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Arkiv for mai 2014

We all wanted that high school sweetheart.
We wanted to be young in the fifties
with meatloafs and sock hops
and lawns so perfect
they looked like Clark Gable was kissing them.

We wanted to be thirteen and alive
and meet a girl that was thirteen and alive.
To walk with her past the grandstands.
To sit and hold hands with, to sit and talk with,
to sit and kiss with, to sit and sit with
like this was something you lost and found.
But that never was.

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We once wanted to be poor but not too poor.
To connect this country like Kerouac and thumbs
pulling small town waitresses
into back seats and trailer parks homes
where the two of you would find passion expanding
between the locking of your bones
until morning would come to find you out on the road
with your pockets empty except for your hands.
But your hands would be overflowing with your soul.
But that’s not what happened.

We once climbed into bed as though between the sheets
was a valley where dinosaurs still lived.
And how we would explore them with a flashlight
catching these triceratops and brontosauruses.
But even he was opened with the dripping teeth of reality.
With the smoke that rose out of the homes
on the corners we once climbed through –
the streets and footballs with which we once threw –
the school desks upon which we once drew –
the windows that sat open,
through which we once flew.
And the outside world of parking spaces and dead friends
came flooding on in, and we forgot what we wanted
and became what we become.
Waitresses and bartenders.
City employees and temp positions.
We are junkies and one-kiss poems
and we cry the stars.

As we write our scars
on dumpsters and electric boxes –
because the only thing we can hear is our hearts
and the streets are the only ones listening
to this blood that breaths through the letters we leave.
We dream to rise out of these burning buildings,
but instead we get buried somewhere beneath them.
Because I know my life is like some high school kid’s notebook –
that kid who goes back and forth between school and home,
stacking the letters and the pictures too close
for anyone outside of his own imagination to read
because it’s through the ink that his heart beats,
that his heart breathes –
and we all wanted to pass these notes –
check if you like me
check if you don’t
check if you’ll date me
check if you won’t.
Because we all wanted the love songs to be true.

And we all once loved dinosaurs.

And we wanted the stars to hold our hands –
to lick the teeth
to fuck us
but they ended up fucking us.

So let you smiles twist.
Like my heart dancing precariously
on the edge of my finger tips,
staining them like that same high school kid
licking his thoughts using his sharpie tip
writing, “I was here.”
I was here, motherfucker.
And ain’t none of y’all can write that
in the spot that I just wrote it in.
I am here motherfucker
and we all here motherfucker
and we all motherfuckers motherfucker.

Because every breath I breath brings me closer
to the day when my mother will die.
And every breath I take
takes me a second further
from the moment she caught my father’s eye.
And every word I carry
is another stone to put into place
in the foundation I’m building to ease the days
and help erase something I never saw –
what all of us wanted and what none of us got –
what we all had and have and what we all forgot –
that we all wanted to be something –
that we all became something.
And it may not be what we once thought it would be,
but something is still something
and like some cats say,
something’s better than nothing.
Feet are smarter than an engine,
and dreams are stronger than thighs.
And questions are the only answers we need
to know that we are as alive
as a time when I held the mind of a child asking:
Why is 2 + 3 always equal to 5?
Where do people go when they die?
What made the beauty of the moon –
the beauty of the sea?
Did that beauty make you?
Did that beauty make me?
Will it make me something?

Will I be something?

Am I something?

And the answer comes:

You already are.
You always were.
And you still have time to be.

Anis Mojgani, Here Am I

Never touch anything with half of your heart.
Be present, endlessly loving and compassionate towards others.
Confront any challenging situation first with a deep breath.
Remember that your own happiness and comfort comes above all things.
Before reacting, try understanding.
Eat breakfast every morning.
Find the faces in the flowers.
Remember what is important to you.
Treat your body kindly.
Be honest.
Get to know yourself.
Take things at your own pace.
Do not be embarrassed to feel, laugh, cry, sing or love.
Remember that what is right for someone else may not be what is right for you. And that is okay.
Never be ashamed or afraid to ask for help.
Do what you love.
Remember that you always have a choice.
Find joy in what life really is, living.

