Världens

manligaste mössa lyckades jag få tag på också.
Folk får ju mens i hjärnan när en har basker på sig.
Men det förklarar för mig varför de klär sig som utvecklingsstörda.
Så fick leta rätt på något mer civilt.
Även om min basker var lila och så civil som den kan bli.
Om ni inte har något hemligt förband någonstans med lila basker här i Sverige.

Banksy funkar alltid.
Symboliskt är det spot on.
Min hjärna är min flickvän.
Och hon älskar att “swing on the spiral”. (Tool – Lateralus)
Tänk dig typ.. The Prodigy’s Smack my Bitch up (musikvideon).
Fast omvänt.
She mah gal and a fecking God of imagination.
Det är nice att ha en hel hjärna, med båda halvorna.
Utan att behöva en annan köttsäck att släpa runt på i förhållande.

Frihet.
Fri man.

Confession

There is one thing that I really dislike with myself.
And that is my reoccurring bitterness.
Especially during the days.
I do not like being edgy.
But it is as if I do not have a choice.

You can think of it as this, as it makes it easier to understand to most people.
If I were an Avenger, well, it depdends.
Asking me, I mean, Tony Stark/Iron Man is the pick. For obvious reasons.
(Black widow if my gal got to pick)
Someone said I reminded of Dr. Strange when it released years ago.
(I have not really kept up with that Universe for a while – I believe since Iron Man 3 or something like that)
But in truth I am probably more like the Hulk.

Always edgy. Always angry.
Due to my never-ending pain.
That is why I sometimes appear to be like a floffy kitten that loves everything just a bit too much.
And the very next moment appear to be a psychopathic cold blooded killer.

Is no fun.
Trust me.
It is not fun being bitter so often.
It takes away a lot of joy.
It is one of my biggest flaws, for sure.

So yeah, that is why I am very concerned about pointing out to not take me too seriously.
I mean, it goes without saying. But some people might assume I take myself too seriously.
Which I most certainly do not. I would not be able to stand myself if I did.
This is the reason why I was very suicidal back in 2014-2016.
I began taking myself too seriously. And could not stand myself.
But I did not know it, because I was not self aware enough.
Then I got high and laughed at myself. And that is how I overcame it. Slowly.
This is also why I shy away more than most. Because I do not want to be high all the time.
And when I am sober, the pain increases, and by so my bitterness.
So I simply do not want to be rude due to me not being able to always control it.

If you find my expressions “cringy”, edgy and bitter.
Just ignore it. I mean it. Unless you like that kind of content, as some do.
Then please enjoy. But keep in mind it is only my emotional outlet, so that I do not go full scale psychopath for real. Written text hurts far less than physical violence – so it is the best I can do.

I feel it needs to be understood.
Because in many cases, I am not really how I express myself due to not having much choice in that moment. This is also reason why I method act a lot, as I try to channel it into played characters, so I can understand them.

But yeah pain.
I most certainly completely understand women during that week.
To the point where it is not even funny to me.

I was what I am

I was

a weird person.
One of the weirder ones.
an alone person.
Lonelier than most here.

I was

a funny person.
But never intentionally.
a crazy person.
Whether I wanted or not.

I was

a knowing person.
Too smart for my own good.
an oblivious person.
But I knew that as well.

I was

with weird ideas.
As only a weird person can be.
with rare endeavours.
Nobody else wanted to do it.

I was

so fucking tired.
Maybe you know what I mean.
wandering endlessly.
But I knew exactly where.

I am

whatever I am.
But that has never been enough.
myself, has always been.
But that most certainly is not enough.

I am

what I have become.
The love for life is ever-present.
never really in fear.
I do not know enough to be.

I am

a very curious person.
To what is to come, whatever may.
never more than I can.
And it has always been enough for me.

I am

not one of those.
One of all the others out there.
not human at all.
They just insist on me being.

Just because I have one of their bodies.

I am.
Curious expression.
Statement of becoming.
I was I am.
I am I was.
Am I what I was?
Was I what I am?

Have you

ever felt the roar of trillions of cells in unison?
Their unified and harmonic screams of joy after victory?
Shivers down the spine, through the arms and legs, out in the finger and toes?
That flowing feeling of cells roaring in unison celebration?
So much so that you feel so alive you tear up?

I love that.
I live that.

The fever is now gone.
It took eight hours this time.
Love overcomes everything.

