The room

My room in Uppsala
Is melting together with the freezing "stateapartments" in Edinburgh and the sovjetic komunalkor (dont know the name in English) I read about in my book there.
Trough the dirty window glass the winter wind is blowing with it Prussian blue flavour.
I am so cold












Take the room back!
I have my grandmothers arm chair, books and new ideas.
Come very soon February

The post war-era

It feels that if it has been a war. And now it’s time to rebuild everything again.
I build whatever I want to. What should be better? I little bit more Stockholm, more art.
More painting.
Less but wilder parties. I want to build a country of klezmer music.
Inside that purple blue cloud I saw from Scotland.
At least tomorrow.
I want my life to be like the move the adventures of Picasso. On the fancy-dress ball. When the artist Rousseau flies out from the roof. Playing on his violin. Out over the city Paris in the night. And will never return.

Dali in the adventures of Picasso

I don’t think my expectation is to high.
I believe in knitting.
I believe in tea nights.
I believe in visiting my parents sometimes, but not now.
Now the life is like a fairytale. I live in my grandpas palace. Panting in his lounge.
And dance in Stockholm klezmer night.
I long for ice.
I believe in cat's foot a unique plant.

Everything is where it supposed to be.

Teacups on the case, red wine in my glass, my friend on the other side and him, the one that never wants to end his job.
Music darkness
Tastefully darkness.
My grandpa at his table. And if I don’t want to eat. Its difficult for grandpa, couse there are so much food.
Stockholm frost, when the plan landed with all my things. My things are at grandpas now.
Stockholm is were it supposed to be, and you are there.
Were you supposed to be.
Uppsala don’t rain November blue trough my lungs.
Uppsala whisper December white that “there is no danger any more”
The emptiness is were it supposed to be as well, but I am going to paint a dandelion sea in the lounge at grandpa. The lounge is going to be my studio. I am living in my grandpas home. He is buying me bananas and milk. Couse he can understand that.
If I start to paint, I can stay here.

Dark-blue

Dark-blue November
You get inside me, through all the steps that I am to tired to take.
Up all the stairs, cross over all roads with no crosswalk,
Through the window, the hole outside world is blowing in, horrible, damp, cold air.
And police sirens.
Is it a war?
Dark blue winds storming through the skin.
Through the heart and the lungs.
Dark blue gas to disappear inside.
I want to go home.

I want you no harm beautiful fairytale city.
I can be that fairytale. Running up and down the Diagon alley.
Sorry I mean Grassmarket.
I walk over hundreds of meter of death. Over the cemetery and the Royal Mile.
But I can only feel dark blue November streaming trough me.
I am so tired.
I want to enjoy everything.
Be charmed of Athen and the observatory I just find.
Now you are in the underwaterroom.

From dark blue to white.
I will go back in December.
Is it empty there?
White and empty, but warm.

Dystopia

I was dreaming: I had a hole on the right side of my back.
My lungs were there, unprotected, almost possible to fall out through the hole.
I was afraid they will be pressed, when I was a sleep.

And then I met the black sides.
The suburbs of doom in Glasgow.
Faraway I saw gigantic concrete buildings appear . They were all lightening of a lamp from the roof of ether blue or purple lights. “Coues they look nicer”
In this prisons drug addicted are living for free.
One of the most black atmosphere I ever felt, but I saw it from a car window faraway.
If you choose to go through this cities, you might not come back again.

Beuty

Scotland is beauty
The thing that filling the emptiness..
In botanical garden. Hedges of different kind. It is Orlando, Alice in the wonderland and The Shinning.
I am the only one to think like that. For everybody els it is just hedges. I was thinking that I will be suck in to the hedges and disappear. An other one was feeling evil. Poison oak hedge. The beauty is evil.

I don’t choose the beauty.
I am choosing to come home and be empty agin.
Edinburgh is a ferris whele above the city. I will miss that. I know, beautiful Arthur seat from the window of the studio. And the castle. I can se chandeliers from the castle window. A hall.
In dark nights, they have ball there.

It is something beautiful and rotten here.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OVCO_F0fUas&feature=related

Chutney are Scotland

What I am longing for
That frozen smell in the air
That warm darkness

I am of course afraid of the north of Sweden as usual . Afraid of the melancholy, of the darkness and the endless pine tree forests. Afraid of Norrland.
I had to do the best of it.
Cat
I hope not dad gives me another book of landscape architecture again as last Christmas. Give me something morbid about graveyards. Cous I am going to study ethnology
Dad
We have two languish: Owls and landscape architecture.
I am sorry about that but at least we still have the owls.

I long for simplicity, emotionality, It is so easily created in Sweden. It is enough with a gingerbread
Abstraction of mood.

Now I am going to be her for a weak up to a month in Scotland. Everything is about administraty. SAAS. Scotland want me to stay to December.

