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Wednesday, October 06, 2010

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Hjernemuskelen er en milliard fresende maiskorn, når jeg tøyer den popper de alle illevarslende. Og akk så deilig.

Kokain og kantareller, alle dufter, smaker og følelser under sylskarp kontroll. Så lenge det varer. Maisen koker, røyk sprenger seg pipende ut under topplokket. Tiden spør om kokeren skal eksplodere. Jeg gliser til den med steinharde tenner og svarer ikke. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Du er en vakker ung kvinne. Hva ellers skulle du være. Du er min. Mitt bilde. Min kreasjon. Du lever på min netthinne, i mitt hode. Jeg er din Gud.

Det må på nåværende tidspunkt i teksten påpekes at dette er ingen heldig maktfordeling mellom mann og en kvinne.

Men så lenge jeg klarer å glemme de trivialitetene smiler du innbydende naken til meg. Du har til og med din egen vilje. Jeg klarer kun delvis å kontrollere deg, du er, tross min viljestyrte kreasjon, for mye av en drøm. Pop. Pop. Mer konsentrasjon. Mer vilje. Du er min drøm. Jeg vil ha deg. Jeg kan. Vet jeg kan.

"Er du gal nå?"

Stemmen er lys. Barnlig. Den bringer et deilig mørke og kaster drømmene mine. Dens autoritet er absolutt. Jeg vet ikke hvems den er. Det er neppe min, men antakelig noen som vil meg godt. Jeg strekker muskelen videre og undrer. Pop. Pop. Pop.

"Er du gal nÅ?"

Stemmen insisterer, hun er irritert. Jeg sier hun, men det er et slags barn, neppe egentlig kjønnet. Hun skal roe meg. Vanligvis er én inngripen nok. Sjokket er øredøvende. Eller. Det var øredøvende første gang. Dette er n'te gang. Jeg kjenner henne nå. Elsker henne. Men hun er et... Merkelig. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

Sov nå. Jeg elsker deg. Drømmene er ikke dine egne i natt. Dø. I morgen skal du igjen oppstå.

Heldige lille gris.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

Zzzzzz...

Saturday, October 02, 2010

Inocencia (Messiah) - Lyric

(Should you wish to put music to these words I'd be thrilled to work with you, let me know)

Hiding from the light
a man craves lust
chaotic, wild delight

Hearing cries of beasts within
remembering his birthed sin
He rages on the beautiful, the sane
and craft the world its slavers chain

Vivid I recall
his bloody feet
the mourning victory of self
and his defeat

Basking in his pain alacriously
the newborn sinners roar
in agony

A child reside
in sorrowed hands
choking painfully
on Adams innocent demands

as evil numbness grows
deep in its heart
insanity awaits
to take its mind apart

And here you see the horrid, hidden lie
Take your innocence and run, leave us to die
Spare yourself from guilt, our endless sin

You are the pardoned son
with nowhere to begin

Høst

Det er strømninger på vinden, Herre
dype, dunkle, dystre ord
mørketiden senker seg
frembringer død på visnet jord

Sort er alle blomsterenger
nakne står trærne der
frarøvet det livets under
fuglesang og sommer er

Kulden kryper under karmen
tårer furer myke kinn
hvor er alle lyse stunder
hvor er freden i mitt sinn

Lidenskapens brukne stemme
skraper over brustne knær
livets lyst og kjærlig lengsel
vandrer i de dødes hær

Ute raser Valborgsmessen
fandens djevler piskes inn
men brått helvetsilden slukkes

- Stjerneklart, og måneskinn

Sunday, September 05, 2010

Delirium (excerpt/opening from a growing story)

Hail Earthlings.

I approach you now from a distant future. A future which you will not enjoy, yet you will still face it. If there is anything time has taught us it is that futures cannot be avoided or significantly changed. If anything I will most likely just accelerate the process. Still, you should know. Humans crave knowledge, and I will provide you with a cache of it greater than your puny mind can bear. Read on at your peril.

[...]

It’s been many a year since I grew into this being of jest and malice. I should apologize I guess, but I wont. I am what I am. Gallows humor is the only way to survive this bleak world. Around me it lies in ruins… well, that is not entirely true. The buildings still stand, the people, the society.. everything stands, for some. Not for me. Not for most. My brain has been altered, by myself no less, so it’s hard even to find someone to blame for this travesty. Ach, I ramble. You must bear with this, I will not be able to control it very well, I trust you will find the information interesting enough to overlook the debris cluttering it. Let me start at the beginning. Rather, at a beginning. I think Robert Jordan popularized such an opening some hundred years ago. Or was it more recent? Who knows, even time is a struggle for me now. ...You still think it is constant.. "linear" (? We dont use that word anymore. Nothing is linear. hahah, what a silly concept). Right? I dont perfectly remember your place in history. You reading this text should still be proof enough that it is not. Well. As is, a beginning:

It all – or precicely; the all of this – started with a young man in your year 2010. A young Norwegian no less, shitty hypocritical self obsessed dirtbags as they are, they still produced this intriguing being capable of changing history. (Never mind what I said about the future not being changeable, it is only so for those of us who are here already, and you will still get here no matter what… […] at least, in a way, some of you. I don’t know. Bleeding from my ear again. Need to focus).

He had trained all his (short) life, most of it unknowingly, at controlling and enhancing his brain. It led him to a few discoveries. And a lot of grief. He went mad of course. Although, that is a word one should not read so lightly and move on over. Madness is in the eye of the beholder, and he was certainly less mad than me. Less mad than most of us are these days. Still, quite mad by your standards.

He started claiming he could control other people. Telepathy. You’ve read of it. And you don’t believe it. Why should you. You can’t do it yourself, so why should others be able to? Right. The jealous, belittling, self-gratifying human mind at its finest. Hold on to your beliefs, they are probably mostly foolish and outright wrong, but they might at least keep you sane.

Brain alteration is possible. Heck. It’s easy. It all lies in the control of your thoughts and your mind. And how hard can that be, eh? You think all the time, you even think that most of what you think are your own thoughts, your own ideas. They aren’t of course, well, parts of them are. Most are borrowed from others, from history, from the universe itself. But you usually add a certain flavor to them and call them your own. Which is nice. As I said, it keeps you sane. Which is definately nice. (Oh, I so long for those simpler days. I need to cry, I need to claw at my eyes. I also need to finish this damned text. First. To do something useful. So much uselessness, so much waste. I cannot bear the waste. Terrible. Terrible. I see the sun is rising. Aasdlaksjdasdaklakaj. I could not do it justice in writing, so those random strokes will have to be what kick starts your own imagination. Use it to imagine your best sunrise. Red, yellow, almost violet at the edges and in between; pure, floating, living beauty. Stop reading. Sit back. Look at it.

[---]

Is it real? I have no idea. I mostly decide for myself what is. But it is pretty. God so pretty. (And God I wish God existed. sHe does too. Sort of. Poor bugger. Now that is one fucked character). Oh. It is gone now. I hope it comes back some day)).

So, where was I? Hahaha, I lose track even of simple thoughts these days, and have to back-track in writing to see what they were. Oh crap. I am writing to you about this? How silly Øyvind. How perfectly silly of you. But let’s go on then. No stopping us now.

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(... more to follow some other time I guess, let me know if you want me to hurry the process) ;)

Btw, if you want a reference point for this story I'd say Neil Gaimans "Delirium" is a good start, I'm imagining this character in a similar universe. Which means I would consider making a comic out of it if I ever got the chance. Either way I'll have to wait and see what it becomes first.