Category Archives: TRUTH
ANOTHER DAY IMAGINING TO BE LIKE ME
1 SIGFRIDSSON
WITHOUT HONOUR THERE IS NO LOVE
MIDVINTERNS ÄNDESTEN
Mörkret har gömt mina stigar
Finner inte Verkligheten vid liv här
Ärren, mycket nämnt, alltför väl inne är
(Tänder nattlyktan och trampar ovan skaren)
Betalade långt mer än Livets värden
och är driven tusentals år in i Döden
Mitt namn: Makternas första resta ändesten
Kalken hämtade mig åter lämnad ur Källan
hit sorg och flykt ensamt fann mig att levas
Satta tryggbänkade glor lömskt denna väntan itu,
tigga kärt allt vad redbart varit till Världarna värt
och önskar min närvaro att bitas löst och futtigt,
kärvt och slutligt spotta smittorna in efter betten
Tjänta smädare sena till nyttiga gravfamningarna
glädjas över sin stulna, oförtjänta åldrade storhet
och klungande uppå vageln sitter tallriksslickarna
medan Midgård ruttnat, stelnat, till meningslöshet
Vallas genom framställda misslyckanden att timra,
fastvärkta minnen där nekat Världarna blivit sakat
medan dagarnas bett räknar sig kvar sammanbitet
tills vägran tvingades hit; Till ett slutgiltigt rämnat
Ristar bergfast att gjort så blir Tiden.
Vet att Sanningen är min gravhög.
Vet nu eller aldrig.
(Släcker nattlyktan och kliver genom skaren)
(Väntan räckte mig inte fram, forna fränder,
till läkningen, nycklarna hamnade minnets hav,
ty Tidens brännhög är buren facklad i stilla grav)
THE ILLUSION OF THE GREAT WRITERS
Originally posted 6/1-13 on: http://thesolsticewell.com/
Stumbled upon a copy of “Faust” by Goethe some time ago. I had read parts and excerpts of it in German and Swedish before, so I already knew it was crap.
I had a volume of Goethe’s poetry before and liked some parts and pieces of that, so there is no denying from my part that he could write decent. Technically speaking.
This book is one among the two dozen books that have been typical for the intellectual crowd to walk around with a copy of. Found it so humouring that I walked down the streets with it in my pocket that I actually just had to take a picture of that.
The story of “Faust” is just dumb and poorly written.
There is the fiction figure called “God” in it that have no resemblance whatsoever with reality. It is really insulting that a fake “god” stole and still use the name God against God. (Not even mentioning the thousands of other things that parasite steal from The Gods). Furthermore, there are some characters in a nonsensical discussion that also come from fiction, all done with the deranged minds view. Etc. You get the picture.
As the case with all junk culture there is nothing of interest and it all lead down to nowhere land. It reminds me, not surprisingly, of how Strindberg later used to build up his plays.
I do not blame fiction for being non-fiction. I blame these silly illusions to enter and derange non-fiction and then affect fiction. I understand that this is fictional writing from a man that know very little about the realities of life. Still, when people like this spread their junk it affects the minds and continue to kill Culture. It is really depressing to know that junk culture like this have been promoted so well that it is currently called “fine literature”. Or any other cliché I might think of. There is, to no surprise, even worse books out there by other “great writers”. Burn them.
Do I write better than Goethe? If not, then I have no say, you say? That is completely beside the point. (It is not my personal goal to be a great writer. My goal is to give of my knowledge.) Everyone have to start facing the fact that most of what have been produced in literature and arts have been filthied, some of it is forged and is being used as tools for murder and much worse for hundreds of years. It will all be trashed as the new time enters. Be prepared for it.
Literature, music and other forms of entertainment must be cleaned. Junk culture can only inspire to shape more junk. I am against junk entering the mind, defiling and murdering all higher values. What freedom does the victimized, these insane and twisted have? To make this world a trash can for everyone?
I would rather be completely empty than full of that litter.
1 SIGFRIDSSON
RAINED
Rain thicken the skies, shapes the landscape
Heavy rain wet the forest, dances in streams,
bending bilberry shrubs placed upon mossed stones
while running rills near here on through the thicket
Stumbling roots ― Diverting wounds
There!, Sunbeamembraced wild trees
hidden mountainwreathed wasteland
strengthens what memories miraged:
Strangely Reality have been branched
There lye an arrow in the rain, shot,
brought, stuck into a forsaken heart
Sent silenced, bittered and lived
Stopped.
Rained in sea
REGNAD
Skurar tätnar skyarna, träs landskapet
Ett slagregn väter skogen, dansar å,
böjer blåriset ställt uppå mossade stenar
och ränner ilar här intill genom snåren
Snavar rötter ― Skingrar såren
Där!, solstrålefamnade vilda träd
gömda bergomkransad ödemark,
stärker vad minnet länge hägrat:
Gäckat Verkligheten varit grenat
Det ligger en pil i regnet, skjuten,
hitförd, fastnad ett försakat hjärta
Sänd tystad, bittrad och levad
Stannad.
Regnad i sjö
TIND A LIGHT!
Wandered to burialmounds where the Oaths were given
Risted the Path therein the Worlds longings are carried
*
FEEL!
*
Feel the teared
Initiated here to forlorn be
*
Hard the frost strikes the hidden
while a worthy is torn apart, hardened
Torches flicker, cutting pieces from darkness
Making my leaves, hearing wolves songs
*
Quiet
*
The water called rain usurped
Weak twigs were cracked
*
Be still
*
Hear the streams carve the mountain
while wetted leaves chatter
*
Night rain falls
Storm comes
*
The rain cried for me
*
Hidden under these arms of the Tree
beautifying anxiety and withering
with healing, sounding voices
*
Tind light for your life!
Tind lights for our lives!
Tind the light!
Tind the light!










