, whether you're saved or damned, and that you know you'll never fall completely.

Like the moment I walk down the street and I notice some woman, and I don't know why, but I notice her, specifically, and her legs and the way she walks. My head fills and swells with wrath and envy and every color in the world grows brighter.

Or the moment when darkness falls and you feel empowered, like your eyes are glowing in the dark like the eyes of a demon.

The moment in someone else's presence, when you feel you know everything, and they know everything, and your everythings are in harmony like two images on translucent paper laid on top of each other to reveal the true workings of the universe.

Or the moment you walk past a mirror and realize you're having a good day.

Like the moment you realize you've screwed up bad, and everything is bound to fall on your head like an endlessly high bookshelf of crap, and you know you should be worried, but your heart says "fuck it! :D"

Perhaps every other moment in life is really there to build up to these moments, like a good dinner is so much more appreciated if you have to work yourself hungry first. But I try to live in these moments, not for them. After all, a moment only lasts for a moment's time.

Female monster

Monsters monsters...

An artist finds inspiration in all things. In this case, inspiration was sitting in a boring class, and my current teacher's sweater. And also that I thought I should draw female monsters as well.

Not happy with the head. Could have done much more fun and scary things with it. But it was done in pen, so once drawn could not be changed.

Totally sexy, right?

More monsters coming up later...

Woof

Hello. For any other Deadpool fans, there is an animated movie, that's really two animated movies, called Hulk vs. (and this totally fucked up my punctuation so I'm adding this to make it better). In the first part, Hulk vs. Wolverine, we get... well, guess. Not sure how and exactly when this fits in with the general Marvel timeline, or which version of it it is in... whatever. The idea is that Deadpool is in it.

"I shot him in the ass! With one of these! ...what? I did!"

The only thing wrong is that there's too little of him. When Deadpool's teammates try to wring his neck going "don't you ever fucking shut up", he should have blabbered on so much that we the audience, being non-homicidal normal people, want to go "yes God finally! Do it!"

I'm still drawing monsters. Here's the latest little random creation. It's very vanilla but I was just keeping my hands busy while I was talking on the phone.

I erased very little, actually. Kinda proud of that, even if it's just a sketchy thingamabob. I also hate his other arm. That's why it's outside the frame. "I totally ran out of paper... uh monitor! I did!"

And eh, his ears are under the bandana. I, uh, kinda forgot about them.

*EDIT* Please click it? His mouth looks really weird zoomed out like this -_-

SHORYUKEN ! ^^

Writing the earlier post (read that first please if you may) I realized I'm a terrible fan for not staying updated. So I read up, and here's the news:

• Deadpool movie absolutely and undoubtedly underway.
• Writers of Zombieland have been confirmed to be writing it.
• Ryan Reynolds is a looongtime fan of Deadpool, have read the comicbooks and are being a pain in the ass of directors, writers and generally everyone involved, at first by trying to get the movie done and then by trying to get Deadpool right. From the interviews I read (short ones, the man is not a media whore, yay) he seems to have the right idea of what Deadpool is so this is a good thing.
• Reynolds agrees that what he played in the Origins: Wolverine movie is not what he wants Deadpool to be.
• And the word is that directors and writers want to make the movie a reboot, not built on the performance in earlier mentioned movie (since it was shitty).
• There is a really nice picture about, that I don't know where it's from because Reynolds claims there is no Deadpool suit yet and that he has not worn anything along those lines. It's pretty nice. Although obviously Deadpool would laugh his head off at it. I mean, jeez, where's your sense of fun? I bet he'd like to be depicted doing unimaginable things to cute kittens, or maybe holding the severed head of Immortal Man?

So a few worries are calmed. Choice of writers can go either way. Design of suit can go either way. Last line of worry: dialogue. Rumor has it they won't be afraid to break the fourth wall, like they do in the comics (Deadpool talks to the readers every once in a while, and refers to a guy with a typewriter as the "god" of his universe) and that could get interesting. I can see Deadpool narrating himself, or having extensive inner dialogues with himself while cutting people up. Spider-Man failed epically at that, but Zombieland is actually pretty good at inner dialogue now that I think of it, so yeah.

Hope has sprung.