– Author Unknown


1. Someone once told me to always live for the little things in life. Live for the 5 A.M sunrises and 5 P.M sunsets where you’ll see colors in the sky that don’t usually belong. Live for road trips and bike rides with music in your ears and the wind in your hair. Live for days when you’re surrounded by your favorite people who make you realize that the world is not a cold, harsh place. Live for the little things because they will make you realize that this is what life is about; This is what it means to be alive. – Author Unknown

2. Learn to say fuck you to the world once in a while. You have every right to. Just stop thinking, worrying, looking over your shoulder, wondering, doubting, fearing, hurting, hoping for some easy way out, struggling, gasping, confusing, itching, scratching, mumbling, bumbling, grumbling, humbling, stumbling, rumbling, rambling, gambling, tumbling, scumbling, scrambling, hitching, hatching, bitching, moaning, groaning, honing, boning, horse-shitting, hair-splitting, nit-picking, piss-trickling, nose-sticking, ass-gouging, eyeball-poking, finger-pointing, alleyway-sneaking, long waiting, small stepping, evil-eyeing, back-scratching, searching, perching, besmirching, grinding, grinding, grinding away at yourself. Stop it and just DO. Don’t worry about cool. Make your own uncool. Make your own; Your own world. – Sol LeWitt’s admonition to Eva Hesse

3. I don’t have a favorite season. I have a favorite feeling. It’s the windows down, silent back roads with dirty bare feet feeling. It’s when I can walk straight outside without pausing to fish out a jacket. It is curtains dancing around my room because of the cool breeze that pushes against its fabric. It is sunsets after dessert and grass as my pillow. The sound of lawnmowers, falling leaves, and rain against the window. Pockets of shade and walks along a gravel road. I don’t have a favorite season, I have a favorite feeling. – Author Unknown

4. A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts it will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely. Roald Dahl

5. You know what’s really, powerfully sexy? A sense of humor. A taste for adventure. A healthy glow. Hips to grab on to. Openness. Confidence. Humility. Appetite. Intuition. Smart-ass comebacks. Presence. A quick wit. Dirty jokes told by an innocent-looking lady. A storyteller. A genius. A doctor. A new mother. A woman who realizes how beautiful she is. – Courtney E Martin

Jeg har forelsket meg helt i Blackbird Blackbird sin musikk de siste månedene, og jeg blir så utrolig glad hver gang jeg finner avslappende musikk jeg bare kan ha på i bakgrunnen mens jeg leser, spiser, tar meg et langt bad, skriver eller sitter ute i solen. Ja, egentlig uansett hva jeg gjør. Det er så himla behagelig, og jeg kunne virkelig ikke vært foruten.





Instagram @ CamillaDidriksen.

Livet renner bort som sand mellom slitne fingre. Tiden glipper og forsvinner fra skjelvende hender. Men fortsatt klarer jeg, litt innimellom, å fange og holde fast ved og ikke gi slipp på de små øyeblikkene og fine tingene som gjør at jeg fortsatt sikter mot fremtiden.

Den siste måneden har jeg vært helt hektet på Electric Eyes av Metaform, og det er en stund siden jeg har funnet noe så bra og særegent. Jeg har den alltid på som bakgrunnsmusikk når jeg leser i Divergent som jeg holder på med denne uken, og den passer overraskende bra inn med tanke på hvordan jeg ser for meg ting. Albumcoveret minner også litt om byen alt foregår i gjennom mitt hode; Litt dystert og grått og forlatt, og jeg får rett og slett en skikkelig Divergent-feeling.

Jeg er nemlig sånn at hver gang jeg leser en bok har jeg alltid en spesifikk låt jeg hører på som bakgrunnsmusikk fra begynnelse til slutt, og den boken og låten vil jeg for alltid forbinde med hverandre i ettertid. Jeg liker det egentlig sånn, jeg. Northern Lights av Kleerup får meg f. eks til å tenke på Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, From Time av Drake sender meg tilbake til den tiden jeg leste forstyrrende We Need to Talk about Kevin, Paper Thin av Flume minner meg om The Perks of Being a Wallflower og Please Don’t Go av Mike Posner forelsket jeg meg i på nytt da jeg leste ut Mockingjay. Det er sjelden jeg klarer å lytte til mye forskjellig når jeg lever meg inn i bøkenes verden, og da synes jeg alltid det er fint å høre på en enkelt låt gjennom hele som gir meg en passende følelse. Uansett; Check it out.