Two-feet

i step out of my door

the day is fresh

my feet are

eager to

walk

where will

they take

me

where

will

they 

go ?

i step out of my door

the day

is fresh

and

my feet

are eager

to walk

Nuances, colours

winter explains

the hardness of ice

with cool precision

silence listens

withdrawn

hardly breathing

there is nothing to be said

muttered snow

and the world fell

silent
though

not deaf

to itself

silent

a peaceful buzz

of warm blood gushing

through temples

Avgarde

Han sprang avgarde
langt å lenge
før ho snudde
og  sprang heim
og la
seg og
der låg
han til
sola
strekte sine
stråler
inn og
lysa opp
landet
og slik fann ho
ut or draumen
og opp
att
i dagen

men
snart byrja
han småspringje
snart sprang ho
fortare
og før han
visste ordet
av det
var ho langt
avgarde
og når han
snudde seg
såg ho
ikkje lenger
landet
ho dyrka
og stjernene
på himmelen
stod ikkje
lenger
der
slik han
hugsar


då var det¨
at han snudde
seg opp ner
og heile verda
snudde seg
med
og dei som
såg det
blei fyrst
svimle og
sian
forundra
og dei jamra
og bar seg

ting ramla
frå himmelen
lenge
etterpå
og har
det ikkje
slutta
å regne
kattar
å hundar
så
kan hende
det roar
seg med
tia

Diktaren

Diktaren er
ikkje slik han
sjølv trur at
han er

diktaren
lar seg ikkje
lure av forestillingane
på
sylvlerretet
same kor mykje
skodespelaren
legg sjela
i rolla
si

diktaren klyp
seg sjølv
titt
i armen
og har blåmerke
å vise til

og det hender
jo at ein må

anten ein diktar
i holer i jorda
eller rett utav
det blå





diktaren
heftar seg ikkje
ved detaljar
men bygg
sine hus
på dei
lik fuglen
i sitt reir

diktaren søkjer¨
på djupet av
seg sjølve
for å finne
noko
han ikkje
har sagt
før


for diktaren
må ofte
møte seg sjølve
i si eiga
oppdikta
dør


diktaren let seg
ikkje hefte
ved detaljarne
men driv vidare
med vinden
lik ei fjør
i ørkenen
og let sand
i augene vere
sand og
ingenting anna
en sand


for

i skuggen av ein
gammal ruin
finn du diktaren
i sitt eige
dikt
på veg inn i
det ukjende
for å gløyme
alt han
har lært
og lære
det på
ny
igjen og
igjen

diktaren
vandrer¨
hand i hand
med sola
og kvar
stråle er fylld
av lyse
ord om
livet som
gror
men også
av det som
spirar
på vår
heilage
trillrunde
jord

self medicating

Self medicating vs the popping of pills from a prescription drug. ?

Its the same thing,only self medicating is considered negative,and sometimes even a criminal act.

Why,i ask myself,ready to pop the question in return,should i be confronted with the law.

People get in trouble with the law,for self medicating,and are criminalized and punished.

While at the same time,people go about their daily lives, medicated on prescription narcotics,wich is often sold or given away to friends,further spreading drug use and health problems in schools and society at large.

The zero tolerance for drugs in norway reeks of white lies on molded bread.

People are treated as children by our authorities,with little "myndighet" to make once own little decisions.


Self reliance is the greatest art and should be practised by bending the bow that fires the arrow,and letting it go.
It must become a natural act,that the bow fires upon the target with such swiftness,that it knoweth not what hit it.
Then an archer will have her way in the game,and her arrows and bow will raise brows wherever she goe.
.
Let it not be of dullness,nor of drunkeness and heavy sleep,but of awakefulness,and the observant mind.For is there not so much splendour and detail that maketh up the universes ?
.
Dwell not on thy belongings,but on thy dwelling,and see thyself in thyself.Laugh,if it comes natural.
If not,be silent.Listen to silence,and your heart will respond with gladness and freud.
.
There is too much to say in too little time.Yet with practise,and patience,through simple breathing,time can be stretched and utilized on a whole new level.
.
Knowing in your heart,that you have all the time in the world,to complete your mission,Your  story will change from one of idleness and fatigue,to one of unadulterated joy,and sorrow.
.
Lifting you to the highest mountains,and occasionally casting you headlong into the deepest and darkest pits.
Leaving you with  a thirst,sometimes an unquenching one,that makes you so desire for liquids,that they appear out of thin air.
.
.

Be not forgiving,but forgive the writer for writing.Occasionally raving unconsciously about,speaking  in tounges,eyes rolling in skull,frothing from mouth,accompanied by howls and groans.
Be forgiving,no matter what he tells you,and he will shrink before your naked eyes.
That to forgive,even the greatest sin,is the way of the lord,but not the way of men.For man follows the ways of his followers,who follow him wherever he rolls.

Shrink therefor not in the presence of the lord,but raise thyself,o`child of man,and feel the living earth under thy feet.!!
Stretch thy bones,and veins,so that fresh blood may enter thy thinking apparatus,and rejoice !
Is there not joy in the darkest corners,and sadness in the brightes of day ?
Are you not well with the gifts,and the talents,o `star amongst stars ?
In thy  complaining,and waining,grasping with thy clutches for ever more,be thankful that you are alive,amongst the dead and the dying.

