dedicated to someone i love

i got a letter today. just the envelope by itself triggered the tears, because even suppressed swedes can sometimes feel too much. i opened the letter and put it in my bag, to read it on the overground, again. the letter was from someone who know me better than i knew, better than i ever thought someone would know me. the letter was nostalgic in a sense, but in the same time it was more about the future than the past. it spoke of a time that is coming, a time of difficult decisions and with the highest of probibility a time of a lot of hurt feelings, but also a time to live and a time to dance. in a time of leopard shoes and boys that don't mean a thing and smoke and night buses, for the first time, i felt that there really is more. this is not all. there is more.

i can't answer the letter, i don't have paper and i don't have a pen, i don't even have an address, but i want you to know that i love you none the less. i love you. you know me well enough to know that i wouldn't say that if it wasn't real, if i didn't really mean it. i love the way you see people, i love the way you put words to feelings in a way everyone should envy, i love the fact that you want to be my friend. i love you with the same burning force that we both see and hear and feel in music, just like you described it. and dear friend, i have never missed you like i missed you today. know that you are important, that you are loved, that you are good. even if i'm hundreds of miles away i am still your friend and i will be until you ask me not to be. know that and follow your own advice and go after the opportunities, one day you'll be on top of the world.

the enemy

i'm gonna try to write this without sounding like the whiny little bitch that i in fact am. you see, when people's tragic backgrounds finally come out, when they're exposed after what might be years in silence, the world reacts. sometimes by backing away, flee the scene and keep away from the tragedy in a vain attempt to keep the own facade intact, and sometimes by feeling, feeling with, feeling for, feeling sorry. a fucked up background can excuse pretty much anything - sadness, anger, selfishness, vanity, self destruction. but what if you're guilty of most of the above without nothing or no one to blame? do you still deserve the sympathy? if whatever it is that haunts you isn't in anyone else but inside your own sick mind, are you still allowed these emotional crimes? no one ever hurt me badly but myself. and i keep doing it. so much that i try to keep it all away from people i meet, because if i tell the truth chances are they'll run the other way, run away from the horror that is me. that's why i don't tell you these things, not to your face, ever.

in an attempt to tip the scales

and the mirror is like, as you might have guessed, self examination or reflection in whatever form. this could be vanity or selfloathing, i know i'm guilty of both

brick lane

a bar is closed due to refurbishment, a guy looking like peter doherty in his early twenties is unlocking his bike, there's no queue in either of the bagel shops, it's slow. at rough trade a guy with horrible teeth is having a coffee. i buy franke and lcd soundsystem albums. should have bought a bag, they're just £5. i try to find tortillas, but none of the off licences have them, the fact that the cashiers always ask of my age when i buy cigarettes, tell me i look fourteen, then they try to chat me up, brings me to the conclusion that it's as standard for cashiers (and construction workers) to have pedophilic tendencies as it is for urban outfitters staff to be utterly fuckable. it's raining but i can't be bothered cause i'm not wearing any makeup and my hair looks like shit anyway. someone is smoking weed on buxton street, i can't spot them but the smell lingers in the air all the way down to vallance road. i think i should take a shower now.

day 07 - a song that reminds you of a certain event

dreaming of you - the coral. it reminds me of the afterparty to the dirty pretty things show in stockholm back in 2008. it reminds me of performing it on stage in hungary. it reminds me of a night out in gothenburg. that song has so many events tied to it, it's insane.

you talk way too much

great, fantastic, fucking brilliant. be gone for a day and look what happens, you completely miss out on the fact that a fucking fantastic band is playing in camden tonight and that you could have been there. now only one question remains, is it time to suck some bouncerdick?

day 06 - a song that reminds you of somewhere

so many songs related to so many different places. going through them i have one that randomly comes to the foreground not only once, but a couple of times. it's a late spring night, i am still a teenager, life is kind of shit in general but the alcohol in my blood makes this night a bit more endurable, i'm wearing a denim shirt and have a red bow in my hair, i am at röda sten, with whom is impossible to tell now, surrounded by friends atleast, we're discussing our future escape to london town, and suddenly the dj plays there she goes by the la's. i've always found the song a bit overrated, catchy yes, but far from their greatest, but that time i saw it a bit differently, perhaps because i had my drunk glasses on, or because somehow that night was filled with hope. this is quite possibly the most pathetic blog post of my life.

fucking poser

day 05 - a song that reminds you of someone

oh boohoo, this is just made for lovers in exile innit? well i'm not a lover. i'm a pretentious drunk, i'm an ungrateful daughter and i'm a loyal friend (atleast i like to think i am). i'm all of the above but first and foremost i'm a selfish cunt, so i'm not sorry, i'm not sorry i left and i'm not gonna feel guilty for feeling better now than before. there are songs that remind me of the good things i left behind, be sure dear old friends, but there is one song that reminds me not only of a person but also of the mentality surrounding my last years as a teenager. my mum told me taht she wanted the theme from local hero to be played on her funeral. so it reminds me of her, of a wish she could only tell people close to her. it also reminds me of a time when life felt like nothing more than a sad waiting for a longexpected night's sleep. when planning your funeral felt more important than living your life.

the distant echo of faraway voices boarding faraway trains

... this is whitechapel, change here for the london underground district and hammersmith & city lines, alight here for the royal london hospital ... is life really boring enough to dedicate an entire post to commuting? well, yes. when something simplifies life like the overground between dalston junction and west croydon i'm gonna shed some light on the situation, be sure. what earlier took me 45 minutes now steals as little as 18. i get to sleep an extra half hour because of it. and the time saving isn't even the best part. ever tried the underground on a warm day? fucking hell you just wish you'd walked instead, the sweat odoeur is so heavy you could probably touch it, if you ever got that idea. the overground is actually cool, whenever i'm hangover (say three - four days a week) i always go on it and i feel better - that's how nice it is! i love it so much i wanna live on it. actually i love it so much i wanna fuck it. no, i don't wanna fuck it, i wanna make sweet and tender love to it. it's the greatest thing since bagels!