Monsters and heroes

I've been trying my hand at drawing monsters. I'm terribly bad at it because a) my usual style is too "clean" for it, b) I'm too careful with shadowing and c) I have a hard time thinking in "fear", be it to draw monsters or write horror. But I'm getting there. Anyway, the internets quickly took me from monsters, to wondering why there are so few pictures of Marrow online. This is her: She is one of my absolute favorite superhero-women ever. Mostly because she gets to tap into that place where women seldome are allowed; in being feral without being sexy, possessing bloodthirst without grace, and most of all getting to be ugly! Her powers, although perhaps not the most scientifically valid among modern-made superheroes, take her where they never dared to take Rogue; where they ruin her appearance, make her outwardly the monster that other mutants hide within.

This subject quickly took me to my male most favorite "superhero" (more like... supermoron) of all time; Deadpool. The general Deadpool-fanbase seem to have accepted Ryan Reynolds.I'm inclined to agree. It's something about the way he moves, which is almost the most important since the proper Deadpool have no face to speak of. Now I want him to go where other superhero-movies have backed off: where we get to see a full transfer of character to the movie screen and not just the parts twelve-year-olds with minds ruined by mainstream hollywood movies would possibly manage to comprehend after two hours. The depth, the dirt, the gleefully grinning faces of the masses every time a mutant takes a blow. The right shadowing.

Ryan Reynolds have, oddly, also been cast as Green Arrow. While I can see why, I think it's a very stupid idea of him to agree to this because if he's going to put his face on one of these characters, he should do it on only one :P but money is money I suppose. Also I suppose and hope Deadpool won't have a face at all. So whatever.

This subject took me to casting of marvel characters, or comic characters in general. This page had lots I agreed with, and a few I didn't. I do not, for example, think Anne Hathaway should be the Scarlet Witch, in fact I don't think she belongs anywhere near a real superhero. She can be Lois Lane if she wants.

The most difficult to cast, ever, for me, is Gambit. I don't know why, it should be simple, there are those I care more about or have more specific characteristics. But there are so many and yet no one that fits as Gambit. The list I linked had Jonathan Rhys Meyers, which must be the most controversial suggestion I've heard so far. He'd have to put on some weight, but sure, he's a viable option. What do you guys think? This is Gambit:
There's many different artist versions of course, but this artist is the one I like best for both him and Wolverine. So who would play him?
Taylor Kitsch?
Josh Halloway?
or more controversially
Vincent Cassel?
Jonathan Rhys Meyers?
To be honest I hate all these alternatives. For some reason.

*melts away into the song* Gawd I forget between the times, but Nickelback is and will always be IT for me. I'm going to start rating singers by how much they sound like Chad Kroeger, because that's really what I do in my head anyway.

*longing for when I get moved in properly so I can bring all my comic books*

Useless goddamn course

School in 25 minutes, meaning I'll leave in 10 minutes, meaning I should be brushing my teeth right now.

You know why I'm going at all? No, neither do I.

I forgot my window open so when I woke up there was a pile of snow on my windowsill AND ON MY COMPUTER SCREEN AND PS3 CONTROLLERS! That's why I got out of bed so fast. Don't worry, they're safe.

My class notes consist of three things:
notes and drafts on a thing I'm writing that I'm really getting into
and
philosophical, sometimes ironic, comments on whatever she's talking about
and
drawings. in pen. they look awful.

I'd get more out of these lessons if I brought my PSP. Yet somehow I feel like I'd socially really miss out if I didn't go, and also, that I need to get out of the house sometimes. Yeah. That's probably the only reasons I go. That and that I start at 2pm. If it was earlier than 12, I don't know if those reasons would weigh so heavily.

Well better get going then.

When I Should Sleep

What would it sensibly take for me to censor myself? Is it right? Should I let things censor me? Is it out of concern for people, or for myself? Is it about whether I value my creative freedom higher than people's feelings?

I don't mean writing gossip, or stuff actually about people. I mean fiction, poems, word-art. I mean as a writer. Should I give in to a censor, be it out of respect for a person, or fear of consequences? Do I, as an artist, put creative freedom above individual people's feelings towards me or others? Yes. Yes I do. But the risk of hurting someone tears up conflict in me, be it because they're interpreting strangely, or because they're stupid as dead fish. What about in the cases where they'd be justified to be hurt? Where what I write is clearly provoking, intentionally or otherwise?

