Life is beautiful.

Being at home is so important for my well-being.
I have been able to meet and spend time with many of the most important people in my life, and have also been lucky enough to meet and enjoy time with my extended circle of amazing friends and wonderful new acquaintances.

I should be spending more time studying, doing work for Uni
Fuck it
I don't care all too much
I care more about time with the people
I will leave some time for study
but it can not
under any circumstances
take too much of the time I have away.

This may be corny stuff to read
Perhaps I might interest my readers in some highlights
Where I've been and what I've done

I started this life-saving holiday off
by being picked up from the airport by my best friend
We then went off together to a concert
along with one of the gems that have entered my life this year
The concert was beyond words
such a beautiful couple of hours
Antony and the Johnsons
in an intimate venue
with these great people
WoW

Later that night
my very first night here
(what a beginning)
I ran into the arms of my boyfriend
a moment that I had anticipated for so long
And in his arms I have pretty much stayed
ever since

I was reunited with my little daughter
she's a 3 year old angel
from which I have been separated the bigger part of each year
since her birth
by the Atlantic

My best friendess graduated
I am very proud of her
she stands at cross-roads
a feeling I know all too well right now

I have spent some time at my favourite cafè
always feels good to return there
share a cup of coffee or chai with friends
and see the familiar faces
and feel the familiar atmosphere
That blessed cafè is my only real incentive
for study
it is my place of study as it functions to attract me

Then, just yesternight, I partook
in a sweat-loss ceremony
I do this as often as I can
every time I am here
It was wonderful
a cleansing of mind and body
a session of prayer
a return to the womb of the Earth
giving oneself to the Earth
and breathing nature's fire into one's body
is like nothing else
I love it
I crave it

There were moments of total and utter peace
during the sweat-loss
when I just lay there in Earth's embrace
exhausted but oh so happy
and felt overwhelmed by my life
how lucky I am
how protected
how full of life-force
how important my life is
filled with friends
filled with family
filled with hope
filled with passion
loved
in love

happy
calm,
..k+H

This will be my last entry






















from England for a month or so.
I'm bidding fare-ye-well to this soddy wetland
'till I find myself here yet again
once more forevermore
in early January.

Going home,
..kH

YAY! this is fun..

a drunken entry

Just came home from a wild party..
well, wild .. at least festive
It was great

Me partying away with my classmates whom I won't get to party with for a while now
coz I'm a going home baby!
which is fantabulous .. I'd discard partying any day for going home
But tonight was great fun

Fancy dress party -
which in English refers to wearing costume
- I'm not too fond of that sort of party to be honest
Why? you ask..
nosy bastard
what's it to you anyway
Well it's coz I am relaxed
and hate making a fuss about general partying
I just wanna be able to show up
as I'm dressed
with a bottle of whatever and party away
which I sort of did tonight
I haven't a collection of costumes
but it so happened I had a couple of items from the performance of next week
my freaky eyes
and my make-up-for-teeth
and this is what I put on
as well as a tight t-shirt (my trademark) as it suits me

A drunken me is a rather affectionate me
and I enjoy it
As generally my affectionate side is only drawn forth by certain individuals
with whom my love I share whether sober or drunk
but
unhealthy as it may be
for a lot of others my affection doesn't come as easily
and alcohol seems to set that side of me free
it's a side of me I enjoy
which I wish was more present
more often

So tonight I shared my affection
told my friends what they meant to me
hugged
kissed
complimented
and then I did all that
once again
with meaning
It feels good
I'm glad for it

Coz in turn
the others
open up
as well

Great fun
I'm knackered
and drunk
and vulnerable

'tis only 6 days away now
less than a week

Homeward bound
and gagged,
..kH

Busy at Uni
and when I'm online I spend that time chatting
time flies - I'm loving it

This is my second to last week of term
Full-time attendance and availability is the demand these days
Which basically means I am at Uni all day
every day
even Saturdays

Our productions are developing sufficiently
It is interesting that we are working with such a free structure that rehearsals almost feel wishy-washy
that something is always missing
and there is an essential element missing
the audience
for the form we work with the audience is central

Full force will only kick in in performance

So much awaits me at home
so much to look forward to
so much
Will be doing no work apart from schoolwork during Christmas break
all my time devoted to the things I look forward to
my family
my friends
my schoolwork
and
my incredible lover !

So much to look forward to
so much
'tis only 12 days away

'tis only 12

'tis,
..kH

Hello everyone

Was browsing the Internet and stumbled upon my b*log
Thought: Why not give it a bit of substance
Hasn't been fed in a few days
My poor malnourished b*log

I am so happy
I'm shining like the sun
Had such a great night
Recharged my fading batteries
Fully charged again

This might end up being the best weekend I have had this winter
It surely is up there in the top 3 already

The magic of loving someone

..kH

Long time no b*log
Time is flying thank goodness and kindness and different positives

But on the same note the stuff that I anticipate passes quickly too
I waited ages for yesterday night
and it passed in a flash of 3 hours.

I can't wait for next week
but that will pass as well in a flash of a few days.

I can't wait for Christmas break
even that will pass in a flash of a few weeks.

Can I slow my lifepace down when I want to
and speed it up as needed
Can I reserve the right to do that please.
Can moments and a precious few hours be frozen
please
can it
please
pretty please.

If there can indeed be a Daylight Saving Time
can there not also be a Joyous Moments Preservation Time
eh
huh
can't there
eh

*sips peppermint tea*

For class yesterday we had to individually prepare short pieces devised around the notion of love.
That's mine pretty much :

Three chairs. A table.
kH sits on chair ONE. Speaks > LOVE is holding hands in bouncing castles.
kH sits on chair TWO. Speaks > LOVE is choosing to commit.
kH sits on chair THREE. Speaks > LOVE is to need someone as much as you need your air.

kH sits on chair ONE. Speaks > LOVE is running toward each other in big fields.
kH sits on chair TWO. Speaks > LOVE is meeting mid-way, compromising.
kH sits on chair THREE. Speaks > LOVE is owning someone, to be unleavable.

kH sits on chair ONE. Speaks > LOVE is knowing! the first time you look at someone.
kH sits on chair TWO. Speaks > LOVE is when you've gotten to know someone very well, and trusting with all your heart.
kH sits on chair THREE. Speaks > LOVE is being desired to the point of total submission before one's feet.

kH sits on chair ONE. Speaks > LOVE is cruising on a boat in Venice.
kH sits on chair TWO. Speaks > LOVE is discovering that Venice is actually quite filthy, and not caring coz you laugh at it together.
kH sits on chair THREE. Speaks > LOVE is fucking someone so hard that you forget you're anywhere else but in their body.

kH sits on chair ONE. Speaks > LOVE is forever!
kH sits on chair TWO. Speaks > LOVE is not limited to any one, but can extend to a few people at any one time.
kH sits on chair THREE. Speaks > LOVE is physical, it's appetite!

kH sits on chair ONE. Speaks > LOVE is that only one!
kH sits on chair TWO. Speaks > LOVE is hard work, with wonderful rewards.
kH sits on chair THREE. Speaks > LOVE is a fucking mess.

kH rises. Moves to front of table. Speaks > Of course my love is infinite and extends to you all. However, time is not infinite and thus I will randomly draw a name from this jar, a name of one of you with whom I will share a piece of my profound love.

kH draws a name from jar. Speaks > Would . . . approach the table please.
kH shares a piece of his profound love with . . .
END

From Sidcup with love,
..kH

Leave your name and
1. I'll respond with something random I like about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavour of Jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first/dearest memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.

If I do this for you, you must post this on your b*log or journal.

I made a decision tonight.
Was drinking some Rosè
contemplating.
B*logs will become important
historical
documents
for future generations
I believe
so b*loggers go on!
keep at it!
no matter how mundane
no matter how personal
no matter how trivial
keep at it
at it

The decision is this
I will start documenting my life
in letters
the truth
the whole truth
and nothing but the truth
so help me

The way I have felt things
the way I have seen things
the way I think about things
documented
in letters
hidden
away
away
until the day I
move on
die

Then the letters will be left
to whomever cares about me
the most
at that time
the truth
the whole truth
and nothing but the
so help me

I am still young
25
a perfect spot
from which to document
clearly
the earlier days
and then I will keep on
regularly
all will be documented
my people
my love
my kinky
as well as my altruistic
and my selfish
and my rational
feelings
and dreams
and thoughts
and impressions

The milestones
the touchstones
the events
the moments
the all
the everything
every
thing

A lifetime
of work
a lifetime's application
a detailed account
of the actualI
every bit
every significant
and not-so-significant
piece
of my life

This is my legacy
my all
my self
And whomever the recipient
of the document
is
will have full control
and right
over its distribution
or its demise

Interesting to start
documenting before
one's life has
reached its peak
will this document matter
will it prove important
significant
or trivial

We shall see
at the end
of the process.

Decisively,
..kH

Faithful readers of non-Icelandic origin
forgive me

I realize my last entry was almost entirely in Icelandic. I claim the right to do this from time to time, as it is much more natural for me, anyway, to speak and write in Icelandic, than it is for me to express myself in English. And truly, to be brutally honest, sometimes I just can't be arsed to make any communicative sequences in English. It's a great language, but it is tiring. This is true. I have now spoken English fluently for many years, and I have spent a number of years in countries where I spoke more English than my native language, and I find that an hour of speaking English is more exhausting than three hours of speaking Icelandic. I wonder why this is? What is it about the nature of these languages that explains this?

Okay, I am now officially an Apple Mac user, I proudly announce this. I am still learning and getting to know the new equipment, but it looks better and feels.. right. No idea. Maybe I've just decided to feel that way. But I chose to move from PC to Mac, for some personal reason that isn't quite clear to me.
Perhaps I have just been told too often that Mac Makes Sense, but whatever the real reason, I am happy with this.

