söndagen den 13:e april 2014

The three's

Some things never die. Some things always remain with you. Like a pair of green eyes, a pair of tight fists and a mind bigger than the sky. Travels across countries and oceans only to land you softly in green silk, rugged rocks and songs of forlorn and distant pasts. Like his brown curls cascading down, long lashes (the longest I've ever seen) and arms of pale seashell. Your mind awakening for that very first time in a country far, far away where life was light and crisp and new. He smiled at you and you knew that there had been a shift in the universe. Like a golden boy with a golden dog in a golden summer who opened up a Pandora's box with his truths. Who showed you the rainbow in a tear and who held your hand so very tightly, but always allowing you to breathe. I loved you all, I loved you three's and you've stayed right here, with me. Because you altered, because you changed, and there was no way to go back, turn back to who I was before. So, I keep you. I've kept you all this time, all these months and years and sometimes I look up at the stars and I wonder: who is the man who is brave enough, bold enough, magnificent enough to follow in your footsteps?

James – Sometimes

tisdagen den 1:e april 2014


Then you realize, all of a sudden; that a part of you is still back there. Then you understand, quite unexpectedly; that no one can match up, no one will be enough, because the empty void is too great and too cold without him -- the hole left behind a limitless vacuum that remains sealed. I try to pry it open. I bend and I scratch at it's glistening surface, but it stays locked and impenetrable. It should matter that another man is better. It should make a difference that another man has a more symmetrical face and grander status. It should be relevant that there might be a future. That would make sense, that would be logical. But every second I spend in that man's company only proves one thing...

He is still right here.

Keaton Henson – Lying To You

lördagen den 29:e mars 2014


 It's time to go now. It's time to pack bags and say goodbyes and step on towards anywhere but here. So, I write a thousand words and I let them spin and twist into the great big void. Words about a cold and beautiful Scandinavia, of clients made of smiles and handshakes and of endless insomniac nights (laptop on, forever on) in Radisson Blu and Clarion and Scandic hotel. I wonder where I am going of course. I think about where I might end up naturally. There is a part of me that asks: where did I go wrong? But deep down I know that this is not about me, but all about you.

And that anywhere will be better than now.

David Ford – State Of The Union

tisdagen den 4:e mars 2014


M: Us Irish say sha...
I: I'm not Irish. 
M: Once we sort this you'll be fuckin' Irish.

Flogging Molly – Devil's Dance Floor

Two peas in one pod

M: I'm a little skinnier than when you last saw me. 
I: Really? 
M: Ya. 
I: But you are not exactly a fleshy man to begin with... 
M: I know. I just keep eating and eating, but I don't seem to put on weight. 
I: Perhaps you have worms. 
M: What? 
I: Well, if you have worms you tend to be able to eat a lot without putting on any weight. 
I: Hehe, riteo. 
M: What the hell kind of thing is that to say to a man? 
I: Life's a bitch and so am I -- you should know that by now.

 Rihanna – Rude Boy

tisdagen den 25:e februari 2014

Just kids

We were so young back then. Life was brand, spanking new and all had to be learned. Wide eyed and bushy tailed, just let loose by anxious parents and suddenly I tripped over you. You had really blue eyes and there was an air of fire around you. I would catch you watching me in the classroom sometimes, but you were different from the other boys; you didn't slip me notes or ask me out or wonder if I had a boyfriend. Instead, you watched in silence until one day -- when all of that changed.

And now you are coming to see me. After all this time. And I really don't know what to make of it. And I don't know if it's so wise. I don't know if it's so smart. Because if you get here. If I look at you. Things will get complicated. If you get on that plane. If you step out at Heathrow we might find ourselves lost. Because I can't help thinking maybe, just maybe, you're the boy that got away...

and you weren't supposed to.

Jake Owen – Barefoot Blue Jean Night

söndagen den 16:e februari 2014


Jag längtar hem nu. Till mitt land, min stad och till de mina. Jag längtar efter mina lördagar när telefonen aldrig slutar ringa. Och medan ljusen strålar i neon från Folkets dansar jag mig varm i natten. Jag träffar tusen människor jag bara träffar här och jag blir lika glad varje gång. Jag har en kontext, jag har en självklar tillhörighet och det finns så många händer som kan ta emot mig. Jag vill hem nu. Till staden som aldrig sover, till det nordiska ljuset och till den självklara längtan efter politik och revolution. Jag är trött på regn, jag är trött på att vara en exotisk fågel, jag är trött på bristen på intellekt. Jag vill simma runt i nattens sammetsmörker, jag vill balansera på knivseggen, på gränsen av striden. Jag älskar striden. Jag älskar slaget. Jag berusas av vår närvaron in en sommarrondell. Och gatorna? Ja, de är inte längre hans. De är mina, de är våra och kanske är tiden snart inne...

Veronica Maggio – Mitt hjärta blöder

lördagen den 8:e februari 2014

Bright lights

Sometimes all nights mingle into one. Sometimes all the Lord Byron's of all the days that have passed can be found in and between the words of a single man. The lines of yesterday and today and tomorrow get blurry and I am left in a strange room, amongst people whose smiles reaches through and onwards. And a man with black, unruly hair and pale skin looks at me through brown eyes and I suddenly see us. So young, and radiant and confused and glowing and reading, reading, reading poems into the night. And I pull away into what has passed but he still follows, not trying to erase you, but in search of a space of his own. Sometimes you're in a room you never though you would find yourself in. You're punching in digits as he juggles glasses just to impress you, but your gaze makes him drop one and it shatters against the floor in a thousand pieces as you feel your smile reach your eyes. All of a sudden he is visible as the past fades into the background and the now becomes very still, very important. The wine glass finds your lips and as he watches you lean away from all that he isn't you know that you are all those seconds, all those minutes and hours that have passed, but that life is here, life is now and it's in your hands.

Keaton Henson – Small Hands

torsdagen den 6:e februari 2014


I miss you. All the little pieces that made up the man I once knew. Your eyes were brown and green and blue and it's blatantly clear that I never let go of some things. Like the way you gently held my hand down by a canal in a time far, far away from here. Like how your eyes were so blue, your hair so blonde and you spoke of all those little hopes that makes up a life. How you danced with me, on a crowded dance floor but the moment and the space was only ours. We read the Tempest and a Midsummer nights dream and life was brand new and crisp and I was made of glass but you didn't break me. Walking through this town. My eyes and my senses wide, wide open. Thinking that you were a poem. Thinking that you were part of the light that surrounded us. Seeing your heartache so clearly I could touch it. I reached out gently but you weren't ready and sometimes that's life. But maybe, just maybe, I can be one of those little hopes on your way.

Bo Bruce – Save Me

lördagen den 1:e februari 2014


S: I want to see you.
I: Well, Sunday would work.
S: So, I take it you work on Saturday then?
I: I can do next Saturday, but not tomorrow. The upcoming week will be totally manic.
S: Don't think I can do next Saturday. This Sunday would have to let you know last minute.
I: Ah, shame, seems we're not going to be able to get this together sometime soon. But hey, there will be other days!;)
S: Hey, I didn't say no to Sunday just said it might be a bit last minute.
I: Well, how do you define last minute cowboy?
S: I'd have to let you know tomorrow or Sunday morning? Lol
I: Sorry cowboy, I wait for no man. Never have, ain't going to start now...

Matthew And The Atlas – I Will Remain