I miss my old collective.
It was nice.
Horror movie manuscript, Picassos äventyr, Äppelkriget and Pictionary.

I know that Edinburgh wins all the prices in exactingness and beauty.
Horrorbeutifull city. Beggars, art, stripclubs, parks, museums, police sirens are screaming. Madness over the hole city. Is it a war?
Cinemas, clubs and theaters.
Green hills around the city like walls. (almost like Insbruk in Austria)

Chutney in the meny at the bal this Saturday (I was in Sweden)
I like chutney, but it was not easy.
This I can never more eat. Chutney are Scotland.

End of Edinburgh

I don’t believe in the underwateroom anymore. I don’t believe in the sludgy lake floor.
Fish
Beautiful but disgusting water lily
A decision was made in my days in Sweden
First it might have been a wave of shimmery fairytalesweden. But then reality.
For the first time, I will shooce reality.

It was my grandfather’s kitchen. Jackobsberg (Stockholm) Twelve hours left for soot black Edinburgh.
Grandfather was a bit concen. “I don’t have anything”
But there was some bread and tea.
Outside the kitchen window. There was a dear.
I was overexcited, with have only seen foxes and pigeons the last months.
I point him out.
“yes hi is back” grandfather was mumbling

Kitchen is faling apart, grandfather is faling apart. I am faling apart
The place of safety and childhood. I want to sit in the green armchair and read books about folklore tales as I us to. But the times is going, Edinburgh is waiting.
I need to finish it all.

Edinburgh is beautiful, but sad
I like to be here. There is charity shops with nice ladies, ghostly frightened streets, vintage shops and industryromantic buildings in Glasgow.
I would have been something beautiful.
It’s a bit sad.

But I think about five years.
Then is not as beautifull.
I believe in Scotland and the underwateroom, but I am not going to be there.
I am going to study ethnology as I was supposed to.
Tomorrow I start to finish this.

Glasgow

The underwater room. A tale
I followed her steps in the woods
The princess, the wood nymph
Her floating steps over the fen. Until we came to the open black water.
Down there was a hall with crystal chandeliers
floating under the water surface.
A autumn ball.
In the underwater room, nymph of the water are dancing. Sad creatures that disappeared long ago.
The wood nymph. Ophelia stops at the water side.

I want to be the person that is far away and lost.

Two days of inspiration in Glasgow.
The time of the decadence. 1880 to the twenties. I want!
A exuange with the nabor town I needed.
The night was. A bit clubs, a bit dance, a bit wine and some more.
The next day. Glasgow school of art of the architect Machintoch.
Then a green belt, a sea.
We find a abounded theater scene.

I can’t believe what a wibe of Tove jansson I got.
Let this be a space, that molder and dies.
Graffiti works with the moss. Taking back what has been words and music ones.
Don’t let any landscapes architect develop this space. Just let I die.
I want to be Finland, I want to be Copenhagen.
Far away in the dark of Prague, or in the warm darkness of Barcelona.
But I want to be here. Be a bit British. I love as much as I hate the un practical.
High roof. My room is like a hall. But it is small and cold.
But with a high roof.
You can have a ball for two maybe.
A dancing couple.
Is that what the idea is? A student room that’s a hall.

And then a foresight of what next trip of vintage shopping will be.
A sweet small boutique. Where I find a thing that will make me even more Scottish. A white cozy jumper from the eighties.
As I would I never understand in Sweden.

And before I went home. A exhibition with books that disappeared...


This is what i find:

Glasgow school of art and a painting of Machintoch,
Aubrey Beardsley

India

Ones I was kissing the ugly country beautiful
When is it going to be beautiful again?
It was my birthday. Of course nothing is happening.
Something like that extreme, tragic, romantic and wild I like.
When I was a child I always wanted to be in India that day. 31 October of some reason.
I think I still want that. Just this day.
India.
Of course that never happens, except I am wonderfully beautiful and dead, but it is only a regular party.
I choose the twenties again.

I wanted to go home and paint. My need for art was screaming inside me. Usually it is the social me that is screaming. My party me. She always was screaming in Uppsala (Sweden), she was never pleased.
But I don’t have any home, and I can’t go, because it was that day.
Drink more wine! Your bottle is not even half-full. I love you.
I love you to.
I was jealous and fascinated, of thus how was introvert.
Thus you only see sometimes.
But has a better worlds inside them. I have a India inside me. Always in the end of October.

Footsteps

I was not planning to have a blog in English.
Even do I am abroad and many of my friends booth here and at home speaks English, not Swedish. But still. Something gets lost in the English words. I find it like painting and not be able to use all the shades of colors. But then I relished. I am her, I need to practice.
I need to learn.
So for the future, here am I going to try to translate the words from my other blog. Don’t excepted it to be good. To be art.
But I am going to try. Slowly will this blog follow in the others blogs footstep. So just wait.