Yes I am still at college. Why wouldn't I be? Did some of you read my mind while I had doubts?
Suddenly the college is flooded with boys and girls of the same private orientation as my own. The first two years of college it didn't really seem as if there were that many of us. This year, however, Rose Bruford College is queerer than it has been for years.
Calls for celebration, we'll party the way only WE know how to party (well, only WE and some uninhibited individuals of different orientations). Get the lights people! Here we go ..

What else.. day off today. Yay, that tickles my pickle. I'll finally have some quiet time - for homework!

Oh, and I just built a cottage in Italy. I share it with only one.

---
Now, I wanted to share the following with you. It is guidance for the day, I think it is an important encouragement:

OCTOBER 27
"Whether we regard difficulties in life as misfortunes or whether we view them as good fortune depends entirely on how much we have forged our inner determination. It all depends on our attitude or inner state of life. With a dauntless spirit, we can lead a cheerful and thoroughly enjoyable life. We can develop a "self" of such fortitude that we can look forward to life's trials and tribulations with a sense of profound elation and joy: "Come on obstacles! I've been expecting you! This is the chance that I've been waiting for!"
..Daisaku Ikeda

Preparing for A Journey Through Other Spaces,
..kH

Fragments of the author's conscious mind in the past quarter of a century I

Við upphaf þessarra skrifa, sit ég í upphækkuðum stól, húki yfir þeirri stóru eyðu sem þessi [skrif] mín [eru], með kertaljós í hægra horni sjónsviðs míns, og glugga við enda borðsins gegnt mér, en get ekki með nokkru einasta móti einbeitt mér. Ég veit ekki hvar hornsteinn frásagnarinnar ætti að vera; hvar hún hefst eða hvenær, eða hvernig í ósköpunum maður leggur uppí torfarinn leiðangur aftur í tímann með það fyrir augum að safna saman öllu þessu markverða sem er hvati þess að maður er að bagsa þetta, og koma því frá sér á skipulegan hátt.
Ég reyni að rifja upp atvikin, og setningarnar, og umhverfið, og um leið og ég kemst í snertingu við eitthvað af þessu fer allt að hringsnúast inní mér. Hjartað fer í hringi, hæga og óskipulega, rétt eins og það sé ölvað af tilfinningaspíra. Mér verður næstum ómótt, get í rauninni ekki greint hvort það er hjartað eða maginn sem er að snúast svona. En það er akkúrat þessi tilfinning sem verður endanlega til þess að ég er að reyna að festa söguna niður.
Þessi hringekja inní mér, sem ég á svo erfitt með að ráða við, eða koma frá mér, knýr mig til að reyna að segja frá því sem kemur henni af stað. Ef mér tekst það, ætli hún stoppi? Er það raunverulega það sem ég vil? Vil ég losna við hana, því er hún ekki sjálf staðfesting þess að sagan skiptir mig máli?

Við kynntumst fyrst í gegnum veraldarvefinn, ekki satt? Eða, nánar tiltekið, í litlum prívat heimi staðsettum á einum þræða hans. Þú varst fyrir löngu orðinn miklu færari en ég í að plokka svona þræði, og ferðast um veraldarvefinn semog aðra vefi. Þú varst orðinn mjög fimur í því, og hafðir gert þig heimakominn í öðrum heimum víðsvegar um þræði vefjarins, áður en þú steigst fyrst fæti inní heiminn okkar.

I was very happy to receive your letter, and thank you for the picture of Antony. I now have two – the first one came with the [initial] information I got about [him]. He looks like a very handsome boy, and I’m sure one could say the same of the whole family :)
Yes, I live in Iceland, a country far away from yours, and you may not even have heard much about it [ ... ] I am 20 years old, will be 21 in October [ ... ] I might even include original stories in my letters from time to time – merely for your, and hopefully the kids’, enjoyment :)
I work with kids a lot over here, I work at a mental hospital for children and adolescents [ ... ] When I heard of SOS – Kindendorf [at work], I was very interested in being a part of such a wonderful movement, and having a godchild in a foreign country surely is a rewarding experience :)

En þegar ég opna augun aftur er ekkert breytt. Við sitjum enn og kistan er á sínum stað. Ég er ennþá með óþægilegan náladofa í rassinum, og mamma rígheldur enn í hendina á mér. Hún heldur helst til of fast, og mér finnst að hún sé ekki að þessu til að hugga mig, heldur sé hún að ríghalda í það sem enn tilheyrir gamla lífinu. Það eina sem helst óbreytt.
Hún er ekkert fremur tilbúnari að takast á við þetta en ég! Ætli hún átti sig ekki á því að ég er breyttur frá því í síðustu viku, að ég tali ekki um vikuna þar á undan.

Voice over cont’d. Alex stops the car, standing on a viewpoint of the city. He makes his way into the city. Ill-shaven, depressed, has been aimlessly driving along in his convertible (Ford Mustang). Has decided to stay awhile.
What is the first thing he does in the city?

“Þér eruð stuttir í spuna
Á eftir þessu gæti fylgt heil RUNA
Af margvíslegum móðgunum – ég gef
Þér dæmi: Neih, sko þetta nef!
Hann rekur það í botn á hverjum bolla
Svo vöknar hann á nefbroddi og nösum
Hann verður að drekka úr HIMINháum glösum
Og undrandi: Nei, þetta ER ekki þúfa eða hóll
Né hæð né hnjúkur. Þetta er Tindastóll!
Hnýsinn: Hvað ætli’ann geymi inní þessum hólki?
Eitthvað sem hann leynir fyrir fólki?”

Ég sit í lest, sem liðast taktfast áfram ... lestarvagninn er tómur, ég sit hér einn, sem hæfir rólyndisstemmningunni vel. Vagninn er að einhverju leyti upplýstur, en nóttin á samt greiðan gang inn. Mér finnst hún fylla mig, ég síg ofan í sætið og ég get á einhvern dularfullan hátt fundið fyrir hverjum teininum sem lestin rennur yfir. Þá kemur vægur hnykkur, og líkami minn dansar með. Hann danglast með hverri hreyfingu vagnsins ... sem aftur skröltir í takt við alla hina vagnana sem gera hann að lest.

Svo kváðu guðir þeir:
Lát manninn skilja
Leyf ei rangra vegu villu stíga
Hald um það er lífið skóp
Virt sé hverfis-um mannsins minjar
Heiðri skal til halda
Líf sé litið ljóssins lugt
Hugum beina upp-við á
Lát sé samsté
Lát sé hópsté
Lífs ei samall-ein sté
Mánans mátann metið
Lífsljóss rótarrann
Minjahverfis neytt sé
Virt sé mannasköp

Dear Miko.
I hope this letter finds you well. I doubt this will reach you before Christmas, as I’m writing this rather late. The Postal Office declared that all packages to the western states of the U.S. had to be sent by December 7th [ ... ] I’m in bed, believe me or don’t, as I’m experiencing insomnia for the first time in a long while. I don’t know if you’ve ever been in bed a whole night without being able to fall asleep, but I tell you it’s horrible. It’s quite a torture to just lie still, trying not to think of anything [ ... ] My school is out for Christmas [ ... ] I hope I did good, at least I didn’t have much trouble with anything. . but maths. Oh, maths! Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl. Maths are, and always have been, my worst subject. And I have a great teacher too – she’s so good at maths that she has trouble explaining them [ ... ] she does not understand why we all just sit there, glass-eyed, and scratch our heads. Why are they teaching us such complicated mathematics? I mean, I was good at maths while they were normal and made sense [ ... ] But now maths have just gone insane. They’re actually teaching us how to draw and make pictures out of formulas. We get lines, and circles, and triangles, and Us. . why would you ever want to make (2x – 13) + (4x – 7) = 36 into a circle? When in life is there ever going to be an incident or a situation when this kind of knowledge is useful? Honestly! A man is dying in front of you, begging you to Heimlich the peach right out of his throat, but all you manage to accomplish is: “No, um, sorry man, I don’t know how to – but I do know how to turn a funny looking maths problem into a circle.” Yup, you’re going to be the man of the hour there. .

Ljósin kvikna
kalt herbergi
sem bráðum er hitað upp
af tuttugu smáverum
mér og ykkur
---
Ég er hér
þú ert þar
en augu okkar mætast
Ég býð þau velkomin
með sjálfkrafa gestrisni
Varir stutt
Augnabliks heimsókn er heimsókn samt
---
Við hverfum
eftir sitja lestur og hlustun
Hún er ánægð, drottningin
Við erum prúðasta hirðin
ég og þið
---
En einbeitingin flöktir
bíður annarrar heimsóknar
hundraðogáttatíu gráða snúnings
Þú ert kyrr
Smá got!
ég tísti
Augnabliks heimsókn er heimsókn samt
---
Andskotans bjallan!
Andrúmið slitnar – við birtumst
Út úr musterinu svífa
tuttugu smásálir
við og ég
---
Þú tilheyrir aldrei hópnum
svífur einn
virðir fyrir þér blómin
Ég er girtur inni
þrái að komast undan
Smá gola vindir höfði þínu við
Augnabliks heimsókn er heimsókn samt
---
Í sterkari hviðu er jörðinni þeytt undan fótum mér –
Augna – tillit
vegna bliks í laufi
þeytt heim – að dyrum
sókn í vörn
er einskis virði
Í annan heim – að bera beinin
í sókn um þráða hvíld
ligg samt með opin augun – er ég dey
---
Minningin frýs
á ellefta vetri síðan þá.

