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.