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