Ath. Mikilvægt að detta ekki inn í sögu eins og lesandi!
Hvernig eyddi persónan síðustu viku fyrir sögubyrjun?
Aðrar uppl: T.d. hvað gerir persónan þegar hún er reið? Hrygg? Hrædd? Æst? Hamingjusöm?
(með höndum, andliti, búknum)
Ath. Átök þarf að sýna frá fleiri en einu sjónarmiði til að gera þau trúverðug.

Fagurfræðileg fullnæging: þegar höfundur nær að festa eitthvað (tilfinningalega upplifun) í verk sitt.

I have a secret. A secret that I only confess to the shadows. I guess you could call it a dark secret. I’ll whisper it. Could you hear it?
My secret isn’t safe with anybody. Not even me! Sometimes I feel bad about it, sometimes I feel proud! [ ... ] It’s something that crawls within me, forever hidden in the depths of me.

[ ... ] stórt orð,
merkingin svo endanleg eitthvað. Í fyrstu stamaði ég alltaf á d – inu. Þetta orð er svo sárt að taka sér til munns þegar það þýðir eitthvað. Þegar merking þess vísar til ...
Geturðu ímyndað þér að horfa í augun á ástvini og stama þessu ... reyna að segja það varlega, á réttum stað á réttri stund.
Brosir maður? Grætur maður? Orðar maður skilaboðin með flatneskju? Uppgerðu hlutleysi? Horfir maður yfirleitt í augun á viðkomandi ástvini?
Hvernig eru viðbrögð hennar? Afsakar hún sig fyrir að hafa hugsanlega ekki heyrt rétt? Verður henni orða vant? Heldur hún augnsambandi? Hlær hún? Andmælir hún og vonast eftir að vita betur í móðursjúkri afneitun? Brotnar hún saman? Réttir hún fram höndina í ástúðlegri samúð? Strýkur hún manni um kinnina og ... fer strax að syrgja?
Sennilega verður maður þó fyrst að kyngja þessu sjálfur áður en maður fer að upplýsa aðra um staðreyndir málsins.
Hvernig verður mín minnst? Hvernig vil ég að mín verði minnst? Vel, að sjálfsögðu. En hvernig? Hverjir vil ég að minnist mín helst?

Þegar ég sá þig fyrst rankaði ég við mér eins og af svarthvítum draumi. Ég hafði ekki hugmynd um að veröldin hefði verið í þessum gráa lit, fyrren þú tókst þér stöðu í tilverunni og skreyttir hana þessum ótrúlegu litum. Ég hafði unað mér vel í grárri og tilbreytingarlausri tilverunni, því ég var illu vanur. En þegar allt fylltist lit, varð ég óöruggur og elti uppi grámann hvar sem hann sást.
Þetta var saga sambands okkar.

Ímyndaðu þér fugl. Einu sinni á 1000 ára fresti, flýgur hann að stærsta fjalli í alheiminum, sem er á endamörkum hans. Þessi ferð tekur 1000 ár. Þegar hann er kominn brýnir hann gogginn á fjallinu, og flýgur síðan aftur heim. Þegar fuglinn hefur brýnt gogginn svo oft á fjallinu að það er orðið að engu, þá er liðið eitt andartak af eilífðinni.

Ókunnugur: “Það er svo margt sem býr bakvið augun í þér. En hvað er það?”
Ég veit það ekki einu sinni sjálfur. Ég hefjú margsinnis heyrt að í augum mínum miðjum sé pollur einhverskonar sem gefi til kynna að undir yfirborði hans sé mikil dýpt. Djúpur brunnur einhvers sem ég hendi ekki reiður á. En ég finn fyrir því. Brunnurinn hlýtur að liggja niður í innsta kjarna minn, því ég get ekki komist í nálægð við innihaldið nema á einstökum stundum. Við einstaka aðstæður. Ég á það til að finna fyrir því sem í dýptinni býr þegar ég hlusta á tónlist. Ekki alla tónlist. Það er bara sum tónlist sem nær að koma hreyfingu á það sem er þarna á kafi í mér. Þá fer ég að sjá myndir, og ýmislegt sem venjulega eru bara tilfinningar taka á sig sýnileg form. List virðist kalla þetta fram. Ákveðin málverk, ákveðin tónverk, og ákveðnar sögur. Og skriftirnar eru raunverulega bara tilraun mín til að hræra í þessum djúpa brunni og sjá hvað í honum leynist – en hvort ég næ stjórn á því sem upp kemur, er engan veginn víst.

“Þegar ásetningur þinn breytist, mun allt byrja að leiða í þá átt sem þú kýst. Samstundis og þú ákveður að þú munir vera sigursæll, umbreytir hver taug og sérhver fruma líkama þíns sér í þágu sigurs þíns.”
..Daisaku Ikeda

Kæri ...

Þó að ég viti kannski ekki nákvæmlega hvað maður segir við einstakling sem tekst á við erfiðleika á borð við þá sem þú tekst nú á við, þá dettur mér í hug að aðilar með meiri visku en ég hef sankað að mér geti komist nærri því.

“Ef slæm veikindi gera vart við sig hjá þér, ekki verða reiður eða hatursfullur. Ekki verða sorgmæddur eða vorkenna sjálfum þér. Í stað þess, skaltu loga af von og fyllast tilfinningu um hlutverk þitt á grundvelli trúar öllum stundum, og viðhaltu miklu viljaþreki. Manneskja sem gerir það getur unnið bug á veikindum sínum, og getur gert baráttuna við veikindin áhrifameiri og jafnvel uppörvandi ...
“Þegar þú skýrlega setur þér fyrir sjónir sigursæla niðurstöðu, greypir hana í hjarta þér og ert staðfastlega sannfærður um að þú náir henni, mun heilinn viðstöðulaust vinna að því að láta þá huglægu mynd sem þú hefur skapað rætast. Og, með þrotlausu átaki, mun sá sigur verða að veruleika. Þú ert sjálfur skáld eigin sigurs.”
..Daisaku Ikeda

“Vonin er förunautur styrksins og móðir velgengninnar. Þau okkar með djúpstæða von búa yfir náðargjöf kraftaverksins.”
..Sydney Bremer

“Hugrekkið er ekki aðeins ein megindyggðin, heldur birtingarmynd hverrar dyggðar þegar á reynir.”
..Clive Staples Lewis

Take that with you *hoppar í poll*,
..kH

H.K. Maksenseer,

Northling was a peculiar creature
that would inflate or deflate
'ccording to what he was fed
an altruistic egotist
a paradox
that withstood
yet yielded to
being led by circumstance and players
in the grotesqueness of life
- the voluntary antonym of strife -
the inner truce of which
was but a shattered piece of glass
glued together by naïveté
a regular purple carcass
a decomposed reflection of weaknesses suppressed
a sad but true portrayal of: a (bal-)loon obsessed.

A northwas peculiar creatling
inthat dewould flate or flate
toccording hewhat fedwas
anal tistruistic ego
paradoxa
withat stood
yieldyeted to
byled circumbeing anders playstance
in grotof the lifesqueness
- of Anton Volunym thetary strife -
inner theof trucewhich
a buttered pie of glasswas shace
togethered by naïgluveté
a purpular regcarcle ass
a supposed decompressed weak offlection renesses
ad: AA loon obs. (-lab) buttrayal portrue ofsessed

Sensemaker,
..kH

Okay..
Here we go.

A new chapter has been opened. I try to meet it with an open mind, as one should regarding every chapter of one's life. This one is a tough one to swallow though: at about 7 this morning a quarter of a century had passed from my birth.

My lucky number has thus become: 9331
Luckier by the day.

I am back in England, back in Uni. Challenging subjects this term. Thursdays off! Off and not off, really .. there is a lot of research work involved and the work load will only increase every week up until Christmas break.
My life state is getting higher. It was pretty low the first days after my arrival to this Kingdom. But I generally do not easily accept unnecessary suffering, at least not without a fight, and so I have done my utmost to heighten my state of life. Increasing my chanting every day, and finding time to nurture my consciousness beyond curricular demands.

I have been "klukk"-ed, or b*log tagged, which basically means that I have to reveal five random statements about myself on my b*log, and then pass the "klukk" on to five other b*loggers. I herewith thus reveal the following:
1) Even though I love colors in general, my favourite color is yellow.
2) And yet, funnily enough, I have a genetic inability to distinguish differences in hue -> I am colorblind.
3) As a child I had a rich empathy for inanimate objects. I used to encourage them in word (whispers) and thought, if I witnessed people treating them in an unfair, or bad, manner.
4) I had piano lessons for a couple of years as a child, and they involved homework. I hereby confess that I sometimes lied in my homework register that I had done the work I was expected to do at home. And because I was alone at home for a big part of the day, I got away with this. (Needless to say, I don't play the piano particularly well today)
5) I once, as a child, chased my younger brother around our flat with a knife, and accidentally cut him. He bled.

I have not made up my mind as to whom I will b*log tag, many of my b*logging acquaintances already have carried these out, so my "klukk"s will have to wait.

Happy birthday to me? Fairly.

Older and wiser,
..kH

My summer holiday is over. I leave tomorrow, back to Uni.
I do not look forward to it, at all actually. This, the wonderful summer and fall, has been a chapter of my life that is hard to close.
The following entry is quite simply a tribute of thanks,
to the people that made this summer so unforgettable.

The tribute is in Icelandic, so non-Icelandic readers forgive me please, but even if you don't speak Icelandic the entry should nevertheless be mostly understandable. It's very simple, it's just THANKS

...

Takk Hoffý, Haukur, Palli minn E., Hreiðar, Díana systir, Jói minn P. (Wium), Lúlli, Jói Dan, Sævar, Búi, Fúsi, og Joeri.

