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

Being Free

My prison is my freedom

Things are getting worse and worse

But here I am in the middle of it

It demands my whole being

I am looked in darkness

Dwelling among all the things

That has to be done and learned

I am sorry for this

But happy in the same time

This is me being free

In my own created prison

The Breakup

Moving in and out of total

Paralysis, anxiety becomes

Uncontrollably

Floating around in what cannot be defined

I failed so many times

And therefore

Why try again

Run Rerun Return Repeat

The mind runs around

In circles

While the body still sleeps

Visiting the same places

Again and agin in the

Dream

Life was hard on me

Creating wounds

That will not heal

In a lifetime

Still every day

We, me and my body

Get up, go to work

Fight the fights of the day

And return home

In order to rerun

The show in perpetual pattern

That is what life is a show

But no one is watching

No one really cares

We are just machinery

And decoration sometimes

Only at night do we

Leave on vacation

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