What I mean is; please tell me it's silly to censor myself for this. That's what I want to hear. I want to be able to turn it off. This compassion hindering my excursions into a higher world, and my ability to share it.

Only "your favorite..."-question I actually can answer.

Första Kapitlet - Det enda sorgliga i hela boken, men icke desto mindre absolut nödvändigt.
Andra Kapitlet - Vari det sker någonting mycket besynnerligt, som dock har sin naturliga förklaring.
Tredje Kapitlet - Som handlar om Katten och några stövlar, vilka icke voro hans, samt om familjespöken.
Fjärde Kapitlet - Där läsaren får veta några siffertal och göra bekantskap med en osympatisk figur.
Femte Kapitlet - Vari läsarinnorna hållas skadelösa för det föregående kapitlets saklighet genom att bokens hjältinna framföres i en både ståndsmässig och tilltalande gestalt.

This would be the first five chapter "names" in a book from 1905 called Markisen av Carabas. I own for some reason a 1921 edition where they've instead named it Mästerkatten i Stövlar - En Munter Roman (I have no idea why or how, records of book printings from 1921 has proven hard to find, I found the book on Wikipedia only because some famous swedish actors were in a movie made from it in 1918. Because movies are more important than books -_-) It is written by a danish guy called Palle Rosenkrantz, and I have no idea what it's called in original language (possibly the same thing).

I don't know if this book and/or this author is/was famous. I assume it reached some kind of fame since it was made into a movie. I've probably mentioned this book to some people before at some point, because this is a very late post in the sense that I've known what I'm about to tell you for a couple of years. It just hit me that I should make it grandly official. I also have no. fucking. clue how I got this copy, I can't remember if I found it in a second hand store or stole it from my grandparents... I don't know. All I know is, whenever I go somewhere for a longer chunk of time I have to weigh the risk of damaging or losing it versus the idea of leaving it behind because:

I declare this my favorite book of all times. The 21th century can go fuck itself.

The Movie of 2009 Award

Movies seen lately (not in any particular order):

Ice Age 3 - <3 <3 <3 - it is very impressive of a no.3 in a series to be as good as no.1 in the series, especially when no.1 was very good too. But I like no.2 best, still, maybe because it was the first one I saw. Still, dinosaurs charm me. Throw in a t-rex and I clap and nod, give me a triceratops and I'll forgive you anything.

District 9 - <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 - I always find it easier to sympathize with animated cricket-like green aliens in terribly unfashionable clothing tearing humans limb from limb than I do with humans. I am completely serious. But aside from that, amazing movie, with amazing actors that I've never heard of before but deserve fame and fortune. It's just right with the gore to make it stay with you, and just right with the story to make you feel with the characters, but not mindlessly cheer for them. And I insist the alien was named Christopher! That's what I heard!

Beowulf (the semi-animated one) - <3 <3 - not much to say. It's fun trying to look through the legend and try to find the man and the actual story. Haven't seen any other Beowulf movie either. It has swords and kings and dragons and a naked Angelina Jolie. Blah blah blah.

Coraline - <3 <3 <3 <3 - dunno if this is actually for children or not, but it's a stop-motion doll movie in kiddie style, kinda Nightmare Before Christmas. Something about this one just freaked me out to no end. It gave me nightmares where my mom cut off the limbs off some poor animal she made me hold, and then started digging into my hand.

Sherlock Holmes - <3 <3 <3 - and one of those hearts is solely for Jude Law, whom I otherwise don't like so much but who is great in this movie. It's entertaining, but wasn't worth going to the cinema for, and Robert Downey Jr made such a perfect Iron Man than seeing him anywhere else is like it would be seeing Tony Stark putting on a pig tail and chasing zebras around a ballroom. Not good, and not funny. Also way too hollywoodized for my tastes.

Pandorum - <3 <3 <3 - I am a relative noob at horror, and especially space horror. This movie might hold lot of clichés that I missed since I haven't seen any other of them. But it was well made, and paced very nicely, and managed to have a plot not entirely predictable which is very good for a horror movie. It also had Norman Reedus, very briefly, I rest my case.

