12/01 Direct Link
there was a loud crash and the wood under our feet shook.
the captain was screaming and yelling at us to straighten her up, but we couldn't.
we were just coming in too fast, that was all, and our inertia kept us going, kept driving the rough mountaintop in deeper.
it had been hiding just under the cloudline and none of the lookouts had seen it.

guess it was just one of those days.

the belly of the ship came to rest on the mountainside.
we kept the motors running just enough to keep us from sliding down to death.
12/02 Direct Link
Things are slowly returning to normal, whatever that means for a life such as mine. There is cold snow and warm tea. Soft toys and rats. And - regretfully - insomnia and pain.

But life goes on, somehow, and I must go on too.

Finishing the novel for Nanowrimo has left me with a slight existential failure. Now what? What am I supposed to do now?
It's not that I don't have any ideas; quite the opposite. I miss having one thing to concentrate on. Now all my ideas and projects pull me apart in their different and opposite directions once again...
12/03 Direct Link
I had to stab him, I swear. He thought I never would, officer, so I had to prove him wrong, you know? It was just the way he smiled and his eyes glittered when he looked at me, as if he thought it was all a joke... and he would laugh at me, very silently. So I stabbed him, officer. I had to do it. I had to prove to him I meant it, so I took the knife and told him I would stab him if he laughed at me again.

He did.

So I stabbed him, right here.
12/04 Direct Link
is it time to leave yet?
is it time to pack up and let go?
is it time to eradicate all the signs
of my existence once again?

don't take me wrong
I would love to stay but I can't
no, that's a blatant lie;
I don't
and if I had a choice
I wouldn't

is it time to leave yet?
to pack down my books
in small cardboard boxes,
let the blinds down
in my empty windows
and let the darkness fall
into the room?
to pretend
and let my friends pretend
that I was never there
at all
to begin with?

is it time yet?
is it time yet
for me to go..?
12/05 Direct Link
too tired to do this tonight so i'm not going to do this and you won't get any punctuation either because i love being annoying and difficult ahahah yes where were i before i stopped that is right today i have done a lot of things really and got really tired and now you expect me to come here and write and that is just stupid not that you are stupid but to write after a day such as this one surely is and i don't want to write today i want to sing today so just leave me alone
12/06 Direct Link
Last night, I had no laptop again. Now trying to write on one of my female's small netbooks. The keyboard layout, Ubuntu and newness is confusing me and makes me slightly nervous and upset. I am constantly mistyping things so that I have to go back and retype them. This process is almost painful. The netbook is slow to respond, as well. I asked to borrow it because I wanted to have something to write on, but so far it's not working very well. There is mostly frustration and pain.

But I will manage. I always do, in the end.
12/07 Direct Link
I don't know if I'm allowed to be afraid. Or angry. I don't know. I don't know if I'm allowed to feel twitchy, even if my twitchiness might be more like twitches of excitement; like a dog you have told to stay, and then you throw a ball and watch the dog's legs twitch with eagerness and excitement; just awaiting the right word to come so it can set off after that ball. It is ready, just waiting, tense like a spring, the string of a bow, the bullet in a cocked, loaded gun...

that is where I am now.
12/08 Direct Link
I like writing down dialogues; both real and fictional. Just the words said, not the feelings of the people involved, not the circumstances. Just the words.

Why do you do that? Isn't it more fun to write a real story?

I think the words tell a story of their own. So why not force people to actually listen to /that/ story?

That might be a bit confusing, don't you think? Words without circumstances and feelings are only sounds. Can they even have a meaning?

Perhaps it's just half a meaning, but it is there. Please listen to it. Just... please.
12/09 Direct Link
wandrered around in immigrant foodstores to see if I could find something interesting to eat. found a mystery fish. we'll see at some point whether it's edible or not. if not, I bet the rats will be more than willing to get a whole fish. rats are very good for things like that. my absence of laptop is slightly annoying and crippling, but it is alright since my insomnia and the amount of sedatives I have to take to sleep at all gives me aroud twelve hours of broken sleep. this is indeed quite inconvenient. I am feeling utterly droad.
12/10 Direct Link
Everything I write for my 100Words on my phone and phonebrowser gets completely mangled. Alright, I can live with that. Suffer for the art and everything, be a good struggling artist with "Oh woe be me!" written plainly on my forehead, like the pain on my deliciously cute and young face. Who am I to disagree with what the gods of modern technology wants? If they tell me that my text is better without linebreaks, who am I to object? (Took me several attempts to log in, and in the end I still failed; my female had to save me.)
12/11 Direct Link
In one way, it is both interesting and slightly amusing in a very dark way that the last week people I know have been talking about how there is a war going on now. A war about the future of the internet and free information and stuff like that. And today, the first suicide bombing in Sweden in - how long? - happened. They are not at all connected, even if a friend mused on whether or not people will try to blame this on Assange as well, but it is still interesting how people try to fight their wars so differently.
12/12 Direct Link
she was crouched up in a corner, her eyes darting around, searching for threats as she held the dried meat tightly, tearing at it with her teeth while purring and growling, claws buried deep.
she would feel her teeth click shut inside of the meat, then she would throw her head to the side, tear a piece loose, chew on it a few times and then swallow it.
she was a wild creature, a feral creature; perhaps tame once, but now wild once again.
she would smile.

