Teitur live at Granittrock -08. He performed at a float and we sat on the beach only meters away from him.








It was magic, and when he played Josephine I cried. He is so beautiful and his songs makes my soul shiver. I meant to call secretivejenny, but I forgot. I've made you a letter that I'm sending tomorrow.

It's been ages since I've updated.
I am in love again.

And I miss you.

I received letters today. Three of them, actually. I had forgotten how much I love getting snail mail♥.
Oh... An envelope..


( ...what could it be? )

A small part of my room. It's becoming more and more cozy, I think.


We watched Charlie Chaplin♥ yesterday.

His breath was shivering almost so silent that I could not hear him, but still I did when I focused.
I heard regression and wrath, his breathing begged for forgiveness. A matter I could not help him with, as far as I knew then.
«One of the mothers ran with her husband to meet my warriors. She screamed all the way.. her voice sung of prayers full of faith, prayers that might not come true tomorrow, as most people want them to. She cried out prayers for her son. I heard them through the outburst of noise. It was so painful I had to sit down, because my heart weakened. I inhaled the first smell of rebellion as one of my men slaughtered an old man right in front of me. He was probably a father; maybe even grandfather, and I had his blood on my hands.»

He whispered the last words, so I could barely hear them. I asked him to continue, to tell me his most inner thoughts and stories. I wanted so much to know who this man was, more than just an emperor. I desired to know what he was doing there; so I could find out what I was doing there. My yearning for knowledge lead me to sit there for three days, listening to him preach. He was a man I already then admired for the depth of his perception.

«There is a place where grey and gold meet, but there is only one desirable color they both want; red. That was what happened when my men met my slaves. There was blood everywhere, on the pavement, windows, trees and even on peoples laundry.»

He hesitated to keep talking, but I forced him. This was more than I could ever ask for by this old man, lying by my side, revealing the unknown sides of himself. But I could not seem to get enough.

«I cried more tears than I had ever done in my entire life. The three decades I had lived back then, the only time I had ever let a tear out was when my first born son called me 'papa'. After the civil war was over, my world had fallen apart; just as the rest of my empire. My wife died, and my little boy; who was supposed to be the emperor after my death, left.
Behind every mirror there is a reflection of another face. To myself, I was not to recognize. There was another man staring back at me, one that was different than the blood thirsty, cold man I used to be. I saw regression, I saw myself as a murderer, and again I started to cry. As of now I feel like I have used up all of my tears.»

But he had not. Because he cried now. He bursted out in tears, holding my hand so hard that the blood stopped its circulation. I found myself weeping too, silently beside this man that I did not know who was, or wanted to be.

( The rest so far. )

3663 / 50,000 (0.2%)

I kept looking in the eyes of everyone I met, trying to find the expression of an incomplete man. After two days walking and asking several people I still did not get any closer to the person I was looking for. It felt hopeless, because walking through the camps three times should have been enough time to recognize or find the man. I sat down by the same rock as I used to when I needed to be alone. I was invisible there; see-through and non-existing. I decided to write the man a letter.
Returning that night to my bed, I found pen and paper and was about to start composing I got interrupted by him. Silently he slid through the crude door, pretending to knock by saying the sound with his perfectly shaped lips. We repeated the same conversation as last time we spoke. It felt like he was trying to make me feel uncomfortable.
Outside there were people covered in white painting, walking portraits of a forgotten place. They always walked extremely slow, like their bones were starting to turn into stone. Sometimes I could see people falling dead to the ground with out no particular reason, and I wondered why and how. Some of them leaned their heads back for hours and sang to the sky; the sound was incredible.
Maybe that was what kept me here, the unknown, safe feeling of being sung for. But then again, that could not be enough. It seemed so religious, and yet I had not seen anything who could confirm that theory. It might have been something symbiotic. That they grew from singing. How beautiful would not that have been.

As he stood beside me, watching over my shoulder as I wrote to the man, he whispered lyrics from a psalm I knew from my childhood. I hummed along with him for unknown reasons, and minutes passed; they turned into hours. He seemed to know all of the 150 lyrical poems and prayers that comprised the Book of Psalms in the Old Testament; said to have been written by David. His voice grew stronger and more beautiful for every word he sang. My heart was shivering, as well as my hands. I have never been religious, you know that. But just then I have never felt closer to the man the people called Jesus and God. He said that he felt His Spirit among us when we vocalized Davids words.

( «Who are you?» )

1668 / 50,000 (0.2%)

He approached me with the same relaxed and declined self like the previous day. Smiling at me, he oiled my feet with the juices from three fresh olives. The cool and soft hands moisturized my sore skin.


«Have you been thinking about what I told you yesterday?», he asked, without taking his eyes off me. He didn't even stop smiling. I was beyond terrified. This is the beginning of the eternal life I've been longing for, and I didn't even know how to start it.

( If you want to read the rest so far )

I met him the 4th of April. When the stars disappeared, and the moon said goodbye under our feet. I couldn't believe it at first, when he told me between sighs, that he was supposed to be dead by now. He looked at me with those eyes I knew I'd seen before. They'd lost its sparkles, but still he saw right through me with anger and anticipation.I told him that he couldn't say something like that to me. I got nervous, and he felt it. As I knelt down before him, lowering my eyes to the ground, he said he was sorry to tell me, but no one else was listening to him. I kissed his feet; they were so cold and sore. My lips touched his naked skin when he hummed a song I've never heard before.

"What am I doing here?"
I asked him, staring directly in his eyes. He told me to ask another question tomorrow. The confusion surrounding my thoughts made everything blurry. That night I didn't sleep.

Most of the time I spent walking around in the desert, leaving footprints to disappear in the golden-brown sand. I wandered around the camp, smoking cigarettes like they were oxygen, inhaling cancer; exhaling meaningless circles to fade in the morning sun. I thought about what he said earlier, what kind of question could I possibly ask that would give me the answer I was longing for. The night went on until morning arrived.
I sat on a black rock, who must have been from a meteor rain. I felt the cold, hard texture against the surface of my palm. Leaning back against the solid ground, I remember feeling so incredibly safe, yet so frail and far from home.

Even when he arrived the next day, I didn't know what to ask for. How I inquired the knowledge my father had. Now, as I am a mother myself, I should have known so much more. Not only about myself, but also I should have had the wisdom of life. I've made life myself.

This weekend I'm back home with my dad and beloved siblings. It's, ah, indescribable. Just hanging around with these small individuals whom I love so much, and just chillin' with my dad and beer when they're put to bed. Just like old times. I cried on the bus on my way here because I was so excited about coming home after what...three months I guess.

Typically, Heidi is in Oslo this weekend. What are the odds? She's coming home today I've been told, so roligheten and I are hooking up with her for some coffee later today. AND THEN, I'm finally going to see my beautiful mom, whose face I haven't seen since July 30 or something.
I also hope to get to visit my grandmother, because 1st; I miss her like hell, and 2nd; I met an old lady on the sub way who reminded me so much of her my eyes got filled with tears.

It's been an emotional last week. So much happened + that kaaskoppie was here. It was a really bad timing, but still, I loved it. She's awesome. Thank you. You suck at bowling.

There are no proper adjectives in the English language to accurately describe the pure force of nature that is Beth Hart's voice.

She got a poets spirit

She bums among the clouds

She never stops believing

She only dreams out loud

Theres a jackpot in the dresser

Shes fallen in the bath

& if you need to kiss her

Don't forget your stash

cause she gives it away

& you're fascinated by her

& she does it again

With simple & brilliant desire

& she gives it away

21st of November. With my beautiful roligheten.