Blowing down powdersnow from a pine branch
onto cold, light grey shadows; in the wilderness

(The verge of the ground a reminder of Our gathering.)

Gently gave Water and Wind Life to the cloud
meanwhile snow journeyed in a concern to remain
upon forest hills stones; to be glanced towards the edge

(Finding Now in the stillness,
in a fleeing movement:
All gone and awaiting time.)

Somewhat hesitant break runnels through the ice,
somewhat insolent, asking: When do We reach Home?

This so grievously lovable clarity’s Winterglade
is surely leaving its Answers in the abstruse
alike streamcaressed stones over the creeks have stayed

in the frozen years

Demand our new freedom, as all other time is stricken.FORDABLE PLACE


Thinking myself taking oar strokes between the field islands hills

and sail by untouched;

in defenseless journey forward into a new dawn



while the written clouds dense the sight

have gleamed-through wisdom been graveled and extinguished


Remaining in missing futures ― when memories rupture




Am in fragments to piece together

Threadthorned blinkers to throw off

A hidden away pathfinders aging heart


We or You,

forced to cuddle with suffering for its ugliness sake


We, have suffered enough,

streamed in the cleanest well


for others



Insufficiency has gifted more than enough

while Death bit by bit caught us life-marked


too long


Have traced the frustrations; the conditions itself,

setting in hearts a rope to snare the scab carriers

You know, was so heartstarved, forced to fair my eye,

overdose beauty in a torn down world

where animal life now is set as a goal to reach up to


there must come in prettier days here soon





Vi vet, vet hur en brusten tanke bet:
Att till livet draget blir här sönderslaget.

(Äger nu den sista nedslitna livlinan.)

Veknar ner, trotsande att vekhet är döden.

Innästlade åren
där önskan inte når ner till materian;
sönderfrusna karten
där behov inte klarar nå fram till viljan
från trädan; grogrunden,
där lust sällan listar sig växt över äcklet.

(Inför smärtsamt öppnade ögons verklighet
brinner en kall likgiltighet ner inom oss:
Världarnas dumhet i sin svärtande helhet.)

Viet, den nya tiden, tar år efter år,
där slag efter slag sätter hjälplösas gränser
och hårdhänt slår överlevnad skår efter skår

(Denna värld där tänkandet stannat i döden
och helhetens ruttnade delar ska botas;
lämnande en ny helhet värdig våra liv.)

Rättar här denna världs nattståndna åsikter.

Livet, väckt till att vaket levas med Rätten,
lär att all inre ruttenhet är från yttre ovett
och finner föga värde i dödad tillräcklighet

Formar Midgårds fästen och lämnar all tomhet.



I reached my goals for this year when it comes down to showing up with some productivity, granted be that it was for the most part writing as far back as seven years that went into small print and production. I also managed to reach post number three hundred and got over five thousand followers on this blog/homepage. And, I started up again with a dozen posts.

The two books I made this year with my translated poetry; AS ONE and HUNTED IN INVIOLABLE BLOOD has been read by a few thousand and understood by too few, they will of course be read by many more; and much more interested people in the future. I also did a book in Swedish with poetry; I KLARHET     IMMA (IN CLARITY     MIST) and I had my second photo exhibition under the name 1 SIGFRIDSSON; called DUSSINFOTO (DOZENPHOTO). As my grand finale for this year I did the magazine: NEW TIME (THE SOLSTICE WELL) that gathered some of my articles, naturally I found some minor mistakes here and there after it was completed…. O! I continuously avoid perfection. 

I’m rarely as productive as I would like to be so I’m pleased anyway. (Honestly, I’m a bit humoured by how I always wait so I can start up from zero with everything I have done in my life. It has to do with that I would get bored and leave it if I didn’t keep it a bit shaky and interesting until final day of production. It gives it that unique one of a kind touch, perhaps or perhaps not… I can always fix it in the mix some other rainy day.)

I still buy and sell a few books, records and other crap now and then on the internet. I find it curious that many believe that I must be a “fan” of what I “trade” with… Trust me, I’m not a “fan” of any junk-culture. As far as I’m concerned it can all burn and be erased from this world. Why do I even touch it? It keeps my mind occupied a few hours here and there every second month or so. Maybe I just need a small hobby to avoid going out and stabbing people? (By the way, I have stopped with this small trading, I might sell a few things once or twice more…)

Earlier this year there was some goofy literature magazines that complained about that I gave them material through e-mail without treating them as very special individuals, as they all are so important that I just have to send them a few words each for their magazines that I would never read, at least not without puking. Why send them anything then? It is merely for spreading my material around a bit. I really do not wish to be in any of the junk-culture magazines. I have stopped sending out material altogether now, not a copy was sent out of NEW TIME (THE SOLSTICE WELL). I might send out something in the future, but I doubt it. (I might become forced to, for some reason or another…)

You know, if the world was perfect then I would sit and dream and write aesthetic and fragile poetry all day long. I would have some peaches with cream and some cold mineral water and then go out and smell the forest after the rain in the Spring/Summer/Autumn. Etc. I do not sit and daydream as the nightmare of the present reality in this world will take over in a few seconds… Now there is a Winter… I do not have any papers to write on… On the positive side I do have some cream in a can… It is fattening.

I figure that I’m now about 0,001% of what I should have been some twenty years ago, that is slightly depressing. At least I’m on the map for the New Time and that is more than most who lived in this sad middle-period of time have. Next year will be mine.

I will raise One fulltru-glass on New Year as a first, last and always.


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