the people on the train station would hurry past her and glare nervously.
12/13 Direct Link
Sleep. We usually really underestimate sleep. How pleasant it can be to sleep, to dream, to rest.
I haven't woken up rested in perhaps ten years now. Perhaps more. Sometimes, not sleeping can be useful, practical even. I have used it now and then when I have had deadlines approaching and I really needed more time, as when moving or writing.
But really, I miss sleeping sometimes.
Sometimes, insomnia really erode me down. Not that it makes me suicidal, but sometimes I really stop functioning.

But I /do/ see a lot of beautiful dawns and sunrises.
That is always something.
12/14 Direct Link
I really try not to get lost in the darkness that exists inside me when I close my eyes. I try very hard to, because O is usually the only one who finds me and helps me find my way out again.

I miss him, even when he is there. Even when he's in my lap it feels like he'll never see.

He misses the obvious things, but he knows when I want to stab him.

It feels like I'll never be good enough.
Not for anyone. Especially not for myself.

I get angry at myself for not crying now.
12/15 Direct Link
Here's some more completely unnecessary facts;

I always cry when I watch /Lost and Delirious/.

The two PostSecret cards that I'll always have in my heart said "Being able to survive it doesn't mean it was ever ok" and "Sometimes I wish for the end of the world, just to see what I'm made of" or something like that.

I really wish I didn't let my dreams down so often. Sometimes it feels like I don't deserve them.

When he passes out on me, it really hurts. I tell him it's alright, and it /is/. But it still really hurts.
12/16 Direct Link
four packs of dark chocolate +1
four packs of light chocolate +1
two packs of white chocolate
almond thingies with two different percents of almonds in them
hazelnuts and almonds
nougat (500g)

Today I did my Christmas present shopping; some assembly required. Or rather melting, brushing, mixing and then assembling.

Today I spent most of my time worried sick and writing Christmas cards. My left arm was also hurting. A lot.

K was telling me a lot of nice things about me. Perhaps it helped a little. Perhaps not. I believe that he thinks them to be true.
Perhaps one day I will as well...
12/17 Direct Link
The knife cut intricate patterns in the skin of his back as she purred silently at his muffled whimpering. She kept on soaking it up on tissues to keep the blood from trickling down his shivering sides. The more she cut, the harder it was to keep the blood from ruining the patterns, but eventually the blood would coagulate and dry up; the patterns would be fixed. She smiled.
"So beautiful," she purred. "You are so beautiful when you bleed."
He did not seem to like it as much. Perhaps it was because he could not see the beautiful patterns.
12/18 Direct Link
Writing a bit earlier than usual since I will be away for the night. I usually write in the night, before going to bed, when I have lived through the day to see if I have anything interesting to write.
Since I haven't now; please enjoy some more blood...


The meat came apart beautifully under the sharp edge of the knife, and the blood started to spill out over her lap as she held him tightly. He still glared up at her, not as fearfully as mildly annoyed. She smiled and sang.
"The world is so pale next to you..."
12/19 Direct Link
Seven hours until I have to be at the psychologist.
I want to take photos of the snow before that.
I dislike my insomnia when I really want to sleep.


she gazed out from her shelter under the snow which had covered the low hanging branches of the spruce. she was warm and safe there and didn't want to leave, but the hunger gnawed inside her. the storm was still howling above the treetops, but in the deep spruce forest things were a lot calmer. she uncurled, crawled out from her shelter - fur standing upright - and disappeared amongst the trees.
12/20 Direct Link

He watched her over the edge of his book when she wasn't looking. Her movements were graceful and strong but slightly rushed, hinting at held back anger.
She turned to look at him and he lowered his book. She nodded at it.
"I didn't know warriors read books," she smiled, baring sharp fangs.
"I don't know many warriors, or their habits," he replied.  "Books are good for relaxing."
"Warriors should not have their minds clouded by fantasies or other useless things."
"Neither by anger," he smiled.
Her eyes narrowed and she turned around, left hurriedly.
He began reading again.
12/21 Direct Link
it is 07.46 am, and it has been snowing again.
I am awake, and outside there is a man in a tractor, trying to clear paths in the snow, piling it up neatly.

it is 08.02 am, and the man in the tractor has left.
the cloudy sky is greyish deep blue in the dawn. the chocolate is cooling in the kitchen and my pills lay here beside me.
but I do not yet wish to sleep.

the rats are mostly sleeping.
my female is sleeping.

