Outskirts

Driving around in the outskirts of Stockholm. The snow is gone but temperature is well below zero. Discovering unknown parts of the city is way of meditation. This is old Viking country filled with burial-grounds and runestones.

This is pagan and Christian landscape at the same time, churches built on places of pagan worship, messages telling the stories of death and suffering in Russia or Turkey. A lot of fortunes were made there by Vikings being mercenaries or tradesmen.

Our barren land could not feed everyone so the bravest and most desperate left long time ago. This is not a land to be happy in. That is not the nature of Sweden. Here you work and suffers in silence until you eventually die.

Trapped In History

Being trapped in a memory

Of a conflict with my father and

His family

Filling up my mind

Feeling betrayed and abandond

It is hard to let go

Even though I know I have to find

New grounds for living my life

Ode To The Next Ruler

Assemble energy, power,will

Try to get

Past last years tragedies

In a snowy Stockholm

Being around negative

People that put me

Below the ground

In a pit of self pity

Never mind

This kind of torture

Is part of this shitty

Life without meaning

Or purpose

It is of course my fault

I don’t deserve to live

I don’t want to live

Kill me and use me

As a fertiliser in

Your garden so

I eventually come

To some use

Together with the other

Jews and infirm

That you put there

A while ago

And then go on

To destroy the world

Which is your purpose

Crimes

All those books

Part of a gigantic crime

Stolen and loathed

Form Jewish families in

Germany collected and

Put on an exhibition

75 years later

Looked in time in the

Immortal memories

Building My World

Trying to get a manual

For a good and functional

Life, Outside my small and

Secluded world

They are ruling through fear

Not terror but fear of losing

What you have and

Being part of the losing

Angry majority

Standing on the street screaming

For bread and entertainment

Still I have to build a new small world

That is working and thriving

Like the Stoics, long gone and

Still very present

Remains

History is what remains

Things that is not here

But could have been

What is not happening

As well as what is going on

What we did not do

As well the results of what

We did a long time ago

The Minotaur 

Finalising the unthinkable 

I have become a monster

A Minotaur in his dirty, stinking

Maze

Without entrance and exit

I walk around looking out 

The tiny Windows to see

What is going on in the

Outside world

Hoping, even expecting 

The one day an earthquake 

Will make the walls

Tremble and fall 

More than 4000 years

Have I been waiting

The world has changed

But the tyrants remains

Doing their dirty deed 

In front of me every day

While the water slowly

Grinds the stone

The Gone Leader

The dictator is gone

Eaten by his own desire

To eat others

On the ground is rubble and lies

That surrounded him

Now he is just an old man

Like any other old man

With his complaints and

Misgivings

I eat his picture as a cream cake

Trying to forget and forgive

His terror

Praying that he never return

Continuum

There will never be an end

Just a continuum of change

A movement between extremes

Like Winter or Summer

Democracy and dictatorship

War and Peace

Construction and Destruction

And in the middle of this

Are we messed up and

Confused trying to get a grip

The end in sight

Only for us as we are

Not for all

The end is in sight

But we never know

What happens

Good

Time, Mind and Action

Time is a precious commodity

Bought and sold at different

Prices, lost time is forever lost

In time, action taken and

Finally forgotten

Our minds and memories changing

Talkative silence in our head

Whatever once was there is no more

My actions will eventually change

Adopting to the mind of the moment

Without my consent or with my consent