There will c0me a day,unlike any other day,followed  by  nights beyond your wildest dreams.
The sun will chase shadows,and food will cross from hands to mouth,and questions,that can only be answered with silence and wonder.
But your mind,like a flower in the sun,will have its days,among days,and that old magic that breathes in between,will sometimes tell you stories made up from your own private gallery of ghosts.
Other times,it will tell you other things,and convince you to become another star in an otherwise charming cult of fixed faiths.





Know that the hour of man is short,but know also that where there is no-time,there is peace.
Sometimes you feel time suddendly disappeared,your`e having a mystical experience that "never really happened"
Mystical forces bending perception of time,dissolving it,,offering a feeling of eternity stretching  on as far as the eye can see,and the I that is you and me,at once limited and free.



The Mystic knows that the moment you think you know it all,is the moment you forget something very important.
Thats why the mystic dwells where the sun cannot reach.Where mystery have air to breath.
The mystic is at once a  dark soul that feeds on the light of magical crystals embedded deeply in the earth`s crust.
For such is the light of the mystic,that it brings certain  gifts to certain  men.
Many are the corns of sand,and dust is plentyful in corners.
Blood is crying.Hear the cry,Be the healer of bleeding wounds.
Many are the corns of sand,and in corners,dust is plentyful.
Be the mountain,and the magnificent hall that houses the mountains jinn.
Light candles for the dreaming Gods creating our world,and leave sweet offerings.
Ask questions when the day is still young,and find the answers in your dreams.
Don`t look for yourself in the mirror.Look at yourself,and behold the presence !
Be the presence in your own life,and communicate with that entity, you.
Use the forbidden and the shunned art of talking through uncertified channels.
.
Be tempted by scripture,to fulfill the prophesy of the elders,by continuing the writing thereof.
Be tempted by the saints,and inspired in Thy soul,to carry on their clairvoyant ravings in mutualhood.
Was it not by fire and stars that men went out of their minds to commune with a higher being ?
And,is not the Higher being,unseen and majestic,a spirit of the spiritworld ?
.
Why is it that "Scripture"  condemns the spiritist and his communing with the dead,when others can obsiously do it,and get away with being a saint or a prophet ?
Is there not much dirty evidence of corrupted men in the so called word of God ?
Is it not a dreaded gift to know that words have so much power of men and their minds ?

"Taking the law into ones one hand",is indeed a  silly expression,for  Is it not the hand of men that writes the law ? "

Is the law not already in the hand of men?

Fire spell

Craft the spell
in the fire

Craft it well
weave it higher

Weave it now
of shining flame

None shall
come to hurt
or maim

None shall
pass this
fiery wall

None shall
pass
No,None at all


(Ha tent eit lys foran deg når du les denne)

(henta frå internett)

Guided by noises

I have come to understand that some people have silent thoughts in their heads,where others hear voices speak to them in whispers and sometimes out loud like actual persons.
There was a time when i thought i could leave my mind behind,and live in the space between realms.
After a while,i started hearing voices,and i realized my time in space had done something odd.
Today i have to listen and be observant to what the voices tell me,to get things done.
It is like my mind is out there on a satelite in space,sending me voice-mail through the atmosphere.
Also there are many satelites out there,and sometimes,i recieve mail that was intended for someone else.Now that can be difficult,because Its not always the funny stories,the wahas and the whoo-hoos.

Im positive other people will come to hear voices,in time.As im not the first and certaintly not the last.

Some people believe hearing voices is a sign of damage,or an illness with many advanced  names.
And surely,there are people who suffer the consequenses of hearing voices,as they can tell you ugly things,evil things,and even use your fathers voice to enhance their effect.
But then there are also voices that backs you up all the way,and with such charm and humour that it makes you fall in love with them.
There is the good parts that makes living worthwile.There are the happy ghosts,and the kindred spirits,who loves to entertain their next of skin.
Its not all bad,as some folks would have it.

i think the most difficult thing in the world is trying to be normal
and living a normal life,when there in fact is nothing normal in this world.
this is where madness makes angels with broken wings

I remember loosing sanity as a burden being removed from my shoulders.
The madness and the hell was all inside my belief in a normal world and a normal life.

I realize i was dreaming a dream that wasnt mine
it was a program designed to make me
someone that someone else would
appreciate
in time


i awoke from that dreadful dream
like a child
on the  first day of spring

i stumbled into the world
like an infant
still drunk from
mothers milk
and with a nasty
case of hiccups

but my mind was
like the sky
on a clear
day

i could hear
for miles
and i swear in the
crooked ear of Captain
McFlannigan
that i could
hear dolphins
song

i even
heard rumours
being spread
among the flowers
that i was
complete
loonytoon

when i stopped
and tried to convince
them otherwise
they just aughed
their heads
off

but i can live with that

i have heard birds
laugh
from the trees
when they see
me tumbling down
lifes rocky
road
balancing on
two feet
and somehow
a head of
myself