Think of nothing (Stina Nordenstam)

Igjen ligger katten i senga når jeg våkner. Han har tatt puta mi og er bare klump. Og jeg tenker, hvordan kjennes det å bare være en klump, hvordan kjennes det å flyte tankeløst av gårde. Jeg imiterer ham og krøller meg sammen i den grønne stolen. Jeg behøver musikk som er sterkere enn meg selv og gir opp til Tom Waits. Så sitter jeg ubevegelig der i hjørnet, jeg får ikke helt til å male som en katt. Jeg får ikke til å slutte å tenke heller. Jeg legger hodet mot veggen og forsøker å forsvinne inn i den.  

Sleep now

I’m incredibly lucky to have Linn. She's a great person to share a flat with. I made a Tarte Tatin for her and it’s really a shame I ate most of it.

Caroline sent me a message and said there was a picture of us in Jeff Smith’s blogg over at Boneville. And indeed there was. I look smug and satisfied for some reason. Probably because I’m carrying that huge HUGE Bone book…

I wrote a lot today, which felt good. I’ve taken out the book I started to write last year – spread it out so it covered the floor – and today I put the old notes and chapters and everything in my graveyard box*. I started all anew and now I have lots of drawings and a real plot outline instead of all the messy stuff I wrote last year.

Arrgh, so tired now. Must sleep.

* I bought a cardboard box a few weeks ago. I’d been looking at it in the shop window for four or five months I think. It’s blue and covered in white flowers and so so pretty. I put all my useless writings there to die in peace, and hope I can use it as raw material or some such when I have learned how to write well.

vente

 

Sounds

Kong Ottokar stole my pillow on Thursday. He sneaked into my room, took my pillow and fell asleep on top of it. Lying with my ear to his tummy I could hear the beating of a heart. Whether it was his cat heart or my own ear was impossible to tell.

The Kaizers Orchestra concert yesterday was great, really all too great. The music went right through my body and I felt like leaving it. My head fell apart and became this huge silent place that I’ve never visited before.

I made a blackberry pie today.

Vi har stengt oss inne og du vinner, du vinner

Både i går og i dag har jeg besøkt og luktet på tebutikker. Den første var luftig og lys, med jazz og teprøver og kake (Le Palais Des Thés). Den andre var liten og god, stappet helt full av bokser og kanner. Og te, selvsagt. (Den het Bogstaveien te-kaffe). Å være der inne var litt som å gre tankene med en kam. Luktene som siver gjennom deg og bølger videre gjør deg akkurat så ør og lykkelig at du ikke behøver å tenke når du går ut, du behøver bare å smile der du går med gyngende skritt.

Det var fint å være hjemme i helga. Jeg bakte kake til lillebror, sov i en ekte seng og gikk tur i skogen. Jeg leste lenge hver dag og skrev. Men best av alt var å snakke med farmor. Hun er en av de mest interessante og oppegående samtalepartnerne jeg noen gang har hatt. Dessverre ser jeg henne alt for sjelden. På lørdag snakket vi til det ble mørkt i rommet og teen kald og ekkel, bare fordi ingen av oss ville reise oss opp for å gjøre noe med det. Det ville bryte trolldommen, da ville vi vært nødt til å innse at det var kveld og at jeg måtte opp og hilse på resten av familien. På søndag spiste vi kjeks, jeg lånte bøker (Nineteen Eighty-Four og Døde Sjæle) og teen ble kald nok en gang. Av og til får jeg lyst til å legge to fingre mot panna hennes, bare for å se om jeg kan kjenne tankene.

They were trying to get us

I dreamt that grandma and I were throwing snowballs. All the creepy  kids in the garden were trying to get us, but we stood our ground.  

After the Hallowe’en night at Simon and Caroline’s place I’ll be going home. It feels like ages since I was there last time. I bought a graphic novel for my brother’s birthday, I hope he likes it. Last year I gave him V for Vendetta.

Leaves, leaving, left (Tiden, tiden er sprø)

As October leaves us with only October leaves as proof of its existence I find myself thrown into November’s snowy life, with aching feet and aching shoulders, but at least my heart no longer keeps them company.

On Sunday I had a small celebration of my birthday. I made red lentil soup, and also one chocolate cake with blackberry compote for each of my friends (unfortunately there was one short, and Andrea was the last to finish her soup so she didn’t get one. But since we are all very nice she got enough cake anyway) It was a nice party, everyone had tea. At one point it started to snow (that was the first time), and we all ran excitedly to the windows, like small children.