Takk Gummi.

Takk Eyrún & Gemma & Ixchel & Laura, Steinunn & Gugga & Jóhanna.

Takk Siggi.

Takk mamma & amma, Arnar & Hafþór, Nonni & Heiðar, Hilmar & Beggi, Maggi Matt & Ásta, Bjartur & Blíða.

Takk Sigur Rós, Antony, James Blunt, Keane, Emilíana Torrini, Eberg, og Kurt Nilsen - fyrir "sándtrakk" sumarsins.

Takk Haffi !

og..

Takk Jens :)

Bless,
..kH

This entry is a sort of index. Below I have inserted links to selected entries, some of which are hidden deep deep down in the dustiest archives of Hansablogg, and for interested readers these can serve as wormholes toward the potential "Best Of"s (bear in mind that some entries are not isolated and you may need to scroll down to find them, the titles will guide you):

April 23 and 24, 2003

April 30, 2003

Earlier night shift period - August 27, 2003

The infamous beginnings(in Icelandic)

January 29, 2005

People & Communication

February 2, 2005

The Perfect Couple

February 15, 2005

Valentine's Day (2005)

March 10, 2005

A Love Affair on Top of the Opera House

March 23, 2005

Bjartur's Confrontation

April 3, 2005

I Didn't Sleep for 48 Hours

April 10, 2005

Saturday Night

April 18, 2005

Spunky Meets Pètya

June 14, 2005

Hello, faithful readers

July 19, 2005

The Moments are Frail

July 29, 2005

Confessions of a Hospitable Heart

July 31, 2005

Who is Your Alter Ego?

...
All entries written in Bratislava, and central Europe, in 2005, are to be found between February 6 and May 13. Interested readers can find the dates in the archives.

Best to all,
..kH

I made an attempt at early evening b*logging, but after I had written the entry and proceeded to publish it, Blogger informed me that it was under maintenance and the whole entry was lost.
Why do I mention this and not just go on to rewrite what I had already written? Well, my b*logging pattern has for the past weeks been that I b*log at work, usually long after midnight. Devoted readers may have noticed a difference in texture and style from my entries that date back to the past winter. I started to suspect that my choice of words and phrasing might be influenced by the late hours.
Thus, long story short, the attempt at an early evening entry was intended for evaluation; would there be a difference?
There was. My early evening entry was more down to earth. However early evening has passed, and as usual this is being written at an ungodly hour of the night. So, my dear devoted readers from near or far, enjoy the same poetic spirit as you have in the entries of the past weeks, as I proceed now onto matters of. .

What? Matters of what? What matters? Do I? I do? So do you. So, do you? You do so matter. You matter so do I. So do ma. . and pa.

...
Time is of such importance to me now
it is flying by
- dying out -
and I don't have much of it to begin with
Work is killing it
prematurely.

I was unfortunate enough to sign, IN BLOOD, a contract for work duty, rue the day!, as the work has proven to cause me more trouble than I anticipated.
It eats time. My time. Time that I could have spent with the people that matter to me.
With the people at the places
that matter.
This work does not matter to me
- I confess -
at all. I am here 'cause money is useful.

Oh what a waste
especially now
when so little
is left
is left
is left
*extended echoes*
The emptiness of it all
the pointlessness
the waste
of time
of time
of time
time of
of time
that's mine

Aye the being alone and the painting of portraits in my head of what I am missing
has driven me to madness
- lucky I should be here -
madness and kinkiness of discourse
has challenged the supposed norm of perception
of which
there is none
here
- lucky then I should be here -

...
A night that matters has just barely been saved from being swallowed by work.
I was, and am still, going to celebrate the twentieth birthday of someone special this night
this very Saturday night
and work made an attempt at destroying my freedom to do so.
It didn't prevail
the battle was won
by me
by us.

Onward ho!,
..kH

It is funny how incredibly I feel tonight.

I have started to suspect, in the past dozen months, that men
- at least I -
go through a kind of period every month.
We all
- at least I -
know women do.
So why shouldn't men
although not in the same way.

I think that every month I go through at least two climaxes
at the two different ends of the same mood pole.
There is a point in every month where
I feel nothing will work out and my self-image and confidence is very low.
There is a point in every month where
I feel I can accomplish anything and everything will work out wonderfully and my confidence is blooming.
Could this have to do with a kind of hormonal period?
Could this have to do with the moon and the rising and falling of the tide?
Our bodies contain a lot of water
so does the ocean
why then should the moon not affect us too.

However, even though I am quite sure I experience both extremes every month
I have not been able to observe whether there is a clear pattern of how the extremes develop through the period.
For instance, there is a difference in my mood and confidence from only yesterday.

Today I am full of energy and positivity. I am all smiles and I see in the mirror the image of something that appeals to me. Something I can almost be proud of.
Of course, to be fair, at essence
- fundamentally -
I am proud of who and what I am.
And of what I shall become.

At the moment
I see
the adventure in life,
the prettiness of my surroundings
- the awareness of which much too often lies latent -,
and feel
love somewhere in the middle of me,
Now a moment later
I still see
a hope before me,
a playful element to every task
- to every confrontation -,
and feel
thankful and happy.

There is a song, that really encases what I feel
the whole mystery of it
- puts it in a box and ties on top a pretty bow -,
the heart of which seems to correspond to the heart of my current life-state,
as good music tends to do,
sonically and lyrically,

Hoppípolla by Sigur Rós.

Apologies to non-Icelandic but interested readers
as the lyrical part of the song will prove hard for them to grasp.
Just believe me
- have confidence -
and you'll feel it.

I am thankful for this song.
So wonderful.

Tingly,
..kH

Overall, Your Observation Skills Get: C

You tend to notice the big things in life... But the details aren't exactly your forte

How Observant Are You?

Now I am quite bored

.."You're beautiful, it's true"..

Friday nights are tough on the job. In the same manner as are Saturday nights. Lack of people online to chat with. Everyone out on the town. Or somewhere.
All I have is the music.

.."I'll take what I can before you leave, that is just a smile"..

And the book. I have the book. Why I haven't opened it is a mystery. Something is stopping me. Perhaps the mood. Time? It's 03:33 a.m.

.."Come on and show me that silky skin"..

It is only my second night this week and already I feel the night getting longer. It gets shorter on Sunday. More people online, in theory at least. We will see. I really should just try and get back into the book.
Reading books can make you tired. Worth the risk? Who'd care if I napped anyway? I guess I would.

.."I waited a long long time, I waited a long long time"..

The coffee available at the University Hospital of Iceland is not quality stuff. Even for an experienced consumer of coffee it is tough to swallow. But the cups here are cute. The one I currently sip from has got a picture of a baby mouse in a blue shirt airborne by a yellow balloon. The other side of the cup shows the baby mouse with his mummy mouse. Either he is yet to be airborne and his mummy mouse has just given him the balloon, or he has been saved and is being told never ever to do that again.

.."So lovely was the loneliness of a wild lake"..

There are these - weird green but almost transparent flies that wander in from the outside and I do not think I have ever seen this particular type of fly anywhere before. Only here - on my cozy shifts at the hospital hut do they decide to make their existence known. Ugly bastards - the green but almost transparent flies. Not a big fan of flies - me. Not a big fan of insects really - me. All due respect - to insects for they do serve purpose. Would never harm insects - me. Would never harm anything really - me. Is key - respect.

.."Earth come be light, mind you are free, love your surface"..

03:52 a.m.

.."We live among plastic lions"..

I could go on. Forever I am sure. Typing words and connecting them to each other. It certainly murders time, brutally. Twenty minutes have disappeared without trace, so far.

.."Light become earth, free your mind, surface your love"..

I will fantasize now about events and moments to look forward to. Leaves me feeling content even if they haven't happened yet. Hope is crucial and pretty easy to mould. Sometimes I fear my entries give a rather gloomy picture of their author. Gloomier than is necessary. I am not that gloomy, to be honest with my readers. Not gloomy at all. Positive, shiny and enthusiastic.

.."Coffee's pouring out my ears, it's the only thing they have in here"..

Quotes taken from the music that has been the undercurrent of the writing of this entry.

.."And my heart stops beating"..

Chained by work but humming gleefully,
..kH

I am really tired

Back at work after precious time off
The week off is now a memory of something that tastes of freedom
Even though I fully realize that I am just as free now as then
Just feels different

All my days are one long night
- 05:45 a.m. -
The time in between working hours
is only a pathetic attempt at life in daylight
Days are digested by the merciless work schedule
what is spurted out is only a resemblance of day
- a couple of hours, maybe three -

Oh five forty seven.

In just under three hours
I head off
to home
to bed
to empty bed
empty life

Sleep only to stay awake during work
is work then the cause for sleep or sleep the cause for work
- 05:50 a.m. -

I have been institutionalized
and I never even noticed.

Tickedy tock,
..kH

Predicament
predicament ..

I guess I must be half-way through my 3 months at home,
more than half-way even..
that is tragic
I can't bear to think of it - so why am I!

I have started working 13 hour night-shifts.
And if that doesn't sound exciting enough, I work 7 nights in a row
Time is totally lost during these working periods
but after each period I get 7 days off.

Fair?
Fairly..

Life treats me well. I got ill but I got better
I shake things off pretty quickly
And life has brought new and exciting people into my life
I love it when life does that
Life rocks!

- I just need to get better at preserving what it brings -
I need to learn to make jam out of my berries of acquaintance
- and make it taste that sweet

Here we go again.

Lucky number: 9277,
..kH

The below results are amazingly accurate,
or would you - provided you know me personally - not agree?

