Cognac and absinthe

I don’t like cognac, but there might be an explanation for that.

It was the Egyptians that invited the drink.
They dig a hole and filled it with sugar and then they throw a pharaoh, in there.
(Probably dead and mummify)
And out of this, they extract the cognac.
And this also explains the reason for why they did so much inbreeding in the royal family of the Egyptians. The simple reason is that they wanted as mush cognac as possible and with a lot of inbreeding’s, the pharaohs died mush earlier.
Tutankhamun for examples did only lived until he was 19 years old.

If you don’t want to drink a dead pharaoh, you can drink absinthe .
They dig a hole.
And in there they put, snakes, spices and sometimes opium and things like that. It depends if for example they want the drink to be legal in Sweden.
But the main ingredient is snakes.
The snakes find it quit cozy in the hole so they become more, have children.
And finally they are some many, so the just can’t fit in any more and then they break.
They molder to a black mixture, and of this you get the absinthe.
I prefer whiskey.

A lavender color feeling say Luthagen.
Luthagen is home.
When I run and by sweets for Jacke on coop. (But I destroyed his ice-hockey game on TV, when Adam and I, made up stuff about the players)
Sorry, sorry.
We talk about the moomin characters
Believe that Wallingatan is the moomin house and we are the characters that just end up there and never get away. Little My that Mymble forgot there (I think) and Adam probably is a ancestor.
You want your characters on the right position. Moomin in the moomin house.
Winnie the pooh in his hose. If it is not like that, it doesn’t feel very good.
Why was not Pelle in the basement? And what happens when Anna goes to Öland?

The birds disappeared.

Did they flight away? Died, or just melted in the digestive system.
They lived in my stomach, poor birds.
The bag , turn on fire on the party. That was the best thing that happened!
I had a task, the bag vas a bonus.
Now I have walked through the black Luthagensea to me. Frozen air.
Uppsala is caught by frost. Like in the tale about the giant and his garden of Oscar Wilde.
I am the giant and in my garden lives the north wind.

I got a voodoo doll of Pelle. What am I supposed to do with it?
Just have it.
Women wants “magic”, did Pelle say and suggest me to start with black magic.
Wik is an open wound. That bleeds, and bleeds

The Animal list.

I like to think of people as animal. And her I have started a list of witch animal people are:

Scotland: At this place, I thought a lot of people

as animal.

Karena: a fox
Mickel: a Rein dear
Olivia: a ladybird
Anna: a dear
Hariet: a wild rabbit
Conrad : a frog
Scott: A Moose
Jacub: a Gecko
Daniela: a panter.

Friends from Wik (my art school): I think of them more like flowers, but it is a mix

Malin: a tussilago and if she was a fruit a clementine
Säde: water avens
Anna Juhlin: A poppy and in the moominbooks a mymla (like me)
Caroline: A orange rose
Lovisa: A wintergreen
Kevin: A twinflower
Pelle is a animal. At first he was a poddle but then he cut his hair and now he is a heron.
Adam: hazel nut.
Karin the fox: Of course a fox
Dennis: a potato
Angelika: A bobcat
Mommo: A panda
Jacke: Aubergin

Maria Annas: Hermine

Kajsa H M: Elder

Jin: Firefox

Robin: some sort of panter

Uppsala:
Sara G: firefox
Lova: a decert fox or a polar fox
Erik: A hare

Marq: a bear

Julia: perheps a wolf
There will be more.

The sorrow of the double homelessness

Ones I was going to be a glassblower, blow tears of glass.
Because Småland has to be romantic.
Ones I was going to pick wood anemones, Yes it is the book “The glass blow children” of Maria Gripe.
Adam says that I should be a nomad. Whatever context I am in, I still got hit of nostalgia.
I always have to be somewhere else. But only ones it made me ill.
Nostalgia is deadly. I read that in the book “nostalgia, a history of a feeling” of Karin Johannisson.

Ones in the middle of the autumn. Room and time disappeared.
Far up in a modernistic building with window view to the old city parts and the black castle.
I heard a signal. I did not believe it was a psysiche signal. A fire alarm? Air-raid alarm`?
Where I somewhere else? The signal was from another world.
A ghost from a other context.
I understand that this sound ones, meant something important. But what?
I have heard it before.
And then, my confusion let go.
It was my doorbell to my collective on wallingatan in Uppsala.
The crazy melody.
We use to sit and wait for it, especially during parties, when we had invited some scary people.
The terrible signal.
I don’t know why it was in Edinburgh, perhaps someone’s phone. But it made me lose my mind for a while.

Did something burn in my brain?

The snow is falling again
Over Luthagen.
Is snowing to lay on my heart, to dull the heart beating.
Is snowing to lay on my lungs
And the blood, carefully slow down the bloodstream.

I was dreaming that I got two children. Twins.
A boy and a girl.
But it was to difficult with two of them. Like to read, two books at the same time.
So one of them I just put away.
And just took care of the other one. That was just fine in the dream world.

