Friday, February 27, 2009


Once I found myself alive, staring out in the open with a little hope. My questions once was enough. Now, the only thing I get from the never ending eternity is plane echolalia. Deaths cold hands holding mine through those lightless hours. Dawn opens as I gaze out over the growth of hell. I yawn. I'ts an anxious inferno with hunger in motion. I quake over its ruthlessness. Life is buildt up by nothing but grief. Sunless nights whom I feared before are now harmless. I belong in night. I'm a child of the moon. I lay among bloody bones in forgetful silence. I faint. Time after time I try to escape, yet in the end I always seem to return. The only way out appears to be a plane passing into another whatever. Strange roads are property by me and my meditative mind. Awake at night along with clear tide. I can't find no soft responds no more. Misfortune, misery and despair. The world and I. Where did it go wrong? Let's live together as strangers and die.

Sunday, February 8, 2009


You anticipate the vast shadow of my hand while your thick clouds of cigarette smoke is creating a head of a wolf with its enormous fangs. Endurance is something I'm no longer aware of. I bounce and vanish into morning dew. The sky resembles red meat with twisted shapes of nothingness. Oh, madam, you surely must be dreaming, I tell you.
Am I talking to myself? If you knew what you were doing, you'd never done it. At late nights I meet various species of all sorts. We all get together due to our magic senses who allows us to stroke by universe like velvet crystals. Like a soul in pain I can hear the breeze sigh trough the trees. Walking dreams. I show you deaths deadly sign. My eyes look into future where dark thoughts may not stay. Lay me down in the grass. We all die soon.
You suffered. I took a swim in laugter. Oh, well, it was worth it.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Thursday, February 5, 2009


Rännstenens älvor skapar ett groteskt intervall av loppet mellan dag och natt. Att leva i miserabel gråhet och att ständigt inbilla mig att jag är det minsta glad. Tid finns inte. Ta mig till en värld fylld av dagar med otaliga smaker av den fina känslan av att gång på gång få ramla in i glädjesprudlande och pirrande extas för att sedan slippa falla tillbaka in i det där jävla mörkret. Ta mig dit där skönhet av alla dess slag dansar i fullständig eufori, där inspirationen flödar och där det inte finns några som helst gränser.