Avatar - <3 <3 <3 <3 - I would give it five hearts, but the harsh and honest truth is that the story leaves you lacking in every single way. The CGI is amazing, and see it in 3D, and I really recomment seeing it. There was true potential of a very, very epic movie here. But the moment you see the first of the alien race, you know the story. They do a reasonably nice take on it, but that can't hide the fact that it borderlines plagiarism, if that can still be applied to something that's been done over 9k times before. That it still manages to be one of the best movies ever says something about how good everything else in it is.

The Happening - <3 <3 <3 - I didn't see the whole movie, missed the start, so I can't give it a fair score. Some ppl think it's silly, I think you gotta stop looking for silly and just close your eyes and listen to the wind and let him tell you the story. Open your mind. I liked it.

I was going to give my Movie of 2009 Award to Inglorious Bastards. It's the first time I've seen Quentin Tarantino return to the genius of Pulp Fiction, instead of fillers like Kill Bill or Death Proof, or I-don't-know-what's like From Dusk till Dawn. But District 9 gave it a good fight. I think the Bastards bring it home thanks to the extra points of Christoph Waltz, despite a few weak moments in the cinema with Brad Pitt (a flaw of the script rather than the actor), because I have to pull a few points from District 9 for making me biased by involving cute baby alien. Still, the two are as close to equal as you can get without actually being it :P

That's all for the Movie Review Corner for tonight. Over and out.

A fleeting feeling

I can no longer skate
This wonderous artform
the only trace it leaves behind in the world
graceful, even lines
shallow on the cold, hard surface
and gentle ripples through cold air,
like flying without wings

I can no longer skate
and don't for a moment think
a blind man can miss sight ever as much
as the one who once saw,
he constantly reminded,
nevermind that the colors in his mind
glow brigther than in the eyes of the seeing.

I can no longer skate
While i borrow the strength
of your thighs and your calves and your wrists
to propell myself forward
like I borrow your eyes to see the world,
the bitterness of flightless creatures
is mine to cherish and to savor.

Thank god my cousin just said she was pregnant

Internal thought processes are awesome.

Situation: christmas celebrations with whole family. Grandma says something along the lines of "hey W (my brother) is the youngest of the people celebrating christmas here." I say, "Yes, he always is (because our cousins and their children celebrate elsewhere)." Grandma answers, "He shouldn't be for much longer should he?" *nudge nudge, wink wink*

Thought process: Are my cousins bringing their children here for christmas, that makes no sense, it's really far away and they have their own families to celebrate with, does she mean that my brother should get children, because he's only seventeen, that's way too young, she can't mean that although sometimes she doesn't think before she speaks, I guess he has been in a steady relationship for a while now, but seventeen still, and I guess they should OH MY GOD SHE MEANS ME!

Solution: *smile and edge away*

Kiss diagram

This nice diagram can be used for a variety of situations to determine your next action after kissing someone. If you're up for long term comittment (in all its glorious forms), or already under such a spell, then the closer to red the better. If the kiss happened with someone other than the one you're supposed to be kissing, then the closer to blue, the less the risk that that someone will kick your sorry ass out the door if he or she finds out, which means it might also be the table for "should you tell him/her". If it's just a fun night out, then it might be something to measure the evening by.

Most of all, it's just a terrible cube made in paint, that I apologize for. I just felt the need to be geeky.

Nye Nye

I wrote two poems, because I haven't written poems in a while, and because there's two main emotions that's been in my head a while that I wanted to get out. But poems are blunt instruments, so much up to the reader's own interpretations, and so dependant on the shapes and forms of words. Divine inspiration can sometimes spawn lines in my head that are perfect, but almost never an entire poem, that happens like once every six months or something. No, I was never meant to write poems. I think I'd work better writing lyrics, in that case, actually.

The only way for me to express emotions properly is to write... stories? I don't think there's a word for it, in English or Swedish, as far as I know. Not one that feels right. In any case, the backside is that it takes a lot more time for readers to take it in, and a block of text intimidates people.

But I was never one to care for such things, was I?

The other backside is that it takes a lot of time to write them, so I have to prioritize what I want to write about. That actually sucks a lot.

Well. Really, the summary of this post would go: "I wrote two poems but I'm not going to show them to you, nye nye." Hopefully someday in the future I can actually have a post going: "I wrote a new story, here!" I need a lot more of those posts.