Your Life Path Number Is 3

3 Your Life Path is one that emphasizes expression, sociability, and creativity as the lesson to be learned in this life. You are among the entertainers of the world, bright, effervescent, sparkling people with very optimistic attitudes. You possess the most exceptional creative skills: normally in the verbal realm, writing, speaking, acting, or similar endeavors. The lesson to be learned with a 3 life path is that of achievement through expression. The bright side of this path stresses harmony, beauty and pleasures; of sharing your creative talents with the world. Capturing your capability in creative self-expression is the highest level of attainment for this life path. You are warm and friendly, a good conversationalist, social and open. A good conversationalist both from the standpoint of being a delight to listen to, but even more importantly, one who has the ability to listen to others. You are always a welcome addition to any social situation and know how to make others feel at home. Your reative imagination is present, if sometimes latent, as the you may not be moved to develop you talent. Your approach to life tends to be exceedingly positive, and your disposition is almost surely sunny and open-hearted. You effectively cope with all of the many setbacks that occur in life and readily bounce back for more. It is usually easy for you to deal with problems because you can freely admit the existence of problems without letting them get you down. You have good manners and seem to be very conscious of other people's feelings and emotions. Life is generally lived to the fullest, often without much worry about tomorrow. You are not very good at handling money because of a general lack of concern about it. You spend it when you have it and don't when you don't. On the negative side, a 3 may be so delighted with the joy of living that the life becomes frivolous and superficial. You may scatter your abilities and express little sense of purpose. You can be an enigma, for no apparent reason you may become moody and tend to retreat. Escapist tendencies are not uncommon with the 3 life path, and you find it very hard to settle into one place or one position. Guard against being critical of others, impatient, intolerant, or overly optimistic. Typically, the life path 3 gives an above-average ability in some art form. This can encompass painting, interior decorating, landscaping, crafts, writing, music, or the stage, or all of the above. You are apt to be a happy, inspired person, constantly seeking the stimuli of similar people. Your exuberant nature can take you far, especially if you are ever able to focus your energies and talents.

What Is Your Life Path Number?

Your Ideal Relationship is Serious Dating

You're not ready to go walking down the aisle. But you may be ready in a couple of years. You prefer to date one on one, with a commitment. And while chemistry is important, so is compatibility.

What's Your Ideal Relationship?

This lifetime, a queer journey of twenty-four years and ten months and two days.
Lucky number: 9272

A minuscule account of baby phase
Baby Hansi had big eyes. Eyes that wanted to drink up the whole world in one enormous gulp. Around the pupils lay lochs of bluest sincerity, pure ponds that glimmered from the light of a most innocent mindscape. These eyes mesmerized and enchanted the beholders that Baby Hansi later learned to manipulate.
As Baby Hansi grew more aware he harnessed the endowment of enchantment, his first super-power, and got showered with material benefits. He would spellbind the young women and flirt with the young men behind the counters at which his mum made transactions, and make them want to award him with gifts.

A minuscule retrospection of elementary phase
I remember Róbert. The dark-haired, brown-eyed and dark-skinned demigod of some of my early fantasies. His class used to line up beside mine, and I used to line up beside him. Without fail. Until he started to suspect. But the quick-thinker that I was made it all sound normal, as if it just happened by chance. Every time.
One of the great failures as well. A very early example of a character that I would have liked to involve intimately in my lifestory, but could never bring myself to make the action necessary - to determinedly befriend.
The number of examples grew with time. I got better though.

Theory
Did I discard one of my great endowments somewhere along the way?
If I did I have managed to somewhat rediscover it.
Today I use a "mature" compound of enchantment and determined action to enrich my lifestory of demigods.

Post-theory ideation
Should I write dedicated entries on some of these demigods?
Might it prove an interesting read?

Going on 9273,
..kH

The discussion will be about art.

As art is a path onto which I have been by fate ordained
the thought of it consumes a great deal of my time and thought
It is a bit funny, a bit weird, a bit fascinating
that I have been on this path since the dawn of this lifetime
How does a child know where it wants to go ?
Why is a child more fascinated by one phenomenon than another ?
What is personality made of ?
and it is hopefully at the end of this path that I am to be buried.

This lifetime has
- to this point -
been a queer journey of twenty-four years and ten months and two days
- still counting my lucky number in days -
and if the progression along the path has been slow it has also been quite infallible
An almost gravitational pull
a constant need for expression via artistic devices
of making being my vocation
of sharing a self that never fully stood its own
'till now.

It is from hereon
that I am capable.

Life feeds into art
and artistic achievements
- discoveries -
feed into life

- it is a mutuality -

and thus the higher my lucky number
the deeper
more fruity
more blooming
the vaster
my sensibilities
my art
my capability.

Each day heightens potential
but potential has to be disciplined
to form.

Introvert-to-be-extrovert,
..kH

Who is your alter ego this time?

Mnemon

What does Mnemon do?

Cry and conceal


What does Mnemon conceal?

His feelings. His humility

Why does he do that?

He is angry. Hurt. Tired. Egotistic. Insecure, mostly, I suspect

Why is he insecure?

Lack of faith. In himself. And some lack of faith in others

Is crying his way of dealing with insecurity?

No. Crying is what's left when he's alone in the trap he has set

Who is the trap set for?

He's trapped. Trapped in habitual defence mechanisms

Which are?

Concealment. Subdual


How does Mnemon subdue?

He makes less intense or prominent

What does he subdue?

Fuck all. For nothing is truly subdued. Only misrepresented

What is misrepresented?

The level of feel

Misrepresented as what?

Less

Is it safe to assume the crying reveals he is unsatisfied?

It represents the collapse of mechanisms


What would Mnemon rather be doing?

Giving. Without being drained

Does subdual assist in the matter?

No. The mechanism leaves him unsatisfied

Describe the mechanism?

Disciplined assessment of subject's capacity for reception and reciprocation. Resulting in a controlled subdual of veracity. Producing subtle but base deceptive signifiers of emotive activity

Concealment of true emotions, or limiting of honest expression?

Akin to pay-per-view


Can the behaviour really be isolated in an alter ego?

Mnemon is crying

Can the behaviour be dealt with through such objectification?

Don't question. It only leads to unfulfillment

Is confrontation not more productive than separation?

This whole thing is a misrepresentation.


Fly on the wall?
..kH

This one is looking out for my mum. Can't you see, mummy, he/she needs you!

Confessions of a hospitable heart.

I have tormented my host. Many times. At least he seems to think that what I am doing is tormenting him. Torment is not my intention. I swear. But it can not be helped. I am impulsive, I will grant you that, and underlying my impulses are all these emotes.
The emotes burn for expression, they long for embracing and sharing. It is their whole existence.

My function, among others, is nursing the emotes. I feed them a portion of the blood that flows through my chambers. I keep them warm. I entertain them. But they can only be distracted to a point. They have their own natural instincts that eventually burst forth.
Usually it takes an external impetus to ignite the bursts. But an emotive burst is beyond my capacity for subjugation. An emote bursts and I am subsequently taken over by the force, and impelled to express what the bursting emote functioned to express.

My host wants to calm me down. He claims it is too painful. The bursts.
But he is energized by the bursts. He acts. He embraces and shares. And he can not claim the pain he feels stems from the burst, because the burst is followed with a tingling; a collage of positives, goods and carings, an extension of purpose.
The pain, and the pain certainly is awful, stems rather from the inadequacy of the external impetuses to meet with the energized acts of my host.

It is a real pity. The loving energy created by these bursts is enough to fuel a passion and a passionate loyalty for lifetimes. How tragic, then, that these external few, who act as the necessary impetuses for these bursts, have been unable to requite them.

I get the blame. In my host's confusion the only real, or plausible, re-action to the disappointments is to look inward. To work on what is his to work on. His own being. And within his being I am the core through which his inward-vision can't penetrate. So I am to be tamed. This, he feels, is the only solution.
A tamed heart, he speculates, will limit and control the bursts, and only express portions, ready-made, that are never larger than what the externals are able to requite.

This is a predicament. For, as an integral part of my host's being, I can not resign. At the same time I can not be tamed, not truly. I will remain my impulsive emotionally subjected self.
My host will inevitably understand this. And perhaps even learn to be proud of it. Proud of me, and my hospitality. And one day, in the not so distant future, I believe, my host will be blessed with an external special, who will requite his amazing potential.

I confess, I am a hospitable heart. But I can not be larger than my host. He will just have to allow himself to grow to his fullest potential, which, ultimately, will then be in symmetry to me.

Beating for
..kH

The moments are frail.

The moments from where we stood to where we lie.
As each passes I know it can be the last. It chokes me. It chokes me the familiar choke that I have known for far too long. The choke that has taught me to relish, to linger. The choke that has cursed me and put defeat into each victory.

But I relish. I linger. I stay awake and watch. I want to love for as long as I can squeeze it in. I don't want to leave but I know I'll have to. And by the time I have left everything will have changed. I can not turn back to this, for these moments pass and never return. It chokes me. It chokes me so hard.

They are so frail. If I pull too hard they will tear.

So I try to caress them.
I run my finger down the silky threads of this moment of you and me, and the next. Trying to memorize each sensation, each feel each taste each breath and beat, but the more I try the more it refuses to fossilize. It is only in the most intimate spontaneous seconds that anything is set in memory. Memory objects control.

I can only try to be all there in the frail moments. I can persist but they will perish nonetheless. And my state of bliss becomes a state of mourning its imminent end.
You breathe in I breathe out You breathe out I breathe in
But each breath, inasmuch as it connects our beings, passes
Each breath is a moment
Each beat of your heart is a moment
But passes
It all
Passes

I can not hold on to it no matter how hard I try
It chokes me
If I reach out too desperately it tears
I know you will dissolve so I try to look harder
Listen closer
Breathe slower
Smell clearer
Taste longer

But the moments are frail

But they are our moments
and will always be ours
even if the memory of them will fade
they will have been ours

I relish but am defeated.

