Quarantine

We live in strange times

Haunted by a weird disease

Pretending that life is normal

We act like nothing had happend

Going to work, drinking our beer

Life is calmer still more unsettled

People out of work or on work at home

Spend their days together over the internet

In splendid isolation

The strategy is successful

They tell us

Killing only so and so many

We keep on to it

The nation demand

That old people die

For our prosperity

At night their ghosts

Come to hunt us

Reflection On Water

A cold and stormy night

I came to this world

A foreign land filled

With quiet strangers

People putting their dreams

Deep in their soul

Never to be revealed, a secretive place

With people without a face

I could never imagine

That I would stay

But time just went away

Sucking my life day by day

I lived in the spiders web

And then my life took a turn

When their world started to burn

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.

The State of Sweden

Like it is not easy to know

I opened my eyes

And realize that the man

That I used to know

Had killed himself

Half a year ago

He had a son

That played harmonica

At his funeral

All his friends and foes

Wrote how sorry

They were

And that his suicide

And that it had left a scar

I once met him in a bar

He told me how his life

Had turned sour

Losing control

And the right to see his son

Not even speak on the phone

Attachment is for fouls

They will easy take away

Their pray and your

Beloved whatever

I know that if I care

To much

My soul will be touched

When they take my children

Away

Returning

I live in the north

In the land of small hills

And a lot of trees

Some blue lakes

And a lot of lonely and cold people

I wanted to leave but somehow

I am stuck here

First time I went back it was, Because of the language

The second time because Of my career

The third time out of desperation

The fourth time out of frustration

The fifth time has not happened yet

But it will

This is life in the far north

A place where the ice and snow

Is absent

The place where your soul freezes to ice

Take my advice

Stay out

Corpus Christi

Does anyone see
me 

Does anyone see
anyone else
Than them self
We are all
island
Every man is an island
He or she lives and
withers, die and
sink to the bottom
of the ocean of 
oblivion 
Everything changes
but we are all going
down sooner or later

Bus to Marx

The bus is full
Full with students
doing economy, business
and advanced studies

Pushing, pressing their way
to happiness and a seat
some fail, some never
even get in to the bus

I am the last one
just when the door
closes
It is not a question
of deserving
It is not a question
of
Salvation
NO

This is a  question
of survival
Using the ladder
of momentarily 
Chaos

God will not help me
Man vill not help me
But i will help myself
the price
Is being lonely 
but in time
to the lecture
on Marxist theory on 
Late Capitalism 

Talking

That man never stops
he has not even time
to take breath 
Bla, Bla, Bla
all in italian
I understand some
to much
He is telling his
empty stories
to the swedish girl
opposite him
Talking and talking
I were once like that
Hiding myself behind 
a lot of words
A lot of empty words
Maybe he is not human
but a machine from another
universe? 
Sent by God because
of a sin I did long time 
ago
Or maybe he
Is just tormenting
me without knowing
It. My family once
came from Italy
and we are still
talking to much
according to swedish standard talkification index
Still after 406 years 
We are not swedish 
Still talking
Sorry if you come
here and expect
to be a part of our
closed society 
It will take you
another 1000 years
at least
Enjoy

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