It's 5.30 AM and I can't see anything

I lie on my bed and I stare at the ceiling and I have no hope and I have no future. But then the music starts playing, and suddenly I know: I can do it.


This fucking madness, madness to write here and there and everywhere is idiotic. Every word written is a risk taken. I'm just waiting for my first mistake. Maybe it's already been made. I could fall tomorrow.


Robert Henry Roiha. Jeanne Milka Kostamo. Olli Arttur Brander. Get it? Get it? Get it? If you get it, let me know.

I know how it should be. I know how it should feel, how it should smell. I'm just not sure if I can carry it out.

It must breathe, breathe, breathe.

Blarrgh.




Why does it have to be 2013? Why can't it be, let's say, 1998?

Idiots are getting stronger, getting stronger and spreading year after year, year after year, and today, ladies and gentlemen, the Kingdom of Sweden is dead. I don't know if Agnes is still there somewhere, hiding, but I sure as hell know that the country is full of Elins emotionally and intellectually handicapped friends without hearts or souls. RIP Agnes. RIP Elin.

Oh Sweden, why are you letting me down?




Beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone

I keep saying that I'd die for this and that I'd die for that. And that is always true. But maybe it's a bit too easy to say it; I mean it wouldn't be such a problem for me to leave. That's how I am today. That's how I was yesterday. Don't know about tomorrow. The spring is coming and it's coming fast, so nothing's static.

No Time for Stagnation. A good name for someone or something. My name is No Time for Stagnation and I come from Stockholm. I hate Stockholm. I don't like Swedish people. I don't like Finnish people either. I just simply don't like people, and the problem with Stockholm is that it has too many of them. And they pretend to be happy.

The psychiatry people lied to me. They lied.

Don't know where this song came from. But here it is. And it's beautiful so that's okay.

The last blood. What the hell does that mean? Do you know? I don't know.

Last night I spilled wine all over my t-shirt and then took pictures of myself with my webcam. I always do that after spending the entire night from 9.30 PM to 7.30 AM doing completely pointless things, watching porn and writing porn and hula hooping. I kind of like the pictures because they don't look like me. If they were my WANTED posters no one could find me and I would just take it easy in Mexico.

The person in the snapshots could really be anyone. Winston Churchill. Freddie Mercury. Ke$ha. Anyone.

So anyway, this is for you police officers, to use after my first crimes are committed and I'm a thousand miles away from here.

Noun

1.

hula-hoop - plaything consisting of a tubular plastic hoop for swinging around the hips plaything, toy - an artifact designed to be played with

Naked women all over the place

Should I spend more time writing on this blog? Maybe I should. Or maybe not. In a way it's nice to have this place as the place where pretty small things happen, instead of pouring everything out on here too. But nothing's static. Everything's always changing, which is quite unsettling. Perhaps someday I'll move to Texas, become a Texan and forget the Finnish language.

... Why Texas? It makes no sense. I don't want to move to Texas.

I don't want to move to Copenhagen either.

I guess things are alright. I mean I don't live in Texas. Or Copenhagen. Helsinki is nice. Nobody lives here. If you ignore the people and the McDonalds restaurants, I love everything in Helsinki.



Maybe I should become patriotic. I do love the lakes of Finland. And the forests. That's my way of patriotism. I don't really care for the nation itself. Nor do I care for the president or the prime minister or the flag or the people or the culture.

Why am I writing crap like this? This is extremely uninteresting.

..................

I think everyone, and I mean everyone should let themselves have those Masculine Moments sometimes. Males and females and everybody else. I mean those moments when you feel like you'd like to take the whole town and kiss it and, at the same time, punch it in the face... What? What is this? I want to stop. I'll do that now. I'll stop. Now. Now. Now.

Don't leave me now.
Cling to me. Keep saying things to me. Slap me, anything, but don't just stand there doing nothing. You have no idea how much it all means to me.
We gotta waaaaaaiiiiiiiiiitttttttttttttt. It's slow but it will happen.

Beautiful sounds

August 2012. I was walking towards my favourite place in this town, this cliff above a river, when I listened to this song for the first time. I'd heard it before, but never before had I really listened:

Southpaw. I realized it was one of the most beautiful songs in the world. Or perhaps it wasn't the song. But certain moments, certain seconds of the song. It starts at approximately 2.10. And when it eventually comes, it comes as a complete surprise; I wasn't expecting it.

"Oooh so you ran back to maaaaaaaaa!" I guess I started crying and laughing at the same time. I actually think I had an orgasm. Literally. Quite messy. Quite fascinating. I don't know why, but those seconds just smack my soul in the face. One of the most beautiful sounds in the universe.

Morrissey, you are my brother. I'm afraid I'd die for you.

My plans are written down and ready to be followed.

My name is BOB DYLAN

Even homeless junkies are more successful socially than me. They at least have friends.


There are two very common reasons why some people become losers: 1. they are too dumb to realize social norms, 2. they are too intelligent to respect them.

I guess I'm both.

breath breathe breath breathe

gotta learn German
listen to Ochre room, let justice happen, just this once

These are my words for you

I won't repeat it, so listen carefully. I don't know when you'll see this. Maybe you don't know me yet. But when you find me, listen carefully. Listen.

 



Be good.
Be a beautiful soul.
Look ugly when you feel like it.
Always stand by the weak and the little. Stand by the odd. Stand by the ugly.
Never stop fighting. But don't forget to breathe.
Be human. In all the good ways. And sometimes a little in the bad ways, too.
Be all the beauty inside you.
Be your scars, your dreams, your lust, your soul.
Be your paths.
Remember. Forget. Remember again.
Find me.
Take my hand. Follow me.
And when I die, say these words.
Out loud. In public. Let people look at you like you're crazy. Say these words to the most hopeless alcoholic you can find, to the friend you lost, to the bird who never learned how to fly.
Say these words.
These words:
I'm your friend.