To you,
..kH

The above picture I snatched off another blogsite, because I knew this kitten was definitely waving to my mum for her neverending kindness to his/her feline brothers and sisters.
He/she says "Meouw" to Blíða and Bjartur too!

As the screaming reminded Hansi where he was working, he sat down and reflected.
He reflected on how happy he was to not be consumed with mental pain and anguish, to not be lost where a person never should be lost, within him or herself. The world of the self is a person's domain, a person's haven if ever there is one. If one is chained within the world of the self, tormented by fear or pain, there, at least, is no external haven to which one can run. There is no fleeing inner torment. Only dealing with it.

...
The screaming came from elsewhere.
Not from here.
It was terrible nonetheless.
I can still make it out actually.

The horror of mental pain.
The horror of a person's inner hell.
The horror of the inner which calls for disarray to the outer.
And the disarray caused by an inner manifests to be dealt with by outsiders.
I can still make it out.

...
Hansi felt truly bad, not only for the person screaming, but for the people doing their best at dealing with the screamer's despair. He did not miss these occurrences in the slightest, and hearing the screams rattled him both because the mere sound of them was truly awful, but also because it reminded him of the days where he acted as one of the hopeful outsiders, trying his best, as everyone did, to calm a despairing person in their acute suffering.
Here he sat, in the calmness of his current workplace, within which an occurrence of the kind could well be expected, but where nights seemed always to pass quietly. It made him feel safe. And at the same time he could rejoice over the fact that those sleeping under his care might not be suffering as much as some others, this very night, in this very building.

...
I try to let my mind wander toward the happy things that I have been experiencing.
I have been so lucky.
Here I have been at home for about twenty days. But it feels much longer.
Which is great, for it means I have managed to make the most of my time.
My time here, and I have a lot of time left, has passed slowly.
Every moment has been relished.

I have spent wonderful moments with wonderful people who have given me wonderful things.
Not in the material as much as in the physical and spiritual.
I have spent wonderful moments with my family, that I miss for such a big part of the year.
I have spent wonderful moments with my friends, that I miss for that same part of the year.

I can still make out the screams.
Happy thoughts..

Yesternight I celebrated with a large group of people.
We celebrated our existence.
A friend made me so proud.
A lover surprised me.
I am still surprised.
But it is a happy surprise.

Happy thoughts..
I can't make out the screams now.

...
Hansi was calm again.
And happy.

The night got darker,
..kH

I am still at the spot.
05 : 51 a.m.

I have counted, here on the spot, 5 hours and 39 minutes.
Does that mean I am half-way there, through the night, dayward onto morning?
More than half-way, aren't I?

What has happened at the spot this night?
Less reading than I expected.
More communication with angels of the night.
Angels of my life in the night.
Some for lack of sleep.
Some for celebrating time off.
Some from habit. Those were the more silent of the angels.

A diaper has been changed.
Coffee has been consumed.
So have bananas, kiwis, oat biscuits and cheese.
Water and apple juice.

Spot on, still
..kH

I welcome myself back to this spot.
The spot in front of the computer.
The spot where my working nights are spent.
The spot of spots.
The spot where books are read.
The spot of all spots.
The spot where I communicate without speaking a word.
The spot of mimes. The spot of chimes. The spot of slowly passing times.

It is at this fixed spot that I will now count the next 7 hours and 50 minutes.
I count them through reading, writing, and contemplation.
Perhaps I will change a diaper or two.
It happens.
Perhaps I will collect some trash.
It certainly happens.
Perhaps I will gather some dirty linen.
It usually happens.

The spot of spots.
This very spot.
At twelve past midnight,
..kH

It is very early morning. 05 : 39 a.m. local time.

Thought I might reflect on the past 24 hours. 24 hours ago I was sitting right here, right where I am, waiting for my shift to end. It ended approximately 2 hours and twenty-five minutes later. I went home, which usually takes about 35 minutes from here. Buses are slow transport, and they tend sometimes not to arrive at the most convenient points in time or space; either one will miss one's connections because the bus schedule is not fitted to one's needs, or one simply needs to get off at a place from which one has to walk for a while in order to get to one's desired destination. Weather, here, is crucial in relation to the lack or abundance of enjoyment and pleasure from the predicament.

I then slept. Attempted to. Took a while. I then slept.
I woke up to find myself facing the afternoon, and messages from two wonderful people. I replied to the messages. Several times in one case. While simply arriving at a quick and easy decision in the other.

I went out. Spent the early evening with a very important person. It was great. Made my day, so to speak, as without that very positive ingredient to the mundane flow I probably would have arrived back here, to this spot, feeling I wasted a day on nothing in particular.

Turned out the day was great.
Then I came back here.
Here I remain still.
It is 05 : 49 a.m.

Ticking clocks,
..kH

Nighttime sharpens
Heightens each sensation
Darkness stirs
And wakes imagination
Silently the senses
Abandon their defences

or something along those lines. Ghostly visions and macabre sounds abound within the fortress I have built around myself.. the shadows are closing in.
Take me away, darkness, sail me away on your silky cushions. Let my limp body bounce over the landscapes you hide under your cape.
Let this night forever be, and last longly..

I have conducted an interesting duologue with a creature that seems to stride around the ward during nighttime. I call, it answers back. I am excited by its unexpected existence.
There it is now. Glaring at me from the living room. Those glaring green eyes. And there it jumped! Where's it gone?! ..

I can hear its little feet tapping on the floorboards. I will hunt it.

Cuckoo,
..kH

I am quite currently working the Graveyard Shift at a psychiatric ward of the University Hospital of Iceland. I am sitting here.. not that much to do really.. and I started thinking of my b*log.

It has been nice, this first night of mine in the new job, calm and quieting.. I have had reassuring and positive communication with a handful of wonderful people, all through the Net. I am thankful for MSN messenger. What a device! And also I must extend my thanks to whomever downloaded the software onto the staff computers. I myself would not have had the gall to do it without asking permission I believe. Thanks.. whoever you are.. probably a nightwatchman like myself as it is us who most direly are in need of such modes of late-night communication on the job.

I love the night. I have no objections to staying awake through the most part of it. However, I do object to sleeping off a big part of the day. Can one be a night and day person at the same time? I seem to be. In the night I find a dark romance. In the day.. I feel more alive I guess.
A nocturnal admirer of the day, I am. I ought to start a club. Where art thou my brothers? Nocturnal lovers of days.
Tragic that it is almost inhumanly possible to experience the whole of night and the whole of day without losing grasp of reality. The body and mind are weak.. plus, I have heard (not sure how reliable my sources are) that by staying up nights one shortens one's life.
Can it be true? Is it worth it? Has anyone done a scientific survey of whether death rates at a young age are common among nightwatchmen?
Will I die young because of this one summer of nocturnal labour? (By young here I mean any age up until the age of, like, sixty I guess.. in our day and time sixty is not really that old, is it?)

I do prefer my nights to be dark though. June and early July in Iceland is not big on darkness. Midnight sun, fascinating.. but bothersome to those who like the silky embrace of the dark.

Zzz,
..kH

Hello all.

I have recovered. My injury now looks like a piece of art on my right forearm. Pretty colors, spanning from deep and dark blue to sunset yellow. Stunning really. I feel like one of those people who cover their body in tattoo. A walking picture. Beautiful being. An Artman.

I am home.. HOME .. in my enveiling and loving homeland. The land where I have loved the most, where I have the most memories, where I feel at home, completely at home. I am happy. Excited and glad. It is time to drink in every single passing moment, and diving head on into every single shared moment with loved ones. It is time.

I am here. And here I will remain for as long as I can. That gives me at least three months.

Glee,
..kH

Was in rehearsal.
Got injured.
Ouch.

Looking good.
Dress and tech today.
Performance at the end of the week.
And now it seems the process is cursed.
Ouch.

Well, pity me if you must.
I have to go on.

Wishing me luck,
..kH

Hello, faithful readers.

I have not yet gone mad.

I think.

This is real, right?

Of course it is

Thank you italics, faithful friend and critic. I can always rely on you for sorting me out.

Project? Getting there.

Karma? Being dealt with, quite successfully.

Back to normal self.

The self which is the result of all your definitions of who I am.

Yes, your

What am I if not what you take me for. Might I have a say in the what I am?

Of course

Thank you, italics.. faithful pseudomyxoma; the pseudome that the actualI keeps a distance from for the sake of self-critique and third-personified perspectives.

That's my lot in life.

Won't you join the ride.

Riddle me that,
..kH

Life is so confusing.

At many points in my life I feel so in control of everything. Of myself, my relations, my outlook, my attitude. Then there spring forth points where everything dissolves into disarray. Suddenly I am no longer in control, everything is washed forward and back by a big tidal wave of inner chaos and external circumstances. One should not let external circumstances bully one, but when the external circumstances are in accord with , or in a dramatic contrast to, something inner - with something on the inside of one's life, - then all hell breaks loose. . . or at least seems to break loose.
The state I am describing can be referred to, in buddhist terms, as karma. Everything in one's life is one's karma, there is the stuff one sees and deals with on an everyday basis, and then there is the latent stuff that one may not even be aware of, but can suddenly erupt forth with volcanic force. When this happens, usually because it is in accord with something external, one needs to be brave and in control. Or at least do the very best one can to make sense of what is happening, and then take action toward eradicating, and/or changing, whatever this suddenly manifested karma is.
It is at this point that I currently stand.

