A:

//

- I never finish anything.
- Next chapter:

//

There are so many loose threads laying around that I constantly get tangled up, tripping over, in my search for the other end that will lead me to the core of fragments.
- You have worked forever.
- It takes a long time to look for things, but I have time, I’ll be doing this for the rest of my life.

//

- So what did you do when you felt the jealousy taking over?
- I got to be even nicer.

//

- I might change my mind, it has happened before.

(I wish I knew what I wanted.)

//

I’ve heard that person’s words and thoughts so much so now I, unwillingly, see through that persons eyes.

//

-  You seem to do well.
(I have no direction)

//

- I never finish anything
- Don’t save

//


D:

//

Pragmatism: What doesn’t break you makes you stronger.
Poetry:

//

You told me things that never happened and every time I fell in your trap. Every time I wanted to believe and I gave you new opportunities, more time and more love wanting and waiting for you to do the same. You have realized that too, now, too late. And with all the words you spoke and wrote, by now, you created this powerless circumstance. 

//

- Everything is normal.
(I wish I could change something.)


F:

//

I had the radiator on full power and I woke up cooked.

- We had such great sex.
- It was just a dream.

//

A person had been telling an extravagant story. The story was hilarious and included a bit of unflattering clumsiness. He had been telling the story for years until he then by coincidence told it directly to the person that it had actually happened to, the original storyteller. When confronted he realized, after some denial and embarrassment, that he had adopted the story, embedded it so vividly in his mind that he thought it was his own.  

//

I couldn’t do it. It was as if I had lost my concentration and my focus. I tried to get into it, I wanted to create the fantasy and step in. But I sat there looking at the containers and cups and I thought:
- So that was it, it is over.

//

He sat there with one of his teeth rotten and dead, with needle head pupils, nervous fingers and a fully developed disconnection to reality, probably in a psychosis, 27 years old.
- I could easily get a job there (in one of the worlds most advanced restaurant) but I don’ think it would be good for my artistic career.
He told this in a worn down restaurant, to an almost stranger, where he flipped mediocre burgers. He didn’t ask his new, not to be long-term, friend one single question and talking only about himself, he also showed a picture of his girlfriend.

//


S:

//

 Everybody has to keep the secret, or the party won't be a surprise.

//

He and I went around town searching for materials. But we also talked. I know more about you than you think.

//

- What is under the black blocks?
- If I told you, why would I then make them black?

//

Ciao  

Well, Rome, what can I say. It kept me awake on different levels, ever night someone was screaming, crying, yelling, arguing, laughing, celebrating or chanting outside my windows. If this didn't wake me up, sirens or a loud motorcycle would do the trick. One night I woke up in complete terror hearing a man primal scream ROMA as if he was condemned to hell and already caught on fire. The narrow space between the tile houses functioned as a perfect, always turned on, amplifier.
It is a recognized tool of torture to be kept awake and I must say, the eternal city really did. On an emotional level the concentrated and tangible thickness of ghosts and traces of destiny itched on my skin. It is not the well-stated facts of already written down, schoolbook history, that timeline has already been discovered for us. But it is something about the relics behind glass. With the bones hung on walls and the churches more alike animals than buildings. It is in the strange feeling of uninvited stepping into a tomb, meant to be sealed up and closed forever, snapping a photo of a grave that is supposed to be pitch black, untouched and private. It has to do with the black paving stone set like teeth in a jaw, covering the streets.

I don't think
interesting anymore, but maybe memory is?
(The thing I find most difficult to keep track of in my own life.)

Back in Stockholm I experience the silence again. It is so silent I can hear my ears ringing. But soon I will be welcoming the nightly terrors again. I was invited back for November, so I will be there, not here and I can't wait.
unfinished and waiting for me.

you
X

//

(this is one, not to you but to someone else)

//

Don’t tell me what you know.