Want to save this moment from escaping,

for it is irreplaceable ― irresistible ―

almost unsparingly fair ― undefiled



Calmed, by misplaced sun warmth

(the betraying), to take myself a freod filled moment


(Wholly and fully as a dumb animal who right away,

instantly forgets, when a little heat reaches to look in.)



Trees, continuing the raining, in a well-aimed loan

compounded with sighing, home to its certainty


Woods, slayed again on its leaves, on its flowers and straws,

molded to clouds and soils service in a secret



There was something well-known…


about all this helpless nuisance,

this here too barren established;

that Life become Death’s only joke


returning to soon be the lost



And while burdened steps cry away the dust of the road

the pouring rain fills an already overfilled water keg



Where fallow stayed accessible for years

gleaming in its coldest nightstones; calling

inside the forests snow-covered darkness

as night grew all its frost ready; to cling


Watching the remains sunken down in blood.


(My intensive double eyes

telling about my earlier lives,

remember now my clearest traces.)



Following my longings impossible demands,




which never at any time will caress;

cutting a heart that thought too hard; My grave.



And all my beauty is now dead, as yours,

which in all of you so wrench and aggrieve



Missing me. My longing is cured.


I am the new essence matured.



Extinguishing all my wounds suffering,

and awake, afore beauty dies, once more.



Val är sten på blommor

eller blommor på sten

NI DÄR! Följ mig hit och med på snirklande myrstigar

fortsättandes ner genom ängsmarken; just denna Vår

vilken omgjord med smältvatten snart rinner över i…


Sommaren, gick förbi återkastande andra små sommarminnen

här uppe på enbackarna och åkeröarna; nere vid bäckarna

vänder vi famnen runt rödlysande fullmatade smultrondiken


Vattenspegeln slumrade fastnad vidare nere i sänkan

med barret och dammet simmande på Så sött retande


Vi ska se att osynligt lyftas skärvstenar där bakom gläntan

av tungsint härdade i varje vrå Ändå lekande


Vyerna är här tillåtna vara oss vidsträckta,

åtkomliga, åt oss hastigt infångade innan…


Hösten, dofterna runtom blotat trä och svamp i fuktig mossa

från ett tystnat gömsle där ett endaste löv har klamrat sig fast;

följer sann livsglädje på upptäcksfärd efter sevärt; oupptäckt.


Det mojnade medan ån tystnade till nedanför åsen

och bredvid mig satt en froströks täthet i ett leende;

i sina snötyngda Vintergrenars vintervackra sken


Vi hemvänder inom Jordmånen!

Vi slår fram våra år i bergen!

Vi bryter åder!







Welcome to some more awareness of reality and what we all in the future will be.

Without at least the basic Knowledge of the Gods and the Worlds existence, there can be no such thing as freedom, or anything valuable in life, to be found here in Midgard.

We are near another new time and it will come to leave us with nothing close to the current state of this world. All illusions will die and life will be worth living. We will need to practice a zero tolerance for anything less than Truth.

Our cultures, or rather the ruins of our high cultures, will be restored. The high cultures, that is the only cultures to be more precise, have extraordinary Knowledge within them: True might and Life itself. In this present lack of the most basic cultivation for the majority of humanity; the Order of Life will take over.

What matters first in all human life is to find the Gods and then yourself. There is no chance for you if not with the Gods. We are not animals roaming the woods for food and shelter without any system to it. We are not animals following deranged lies from a fake “god” that wish to exterminate us. We are children of the real Gods in a system that was structured for protection, survival and our progression; the higher Life itself.

When Truth about human life here is so clear to see for anyone that would care to look at history with some common sense, even though it is hidden for the large part, then there must be something seriously wrong with people. To just settle down with explanations like: “The Gods are not real, they are mythical, so we say… People in the old days were so dumb that they believed them to be real.” That the funny farms are extended to everywhere can never be more visible when a “mind” can be made tiny enough to puke up brainwash like that.

There is nothing normal or good about being led to act against yourself. First the mind and then the body is being raped to become a nothing. Would any sane being care about our foes if they knew our Gods are real? I know that nobody would care the slightest. We will find propaganda in writings aimed at the Gods being just imbecilic; still it leaves a mark for the weak in mind that get easily affected by words. Most can believe only what they are capable to understand, which is perfectly understandable… What we do not know of we cannot really understand fully. That is why there is a teacher for these things.

Life in this world is a defending of our afterlife. It is of importance that the reincarnated are awakened to who they really are. That means that everyone around them has to stay informed and not drag them down. Some of us that lived in Truth and Honour in a somewhat grand past do little to hinder the degeneration of life around us here and now. It is hard, we will be worked against for a while, but our silence would be our death. We know deep down that life is a harsh reality set by ancient rules that if understood right is the highest good. We know who our Gods are.

What matters is what people are on the inside and have knowledge of. To sit in awe over ancient times, buildings, works in metals, clothes or other objects, no matter how great some of it is, cannot be of any major interest now. Our life is more of value than any objects. There is no reason to sit and compare a culture against another culture, as some spend their life with, as it would never prove anything other than it partly came from the Gods work here. We know that already. All the high cultures are pretty much equal. I was in a few of them back in the day.

Life is somewhat static. Some of the Gods will continue to exist. Sadly the highest and best Gods will all die, leaving life here after Ragnarok with the “second rate Gods”, but at least filled with some first rate people. The War of all Wars will continue to be fought in every moment of life no matter what.

I would of course not say anything at all if I did not know that the Gods exist. (People that still are affected by propaganda against the Gods or national romantic paintings and such are clueless to what the Gods are. They just have images in their mind that are not real.) The Gods are here in this world again and I am one of the few that know this as a fact. I am glad that the new time will not be up to my somewhat rambling words to prove… (My English could be a little better as well… My Swedish is excellent so go and learn some if you have any complaints.) Anyhow, it really has cost me dearly just to reach this point in time where I can give out some basic information in a few articles. They say that this world is never thankful for your efforts; this world needs a change.

No matter what I say, or what you might think:

Truth is here to stay and it doesn’t pose.





You, you so roseborn and luminous,

in guise and lifted into nothingness,

out of fear blunted blind and bound,

selling grief all its laughable advices


You, you lie springless and inconsolable,

in famine outside of Truth’s Mercy


This is tragic


It is the broken’s tears


This is freedom in a world of dross


You weathered down call yourself perfect

while life’s dumb illusions become wills

and thoughts shape more dumbness

to explain reasons for all dumbness


Waivers of the only raised above

are tolerating vexed ridiculous ideals, 

defined out from futilities’ stomachs

and will be found where miseries hunts


For while all High is praised

you love with what is spoiled



scraped forth

in suffering

where naught was 

and soon forgotten

in turned sight’s snaring deeds


Warming this powerless pathfinder

which should loathe suffering’s might,

before he here infected will self-starve

outside the existence of Truth’s mercy


Weedbundles to catch

Nettles to eat

Blindfolds to carry

Walls to bury


Life to sort


In drunken swagger after slightest right to hold loved

sifts the funny farms steadily for what is most sane

while the scum lie absent-minded with a red apple in the mug


Un-astute unwieldy ― Wretched,

grubbing in exchangable Nothing,

turns around,

not unlike stinking and staring cows


And hardships small bread crumbs look good in darkness’ corner

while the very finest scum oink away to their babble songs


Retards demand to equal eachother to live furthest down

in clutching after cheap thought-jewelry and life-pettiness

Misgrowth is dug up ideals: Meaningless crass experiences

But, unclean will remain being Gladness’ most rare guests


Weedbundles to throw

Nettles to grow

Blinfolds to burn

Walls to build



Life to sort