Work

The master is always at work

Guarding the fire

Changing the elements

In an eternal strife

Relentless work

Making us

The best we can be

On a Saturday

Afternoon

Tensed

She comes home

After a day at the office

Filled with frustration

And ave

Being the trapped

Using us as a bin

For her frustration

Tensed and aggressive

Only the sleep will relieve us

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.

Magic Cash

Money is like magic

When you have it

And earn it

Everything feels normal

And you only need to follow

A path to more money

However dreary the work is

It is there but when

You lost your work

Is like being lost in woods

You walk and do not

Find a way or an income

And it takes forever

Until you eventually

Find a tiny road

You start to doubt

Yourself and your ability

All criticism seems so threatening

Correct

The more you trust the critics

The worse it gets

It is a trick and a trap

Still the sun is quite

Trustworthy

Now

The cold red sun rises

Just a little above the horizon

Creating an illusion of day

Icy streets and stairs reminding

Us of our vulnerability

Moving carefully on our way

To face the daily perils of the world

The long workday promises only

The darkness of a cloudy night

When we eventually leave

Late in the evening

Promises

I feel lost empty

I promise the sky

And I can only

Deliver one big shoe

I fight and lose

Rise up again

And fight and lose

No way

No problem

Solutions around the corner

Or disaster

But still here

And that’s

What counts

Reduction

Monday is the worst of days

Forcing its discipline

Upon us early in the

Morning, reducing

Our option

Streamlining the path

To achievement and

Failure,

You cannot be creative

Just working catatonic

In the catacombs of

The reptile brain

Lost

Feeling empty, lost

Trying to fill the day

With content

Trying to learn things

But they slip out of my mind

Trying to work

But don’t know

Where to begin

Just lost

 

Ice on glas

Monday is the worst of day

All the illusions gone

Just a cold frozen landscape

Promising a long work week

Changes makes people

Uncomfortable and bad tempered

Now we are here

The first Monday in December

Slowly adapting us to a passive

Acceptance