This world is a migraine attack. I, it is always I, get it now…

I sit in this forest night and day, caught counting falling leaves that wish for me to stay. These mountains no longer whisper me as ravens. I have no fear to fear. Finally, the sorrows have eaten too many meals on my behalf.

I know my futures and I have seen my paths; the choices of somethings and nothings that can never become enough for me. For others all that could be looked upon as “experiences”; all these living nightmares in those dead hearts that need perfume while looking into buying another meagre meal ticket in a deranged world. The unwanted are living the Illusion to trade with the other unwanted and useless. Laugh or cry?

I really had a horrible year. Again. Set-up some scum and made no friends. Again. Travelled to where I didn’t want to travel. Again. Rehearsed a play that never will see the light. Set fire to manuscripts that will never see the light. Read in some of my older poetry. Wrote a little that maybe will see the light. By now you can clearly see that I am this miserable person without any life at all. That is partly right. My life is playing the waiting game. I know my days to come and what will await me. I should feel hate and love and all the other things that make me shine so very brightly, still I do know that the quality of my life is about a million times higher than the average person due to Knowledge, but the downsides my friends, due to those “other people”…

I irritate “other people” sometimes by having no interest and absolutely no respect for whatever they do and whatever they foolishly believe they are. If not with The Gods then you are less than nothing. Should I have hatred or pity for “other people”? I take my pick later on.

Anyway, being “Asatru” in a world where so many are held under siege in the War of all Wars that they are quite clueless about; Life itself and its Realities, is of course a strain to live through. In the future nobody will be able to imagine how life was here at present… I have written several articles on these matters that I never published, apart from one that was up for a short while, and some only spread around and looked at by some people I have, or had, contact with. It is a waiting game. Time that is.








  1. Even when there is so much of angst and sorrow buried beneath these words,I find your writing absolutey beautiful.
    Just to clarify,is this a personal reflection of a year that turned out to be a pretty dark one?

    • It was a living nightmare for the most part. Had a few good moments here and there for a month or so. I had angst some twenty years ago when a relative got murdered, hanged, since then I have felt too much sorrow for a multitude of things that angst cannot even touch me, it would be a joke. Still, I have had a dozen worse years. So, I guess this was a good year then! Thanks for commenting.

      • Hi there. Hmmm, I see. Thank you for even taking the time to honestly tell me the cause of that angst. I bet writing must have played a large part in helping you come face to face with all that hurt and pain.
        At least, writing helped me during my dark years. I also experienced many attempted murders and almost lost all of my loved ones.
        Always know that you are not alone. 🙂 Though I might just be a stranger, I am always here if you need a listening ear!

    • Never heard of that book or writer. I really have no interest in useless culture. Ah, you are looking at the photo as a metaphor for time? This post was just ramblings. It is just a random pick.

Leave a fogprint

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s