I am fortunate enough to get the chance to experience latent things from the inside of my life at this moment, things that I have yet to deal with. But now that I see them I am in a position to meet them head on, and purge them. Thankfully I have learned, through my practice of Buddhism, a method, or a means, to do just that. And I also understand that these things have only surfaced because I can, at this point in my life, deal with them. They should not have to hurt me or anyone else. These demons have manifested, and lined themselves up, to be shot down and moulded into a positive.

Well then, .. here we go. Sleeves up. Out on the battlefield.
And on to something not totally unrelated; I just had a magnificent weekend. Will it prove life changing? If not, at least it will certainly have been character building.

Thanks go out to those that deserve them. They know who they are.

Loading my karmic weapons,
..kH

Tiny update.

Still alive and fairly well. What has happened? Well, the big project has started, and I tend to it practically every weekday. After rehearsals and during weekends I continue my research work and try to handle everything as well as I can.

I have guests. Two extremely lovely people, who are staying with me and have both given me the opportunity to think of other things than my preoccupation, the project, and drawn forth from within me a big piece of my karma to deal with. Could I have better friends around me during this stressful period? So, it is absolutely great, and I am so happy they came over.

Apart from this, the project and my visiting friends, not much else is going on .. and if other stuff is going on I just can't see it for what is immediately in front of me.
Big trees to graze, but my forest, undoubtedly, is infinitely deep.

From the sweat of my brow and my pounding heart,
..kH

Okay.

Yes. I am in London now. Back to school. Or college. Or university college. Or whatever.. yes, - but I have not yet received my schedule. I am not quite sure exactly what it is I should be doing, so all I really do is sit and read and sweat, trying to prepare for the big directing project - which scares the living daylights out of me, to be relatively honest. Big endeavours petrify me, especially when I do not feel as if I know enough to deal with them. But then, that is what the project is for.. to study the procedure of directing.

For all I know I have this week off for preparatory work and research. And then, starting next week, I begin a rehearsal process, in which I direct three performers who will in turn direct me in their pieces. To elaborate> we are a group of four working together, each has to direct the other three, and be directed by the other three. See?
I have chosen a weird text to work with. Weird texts attract me. But thinking about it, weird texts are the harder to direct.. as working with the usual character relationships and conflicts of classical character dramas is fairly straight forward work, where one only chooses to be innovative or not. A weird text, on the other hand, enforces innovation.. and requires alternative methods. Which, of course, are the methods that I am interested in .. but I don't know them! Well go ahead and discover them then .. What? .. Coward .. Pardon me! .. Hen .. Yeah, very nice, how mature of you italics, how incredibly mature. Leave off! .. Whatever henboy .

Now then.. not much else. How I hope time will fly. The step from Bratislava to London is a step homeward.. not quite home yet, but on my way. Whichward is homeward then? .. Thatward! *points northwestward*

I am healthy and well. A bit agitated.
Truly,
..kH

My last day in Bratislava.

I am leaving. Done with Bratislava. Going back to London extremely early in the morning. There I will have about a week off, and then I resume my studies for just over a month. A big final project for the year awaits me there.

The VIPs in my life are hereby notified: the number I gave you for reaching me in Slovakia will be of no use to you after tonight, from tomorrow onwards, until I finally reach the shores of Iceland, you can reach me through the British number (which VIPs should already possess).

Farewell Slovakia, it has been nice. Ahoj for now, but I will see you later.. undoubtedly.

Packing,
..kH

Why is the Coca Cola company a company of monsters to be boycotted?
Here is material on which one can easily base that inclination. Further information can be found on the following websites:
http://www.CokeWatch.org ... http://www.colombiasolidarity.org.uk/cocacolacampaign.html

The official worldwide boycott was to last a year, running through 2003-2004. However, there is still every reason to remind the Coca Cola company that they are not rulers, that they can not get away with crime and dishonesty, and that people and places should be respected. They are fuckers, quite simply.

The International Boycott of Coca Cola started on the 22 July 2003. It was called by SINALTRAINAL (Colombian Food and Drinks Workers’ Union). It is supported by the World Social Forum, and by the CUT and the CGTD (principle trade union federations in Colombia), and numerous social organisations around the world.
Coca Cola stand accused of complicity in the assassination of 8 Sinaltrainal trade union leaders in Colombia since 1990. Many other leaders have been imprisoned, tortured, forcibly displaced and exiled. Of course, Coca Cola deny any responsibility for the murders, pointing out that 100s of union leaders are killed every year in Colombia. However, many of Sinaltrainal’s victims were killed inside Coca Cola plants while negotiating collective agreements. Coca Cola management were reported in the national press as meeting and contracting members of the AUC death squads to “sort out their labour problems”.

"The boycott is a means of sustained pressure and condemnation against the policies of the transnational company Coca Cola around the world so that the company repairs the damage caused, changes its policies and makes a commitment to respect the human rights of workers and populations. Our struggle is for peace with social justice and for the well-being of people and for this reason we embrace the struggle against the war, we contribute to the construction of a movement against capitalist globalisation, we participate in the fight against ALCA (Free Trade Area of the Americas) and we share the aspirations of the Continental Social Alliance, of the World Social Forum and all initiatives that enable peoples to achieve happiness, sovereignty and liberty."

Among the reasons, and there are many, are these:
Coca Cola should be reprimanded
For the violation of the human rights of workers and communities.
For the profits made on the back of assassinations, imprisonment, displacement, kidnapping, death threats and dismissals of trade union leaders in Colombia, Guatemala, Peru, Brazil, the United States, Venezuela, Palestine, Turkey, Iran and other parts of the world.
For the contamination of water sources with the waste from their bottling plants.
For racial discrimination against black communities and those suffering from AIDS in the United States and Africa.
For using coca to make its products and its support of the criminal policies of the United States against communities whose culture and survival depends on coca leaves, especially in Bolivia, Peru and Colombia. (imagine the hypocrisy!)
For its unfettered use of the world’s water and the criminal theft of water sources from communities in India.
For supporting the criminal oligarchy in Venezuela which is attacking the government and its plans to bring dignity into the lives of the people of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela, as well as for its historic interference in the internal affairs of peoples.

"It also seems that over the past five to seven years, Coca Cola has lost control over product safety. Coca Cola has not enforced strict controls over processing plants producing its products despite a contamination scare that caused Coke products to be banned in several European countries and a string of recent recalls."

The following fragments of a report compares a Coca-Cola/Minute Maid processing plant in Auburndale, Florida with a Pepsi/Tropicana plant in Bradenton, Florida, during the period of 1996 to 2000. It was in 1996 that Coca-Cola turned over control of juice operations, in Auburndale and Leesburg to Cutrale, a Brazilian-owned juice company:

Recalls
Since Coca-Cola outsourced its Auburndale, Florida juice production,
Coca-Cola had three separate juice recalls
Pepsi had none

Safety & Heath Violations
Coca-Cola: Since Coca-Cola outsourced its Auburndale, Florida, juice production to Cutrale, the Occupation Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) cited the Minute Maid plant for 15 violations, including 13 determined to be "serious." OSHA penalized the plant on 10 separate occasions for violations during 1999-2000. From 1997-1999 OSHA also leveled three citations against Minute Maid's producer.
In the Auburndale plant, there have been many serious accidents, including:
an electrical accident that killed a worker,
explosions, and
two major chemical leaks that caused plant evacuations, shutdowns, worker hospitalizations and complaints of air pollution.
Pepsi: During this same period of time, Pepsi's Tropicana plant received no penalties from OSHA and had no explosions or chemical leaks.

There are also accounts of Coca Cola enforcing their products to be sold at new restaurants or other business establishments, for instance by threatening to open a bigger and better establishment across the road, as an example, that would put the young establishment out of business. Have you ever noticed how restaurants, movie theatres, cafes and bars, only ever EITHER sell Coke or Pepsi?
And a drinks company should not have political power. Did you know that Santa Claus is dressed in red because of Coca Cola?
Besides, Coke is bad for you .. so is Fanta, and Sprite, and Dr Pepper, who needs Minute Maid, or Bacardi mixers, or Aquarius? If you want to find a list of the products made and sold by the monsters in question, go to there ... http://www2.coca-cola.com/brands/brandlist.html

Fuck Coke.
..kH

A very short entry.

My time has been swallowed whole with all these visits. Will be waving my friend Fin Boy buh-bye in the morning.
Just came back from Wien, travelled in total 12 hours on a train to spend Saturday in Krakow. Poland is lovely. Wien is breathtaking.
Travel is amazing.

I am loving it.

Boycott Coca bloody Cola people! They don´t deserve to exist, the fuckers..
..kH

I am suffocating.
It is hot.
So hot.
Ég dey..

Sharp witted readers will have understood by now that weather here is warm, very warm.. which I generally regard as being good weather, but this is almost too good. It will take time for an icy hearted bloke like myself to get used to this, as it all happened so quickly. Just now, right before the weekend, this incessant and ever-growing heat struck the area, and it is not only here in Bratislava as I was in Wien (Austria) on Saturday and there the weather was incredibly warm as well. I am suffocating. Not only during the day, I sweat through the nights too.

I was visited by my mother and my friend Arnar on April 28, and they stayed with me until this afternoon. This weather (in addition to the prices of food, alcohol, and clothes) made them very happy. They melted the ice off themselves, sitting at every opportunity in the blazing sun enjoying meals and drinks.. I, on the other hand, preferred the shade. I understand them completely, they had just come from Iceland and found the heat here refreshing, but I have been living in the mid-European atmosphere for a while now and to me this heat was bordering on the unbearable. I also had a tough time trying to keep up with them in the consumption of alcohol. I found, as I usually find in the company of drinkers, that I handle less alcohol than the average drinker, and that the fun wears off drinking as soon as the state of tipsiness dissolves and becomes the state of drunkenness. Beyond that point suffering tends to step in.. tiredness, sickness, gloominess, and different kinds of different -nesses.
However, drinkers such as my mother, and especially my friend Arnar, are the types of drinkers that seem able to consume endless amounts of alcohol without it losing the fun, and it goes down seemingly like water. I know other people who are like them in this.. but I am very different, and this I discover again and again. And it seems to me that I have no chance of ever being able to handle alcohol like the average drinker, or enjoy its consumption to the extent most people seem to do.

