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