I hear footsteps upstairs, in the apartment above.
the world is waking.
12/22 Direct Link
"You are accused of falsely trying to claim the place of a god, of taking life and death into your own inadequate hands and trying to become one of us. What do you say in your defense?"

"Don't I get a defender, you know? To help speak for me?"

"How can you ever even try to claim to be a god if you cannot even defend your own actions and stand for them?"

"But, I did not do anything!"

"You actions and inactions have caused people to suffer and die for your dreams. What do you say to /them/?"

12/23 Direct Link
Her eyes narrowed and she slapped him hard. His head was thrown slightly to the side, and as he turned back to face her he still smiled, a light staining of red blood on his lips. She took a step back, her eyes widening slightly in alarm at his calm.
"Does it feel better now?" he asked her gently.
"You... you... what's /wrong/ with you?!" she whispered. "You could have stopped me."
"Yes," he agreed. "I could have. And you would have tried again. But now you won't, will you?"
"No," she whispered. "There is no need to any more."
12/24 Direct Link
It was red like deep fire, like the flames that burn cold, struggling to survive. Not dark enough a red to be the colour of her hair. Too bright to be like the colour of blood. But it would do.
Perhaps it would be a year of blood and fire and an untamed, deep red mane to come, and if it /would/ come, she wanted to be prepared.
Perhaps after the fire, if anything remained of the world, perhaps that book would still exist; be able to tell the story to those who would learn the history.
Perhaps. Perhaps not...
12/25 Direct Link
I made a lot of candy in the end. A lot of it. I mean, there was a lot of chocolate. Reading my first Earthsea book. It is not the first in neither chronological orders, but I don't care. It is kind of a gift I have, that I can read things in any order, with any spoilers and still think the story is worth reading.
It is not the destination that is the only important thing in a story, but also the journey. How did they arrive there? What happened on the way?
Especially when written in beautiful ways.
12/26 Direct Link
I have never bothered with creating worlds. I have created languages, letters, people, creatures. For being a creature who loves mountains and forests and rivers, I have created awfully few of them. I have always just created enough of scenery to set a scene in. I have never really explored a world of my own creation; I have never built it up stone by stone or tree by tree. I have never felt the scent of the flowers between the dialogues of the /people/ I created.

I have never sat under the trees, in the wind.

I really want to.
12/27 Direct Link
if the words does not matter, no matter how much we would like them to, what is left after they are gone?

when you cannot reach out to touch someone or hug someone who would need it, what can you do?

when the songs forget how to chase away the silence, and no light can show you the walls around you, what do you do?

I cannot hug him, I cannot comfort him with words.
I cannot sing in his silence, and no fire I make can illuminate that darkness or chase away that cold.

so what can I do?
12/28 Direct Link
I'm not good at names. I'm not good at remembering names that doesn't describe, doesn't make sense. So I give people new names when I get to know them, descriptive names, names that have meaning. Usually it is a great honour when I accept someone that close. When someone is important enough to me that I can figure out what to call him or her.

But I am bad at making up names that make sense when I don't know the person or thing it is supposed to describe...

because then all the names are still flat and without meaning.
12/29 Direct Link
When he's not there, I can think again. Say what you will about love, but it's not terribly productive. Just like I write the best in the middle of the night when I'm all alone and can sit in the silence and still for myself and just write.

The last few days, while he has been mostly absent, I have read and written. I've been thinking. I've been looking at myself and my thoughts. When he's sad, I have to be strong, protective, and I feel beautiful and calm, proud.

When he's sad, I feel melancholy and even more beautiful.
12/30 Direct Link
I know that I could leave anytime I wanted to. I could turn my back on him and walk out that metaphorical door. I know he wouldn't stab me in the back on my way out. I know that I could just go, do something else. Read, write, draw. Far away from him. Let him have no part of it or my life any more.

I won't, but I know I /could/. This feels slightly unfair, because if /he/ tried to leave /me/ I would do worse things to him than stab him on his way out.

Bit cruel, perhaps.
12/31 Direct Link
The first Paobook I think of a bit like Marrawa's book. It illustrates how I met him, and how he changed my life. The second Paobook was Narraiao's book; it does the same, but for her. She's the only one who has been allowed to read "hers". The third Paobook was mostly Pao, mostly languages, grammar. The unlined Paobook v3 not much used, but I will leave it like that; it is telling, significant.

This new Paobook - Paobook v4 - is red. In the end, it will probably be something to refer to as Kadanina's book.

Perhaps someday he'll read it.