It is not a bad thing. It just differentiates me, noticeably..

Melting,
..kH

I am currently preparing, mentally and physically, for a great and strenuous challenge. I am expecting a visitor, a tough woman to please, who will keep me on my toes, and egg me on into debauchery and bacchanalia; namely, my mother.

Our drunken spree begins no later than tomorrow evening, and by then I will have to have gathered all the strength I have left, harnessed my balls (of courage), and fully prepared to take on the challenge, which may prove life-threatening.

I ask my readers to send me their best wishes, and I need for them to believe that I will survive and emerge from the ashes of the next five days´ madness a better man, a stronger man. I need positive energies, so please, respected readers, collect them and send them over with haste.

I am counting on you.
I will survive,
..kH

I was sitting in my favorite Bratislava cafe, being irritated by the overflow of tourists that have started making the city theirs and disrupting the tranquil atmosphere I have gotten used to, when I caught myself engrossed in pessimism. My thoughts trailed onto a path, not entirely unfamiliar to me, but a path of which I try to stay clear as much as I can. It is the path that leads to the dead-ends, to the place in myself, and everyone else human (I assume here that all human beings have similar tendencies) where high hopes and aspirations are destroyed, and labelled impossible. I took this path into the inner darkness, and I reside there still.

It seems to me that whatever dreams I have, of whichever nature, will never come true. The dreams, aspirations, and high hopes - regarding the future in every way, the career, the artistic endeavours, the stability, the security, the study, the love-life, the everything, - can not possibly turn out in the manner that I wish. That they never could. It seems perfectly clear to me that the pictures I paint of my future can never be realized in the minutest details I apply to them. Reality will always enforce its ruthless variations, however much I exert myself in the shaping of the ideal.

It is not to say that I will ever give up, I never would, my eyes will continue to be set on the ideal, and it is in that direction that I will ever push forward. But I fear, very much, here in the darkness where I shivering and alone bury my head between my knees, that the ideal will again and again be shattered into sharp pieces of illusion.

Surprisingly pessimistic,
..kH

Spunky meets Pétya.

After a long day of hyperactivity Spunky returned home, his body having grown quite tired during the day his mind had finally acquired some room to think, and now he was plagued with gloomy thought. As he sat there, his mind racing through the unploughed fields of remembrance and questions unanswered, the shadow of his frown seemed to grow ever larger, eventually swallowing half his face before leaking onto the floor and crawling up the wall in front of him.
The unintelligible echoes in his head, "What is it? Which part? If not this then that, vice versa, back to front.. neither here nor there, yet both..", seemed to weigh on him so that he sank lower and lower into his seat, never reaching a conclusion, one thought disappearing only to be reinstated again from behind another, and together all of them would circle round the scope of his mindscape until he felt madness would begin to seep in.

Perhaps my readers are wondering what it was that had set this merry-go-round in motion in poor little Spunky's head, and before I continue and go into the story of his meeting with Pétya, I am obliged to give a slight explanation for the current state of Spunky's affairs.
My readers must understand that Spunky was not the sort of fellow who painted the black-and-grey of his personal gloom onto the surface of his appearance. He veiled himself in mystery, moulded for himself an appearance that suggested many things, to his friends and acquaintances he always seemed a jovial and cheery sort of fellow, but his truest, and most contemplative self, only emerged to its fullest grandeur in his more personal and private moments. And this was one of those moments. A moment all to himself, accompanied only by the shadows hand-in-hand with the light, and the memory of his recent breakup.
The moment stimulated contemplation on the nature of love, a phenomenon that Spunky, like so many others, thought he knew and comprehended in his own way, but nonetheless continued to appear unfathomable when penetrated to any extent.
"My body, mind and heart seem to decide things for themselves. What am I if not my mind, heart and body, did I choose these men or did sperate parts of me decide this? I dont know, I am pretty lost here. What is love? Which part of you contains it? Does it reside in your body? Your mind? Your heart? Is it the voice? The chains? The curiosity and needs? What is it?" (Author´s note: The inspiration for this account is taken from Spunky´s personal logs, from which this is quoted)

As he had begun to swallow up his whole being by these considerations, he was snatched out of his contemplation by a sudden thud! on the window to his left. He impulsively turned his head to see what had made the noise, and his eyes met the gaze of what seemed to be a stout bat, fluttering to keep itself afloat in the air in front of a greasy mark on the window, most likely from the bat´s collision with the window pane. Having hesitated only for a breath, Spunky jumped up and opened the window to let the strange creature in, and it gratefully fluttered into the warmth of the room, aimlessly at first, but then sat itself on a shelf, catching its breath before it was able to pose courtly and give Spunky miniature suggestions of a smile on its leathery face.
"Thank you, ever so kind of you. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Pyotr Pétrovich, bodhisattva of caves and treetops, however you can call me Pétya. Please, sit down, I am here only to assist you in your troubles, please, by all means, make yourself quite comfortable." Spunky regarded the strange creature inquiringly, but as its offer seemed genuine he slowly made his way back to his seat after closing the window, and sat.
"Where do you come from?" he asked. "From the skies covering earth patches such as Romania and Russia, Eastern-Europe basically." "And are you, well, what I mean to ask is, are you for real? Well obviously, but, I mean.. Okay, so you are a bat?" "Indeed, further questions?" "Vampire bat?" "Well, I used to be, but I became a vegan. So, fruit bat." "Because of your figure?" "Pardon me, I did not quite catch that?" "I mean to ask, well, did you switch from blood, high in cholesterol, to fruit, because of your figure?" "To be perfectly honest with you I used to be quite slender before I switched to fruit, now, as you see, I am plump as a plum, but that quite compliments my character I feel." And thus, connection was struck between them. Spunky could not help but feel that this strange little creature, this Pétya, was pure of heart and had come to meet him with good intentions. He relaxed, and became receptive to whatever it was Pétya had come to tell him.

"Let me begin by explaining to you what brought me here. I am a bodhisattva, I flutter above the suffering and seek understanding of their troubles, and of what causes suffering. My intention is to seize every opportunity to relieve suffering, if my understanding of it allows me the appurtenance, and in your case I believe I may have a thing or two to add, which you then freely can draw into your considerations, or discard, at your own convenience." Spunky´s eyes enlarged, his mouth slightly opened, and Pétya´s harmonious little voice managed to appease his troubled mind. "The vibes of your chords of thought reached my protruding ears as you strummed them, and I know full well your considerations, and how they trouble you. Let me attempt to add the following minor chord to the muddled composition. . ." And thus Pétya began a monologue which touched on all of Spunky´s considerations, and then strayed beyond the notion of love to the notion of humanity and the universal wholeness of one and all. I will spare my readers the monstrosity of Pétya´s discourse, and include here only the conclusion of his speech.

"It is therefore the separation, in your case the separation of your being into parts, as it is individuals´ separation from each other, and humanity´s separation from the larger universe, that is the source of great unnecessary suffering.
"Now that you have activated different parts of your being in your affectionate endeavours, in your quest for the fulfillment of love, you will need to combine their energies, and find a way to love as a whole. With every bit of you, every precious little bit, for how can you offer merely isolated passions to your lovers, and then expect to meet their needs as entities, as complete beings, as well as your own? Link your head to your heart and screw yourself together, be all that you are, and experience the power of such completion in its entirety, - with your entirety." Spunky was speechless for a minute, but then he howled, "This as absurd! I am sitting here, seemingly, for how can I be sure?, being lectured to by a bat about how to conduct my personal affairs. This is ridiculous, who put me in this position?" Pétya grinned in amusement. "The author of this account, to be sure, he has put us both in this absurd position for his own pleasure, he´s a queer fellow," ("aren´t we all," thought Spunky) "but he means well, he always does." "Well, I am not sitting here like this, I want out.. let me out!" (Author´s note: I most certainly will not. You are the stimulator for this account, and so you are trapped in it)
"Don´t get upset," said Pétya reassuringly, "I have finished what I came here for, and I shall go. But remember, separation can be a great evil.. and a sneaky devil. Too many of us engage in it in so many ways. The author of this account, for example, by writing the account he separates himself from it, and the ideas presented in it. He writes it and leaves it, denounces responsibility for it, believing people should only approach it individually and make what they will of it. The readers of this account, in turn, will only read it and then amusingly separate themselves from its content, declaring it to be a mere work of fiction for the reader´s and the author´s pleasure. If the content has any relation to their lives they will only secretly harbor its influence on them.
"And so, will we be able to abandon this destructive tendency? Let us begin somewhere, you can try it out in your personal affairs, accomplish loving as a whole and encouraging your lover to do the same, merge together as two entireties and form a larger entity through the combination of your affectionate powers for the sake of a greater good, a larger entirety. I leave you now, be happy for your sake and everyone´s." And Pétya took off. Fluttering heavily, as before, aimlessly at first, but suddenly stopped mid-air, landed on a table and turned to Spunky again.
"Kindly open the window, please?" And Spunky did.
(Author´s note: It seems to me that either Pyotr Pétrovich took inspiration from my entry on February 2, 2005, where I addressed the notion of the perfect couple , for the delivery of his message, or that I must share some of his philosophy with him without having ever met him myself)

Conceived by,
..kH