wouldn't you too?

all of you who read me on this blog
do not worry, I am fine

what would you do,
if you had an hour
that could be erased afterwards
and remembered by none but you?

- - -
I've been at my art work all day, I am tired now
so I think I'll turn off the lights and sit in the dark waiting for the magical hour
picturing in my mind all the things I would do

so if you wake up tomorrow feeling somehow strange...
it was just me who came to visit during the hour that never was

I have 1 hour and some 54 minutes to decide,
what to do with my freedom,
with the hour that doesn't exist

to kill or to love?
votes anyone?

II. opportunity makes a friend

during that one hour
that doesn't exist

when anything is possible,
when I wouldn't get caught

I'd walk across town
to the house near the tracks
in the velvety night
to see him asleep

like ages ago in the other life

I'd break the window to get inside
(I would enjoy the sound of that so
-- I'd giggle and hum)
because during the hour
that doesn't exist
I wouldn't get caught
for loving

I. opportunity makes a killer

during that one hour
that doesn't exist

when anything is possible,
when I wouldn't get caught

I'd drive with a frantic speed
140 km West
in the pitch black night
to take her away

from the sickness and grief she lives in

I'd rob her by force if it came to it
(I would off him propably anyway, just 'cause I could)
-- I'd burn down the house)
I wouldn't care;
because during the hour
that doesn't exist
I wouldn't get caught
for murder

this morning when I stepped outside
I saw
the first frail snowfall of this year's winter

welcome

to me you're wonderful

7 years

it was so strangely familiar,
he was so familiarly strange
(I smiled)

and yet, there's things he didn't do
seven years ago;
he's taken up dancing
--I stayed at the table to keep our seats
as he pushed through the crowd to the front row
for the next act
(one of his favourites, I remembered)
occasionally I saw a flash of his head
nodding and wobbling to the beat

he drank beer
-- Never more than one at a time, he said
(that night he had two)

the bands were ok
though I must admit,
I like them better on record

but it's not the music that made the most of it
it was him
I've missed him
I knew that, I've noticed that
I've accepted that
but of course,
it's easier to feel
when he's really there

he doesn't smoke, still
and we still have common interests

I'm beyond words to describe
how glad I am here's there
just there,
I don't ask for more

worth waiting

This morning I watched the film Smoke.

(The one with Harvey Keitel & William Hurt & company, not any of the other productions with the same name. -- It's a shame there's no copyright to titles. Outstanding works would deserve that, definately. I know I know, the thought of unanimously defining 'outstanding' and thereby handing out copyrights is simply ridiculous. And the mass of possible words for titles is not a natural resource, either. But still, it'd be neat.)

It's from 1995, and propably opened in theatres in Finland on the same year. If not the same then at least the following.

I intended to see the film then. Ten years ago. Ten. It's a lot in my short years. I didn't, however, who knows for what reason. I've missed out on a lot of films that way. But the wonderful thing about films and books and such works is that they wait, patiently. (That's something to admire! If only we humans...)

So, this morning, a Sunday in October 2005, I watched the film Smoke. It was worth the years in waiting. Or perhaps, it might just be the years were meant to pass. Something that seems like waiting is actually a process of maturing. Like wine and the likes.

Things have a tendency to work themselves out. Not without our help of course. Good things in life don't come for free, no need to question that. We all have to pay for them, either before hand by working hard on them or then afterwards by giving away something in return.

light

on a happy note:

on my side of the globe
the dark days are entering
-- it is the time to light a candle!

on the other side
summer days soon sneak in
-- satsumas and pineapple grow!

there's wool, and tea, and triple-glazing
-- the world is taking care of me

thank you world,
I know that I am privileged

you can have the light you help me radiate

despite

Despite it seems that I never seize to question
everything involving me,
there is a speck of brightness to be clearly seen.

I may be nerve-wracking...
But I'm not hopeless
(I say and show my best smile)

Just ask for the key,
and you shall have it

perplexed

And here's one more, from even further back in time.
Rearranged.


What is this on my hand?
It looks so lovely, it feels so warm
Is it a tiny sweet lie?

A fragile little bird
A 3-D image

Where did it come from?
From my imagination, no more
Or is it perhaps real?

I want to see her spread her wings and fly
Away
I'll stand there,
with one hand raised as a platform
and the other shielding my eyes from the sun
Oh see it go!

But am I wrong?
Completely?
And is it worse to play along, to give in to illusion
even if it feels so nice
Or is it juste to settle for grey
if that's what's real

Is manmade beauty to be shunned
and self-spun need denied
as false and useless waste of time?

Here & now
I want to see her beauty,
I need her on my hand
-- to replace the image of your heart
as it's fading

Something in return

Here's one from some days back,
written while away from the computer.


these hands carry with care
--but are seldom carefully carried

these feet follow without asking
--but are seldom unquestionably followed

these eyes observe with understanding
--but are seldom understandingly gazed upon

these ears listen with patience
--but are seldom patiently listened to

need I fall to be carried?
loose my way to be followed?
become blinded and mute to be noticed?

that's quite a lot to ask,
just for little recompensation

concussion

I'm thinking waves
..huge, soaring waves

they're cold and solid
painful and penetrating

brightly coloured
(lapis blue)
but once inside, I see only black

I need to vomit;
the ride is too rocky,
the blow was too hard

I need to lie down
in a dark room,
close to an opened window

I was shaken, hit, pushed over
now
I'm dealing with the bruising and the swelling
-- I'm a patient patient

click

am I like television to you?

"there's always something on,
just keep flipping through the channels,
you'll find something barable"

let me entertain you

I lull you to sleep when you're tired,
make magic trics when you're bored
and best of 'em all:
I'll shut up
when you've got somewhere to be!

I'd like to try it sometime!
;
shrink into a tiny dot of eyeburning specks
--red, blue, yellow--
and then
*schwomm*
be gone completely,
turn black

blank,
not even an electric hum to be heard

click the button,
try and see
am I like television to you?

wake up into the night

I'm so glad I get these wake up calls

like tonight:

I stepped out of the movie theatre;
there was daylight when I went in, now it was night

the colours! such colours!
they're deceiving and fake, I know
but they enliven me

I want to giggle

I walked home from the movie
with feathery footsteps
and eyes that reflect sparkles,
seeing curious creatures everywhere
taking photos of fountains
rustling through the maple leaves

I had woken up into the night

my sweet little thing

you lay there, in your cosy corner
cheek to your pillow, your eyes almost closed
I look at you hoping
that you are still comfortable

you never speak of your troubles
(at least in tongues I could understand)
only once, when you were little
you cried quietly for two days
...two long days
untill you were well again,
medicated and looked especially after

all you ask is water and something green
and to be talked to

you have your daily chores, and I have mine
you prefer your cosy corner
so I do not touch,
I keep a soothing distance and follow you from afar

you've been mine for six years now
-- or is it seven? --
that's more than most have got
you eat less now and sleep longer and more often
...and somewhere in the distance I expect you to pass
I hope you can do it in your sleep

I'm not wishing you to leave soon
I'm saying thanks while I still can
paying respects to my sweet little thing

lost words & boys

Some words are so well coded into culture
that they are never 'lost in translation'

How could they be lost,
if they were never there in the first place.

One of these things is
'poikarukka'

When I think of it
I think of many things
and all of them
emerge from my heart

Know this:
Now is uncertainty -- but tomorrow is hope
Now I may be of help -- but tomorrow is my time to go

All lost boys, they grow up