I can’t get over this lapse of memory .
Did something burn in my brain?
Will I die?
A cable? A string in my brain. It has to be repaired.
And I know how.
The purple days is almost gone, they go in to orange.
But in myself there is storms that never calms down. However I try.

A purple sunday.

I buy tulips.
And is freezing the hole day. Drinking green tea.
A ritual, that was created in Scotland, when the rat made me run out in evening of Edinburgh to a friend.
I want to swim away in black water of rurally darkness, that one’s was.
Like the moment when we where walking on the path.
The three of us.
Maybe it was in that moment, life was enough. Right then!
So many shells that died, that are feet broke, in the night.
I did not see them , but I heard the brake.
Then we where close.
There is nowhere to go, except in to the darkness.
And it is so black, that it is warm. That is how I like it!
As blacker as deeper do we get in to are self.

Or is it when I do a life drawing. Or a little color.
A little blue or orange feeling, that just a across.
Right now I do not know, right now I can’t find.

The tulips are in a was in my room and I wonder, what is wrong?
What make me buy them.

Back

That Black, jealousy water, is beautifully shiny.
I have a canoe on the bank.
In case I have to escape.
You walk with your red Steps
Trough my forest. Me and you butterfly, hide behind the trees.





´








This photo is from my year at Wik, but this is how it look like today.


I was back again. And if I cud choose I would be someone’s scarf, wild around someone’s shoulders.
The smell in the walls. Carlos, from Brazil?
There was snow over Wik. I think it was there to hold the spirits back.
To protect.
But I saw the stone, star at us, with horror in it eye. The horse grave.
Wik says, choose yourself!
Scotland sad the same thing. Scotland and wik are two wise aunts to listen to.
Uppsala just say a lot of rubbish sometimes. I know what I will choose.
I got a cake with a messages. “Get rid of all the scum’s”
I think I know with one, that has to go. Suddenly I know a lot.

"Moving in melancholia”

In the underwater room they do not drink champagne on their parties.
They drink poison from a sea-urchin.
The queen of the bal is dancing with a moray.
A crab lives in my eye.

I have moved in to my room.
It’s not cold here. No blue is coming through the window glass.
At first I am hit by “moving in melancholia”, but there is a medicine for that in other rooms of this building. Friends and tea.
And Nina Simone.
I just throw everything out on the floor, probably it will climb up the wall by itself. Organically to the roof.
Coues it is a high roof, but not like Scotland, there you where supposed to have a bal in your room.
My room, my own home. My own world.
Since last I have cheered room with ugly Italians, curious Americans. A fat rat.
A friendly Greek. And then I lived with my grandfather in a castle (a house). It was nice, but I did not have time to paint him.
I lived a little bit here and there.
Back to the poetry window.

Signe, it is almost over.

Books make me choose. Signe is a fashion illustrator, then at least I will draw life drawings .
As often I have the time. Always!
The first time, this Wednesday (in at least six months) went well. So lucky.Because now I need drawings for a portfolio!
Now I am fascinated, but what happened to the spring semester 2009? It was a huge sin to not attend a free life drawing class. I did attend, but not as often that I did not feel that it was hurting somewhere.
The responsibility I not did care about.
But how wonderful that I want it now!
But, Signe the book only has three pages left. What about after that?
A hole mouth, I been living in the trilogy. What to do now? Above all, were do I live?
Books are my homes. I did not dare to read in Scotland, I was homeless. But yes that was my own fault.
The book is also about the fear of the heritage. Signe is a daughter
to a man with a bipolar illness.
I am totally in to that subject (but awful, yes). And Signe that also banish to a capital in a other country, for a while. Well I got to find something else now.

http://nordinagency.se/?id=389&type=fiction

The name of the book is “From Signe to Alberte” of the author Kerstin Thorwall and Signe is Kerstin.

A drawing from Wednesday.

Scotland

The blue color so blue. In my lungs, in the air, in the rain.
You where so beautiful
You where so horrible to me.

I am thinking about you. Bruises that never goes away, but there are not possible to see anymore.
I am thinking about all my bags. The airplane that finally lifted. I did not believe it.
The blue color, so blue.
But cold, so cold and I was so weak.

Pelicans

I was dreaming that all the pelicans of the world,
Decided to fly in to one or more skyscraper.
The result was earthquake and broken window glass.
Why do I dream like this?

















2010 was starting with days then we just walk and walk through Stockholm. White wants to crawl into us. But you are prepared for this here. It is a allow to be cold here, cause there are warm café´s to sit in, for hours, teacups to refill and refill. Thoughts and concerns to investigate.
But I am not pleased
I die if I can’t get that forest again.
The distantness is so far.

Orange red

Just before I left my parents home for Stockholm, my aunt and grandmother came for a visit.
I was hit by something orange red. They were collaring my reality.
Even though the air was foul of crystals. I was warm.
The Preussen blue has gone.
Of course, they ask difficult questions, but they understand.
In the winter train, the frost wanted to come in. 25- C, whole Narnia wanted us.
But I have my orange around me. Like a warm scarf.
She is the warm and orange scarf.