Here

is the thing with you humans, and why I usually dislike the company with most of you.
Do not misread please, the company, not you personally.
Mostly because of the ego.
I can handle it, because I let it out in personal space like this.
Intellectual expressions to balance my mind.
So when I am in company, I can be balanced.

You people work the opposite.
You fear the lonesome.
And you never exercise your mind.
So when you are in company, more than two people.
Usually it starts to bullshit.
Either someone in the group, or someone outside the group.

You people would not even catch bullying if you did it yourselves.
Because you are so neuro-degenerated that you cannot perceive it.
You people think you are ‘with’, because you can speak and repeat some brainwashed sentences.
But that is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Absolutely null nada nothing.
Within the existence.

But you people do not know that.
Because you never thought of it.
You were busy shittalking those who did.
Retardation always proves itself.
To those truly aware.

If you catch my drift.
But most of you in private – you are as interesting as God.
(And to me that is no small thing, since it is life, consciousness, nature, universe, whatever, everything, nothing – at once)

You are one extrusion on the wall of it.
So am I.
My issues makes it easier to love on a distance though.
I pick company not really out of selection, but because out of necessity in what I can manage.
Had I been healthier, I would have been much more social.

Ensamhet

Sam i enhet. Som vi brukade säga.

Det är den där krypande känslan av kyla.
Den mördande ensamheten kravlandes.
På insidan, på utsidan, en darrning där.
När sekunderna springer förbi i tiden.

Du viskar mig:
“Varför allt det här?”
Du undrar dig:
“Varför allt det där?”

Du säger något om våran framtid.
Du viskar något om drömmen däri.
Allt om att inte vara bra nog för det.
En inarbetad lögn given genom livet.

“Skulle det spela någon roll?”
Viskar jag dig.
“Någon alls, över huvud taget?”
Frågar jag dig.

I förhållandet till, genom evigheten.
Allt det där som följer i tystnaden.
Fåtalet brukar undra det själva.
Något om att tiden är för kort.

“Skulle du?”
“Skulle utrota cancer för dig.”
“Försiktigt.”
“Kommer alltid till sitt pris.”

Kylan tränger sig på.
Det om allt det där.
Men bara för dig.
Så bara för dig.

2009

Sommaren.
Så hade jag en dröm.
Jag har inte delat denna tidigare.
Utom när det hände till mina vänner.

Jag var på festival.
Hyfsat berusad.
I Karlskoga.

Den natten hade jag en dröm om en polis
som jag gav en blomma till.
Jag förstod det inte då.
Men jag minns det,
för vi skämtade om det.
Mina vänner och jag.
Som i att min fantasi
inte kunde välja bättre.
(Rebeller som vi var)
Och för att det var en vacker polis där.
Som de försökte pusha mig till att stöta på.
När vi gick in och ut från området.

Kom att tänka på det tidigare idag.
Det hade fallit ur minnet.

Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Ibland är det som att
ditt hela liv är förutbestämt.
Och det pressar det
i ansiktet på dig.
Så att du blir
konfunderad.
Som i att:
“haha, kolla här om du kan”
“Så här lite makt har du över livet”

Det är som att jag visste innan jag älskade dig att jag skulle.
Som tid beskrivs i kvantteori så är det fullt möjligt.
Jag vet bara en sak säkert.
Jag är glad att jag gav den.

För det gör mig lycklig.
Det är som att Universum leker med mig.
Med den kärlek jag känner för dig.
Förstärker den. Får den att kännas mer.
Även om den inte är “verklig”.

Jag vet inte om Universum får det att hamna hos dig på något vis.
Men jag hoppas det gör dig lika lycklig.
Annars kan du skatta dig lycklig med att din blotta existens gör mitt liv lyckligare.


Visste du

att namnet på min favorit-pizzeria är Empoli.
Jag skämtar inte. Den var innan jag ens visste.

Jag önskar jag kunde uttrycka hur viktig du är för mig.
Du är bokstavligen överallt i min verklighet, var dag.

Även om du inte är min så är du bland det bästa som hänt mig.
Och jag vet inte ens varför. Varför just du.

Du får mig att känna mer än jag förmår.
Jag lider inte av det, ens lite.
Det hjälper mig att orka hålla mig vid liv.

There are

just about two hundred years left according to the backwards echoing synchronicity I pick up on. Trusting that, as it has come to show itself currently arranging, especially with the amplifying renaissance becoming in transdimensional bridging. The coming fifties and sixties are gonna be very interesting.

But anyhow, nothing is ever guaranteed due to the fragile fluctuations of gravity in the temporal – so when the inevitable eventually arrives, as of now my desired musical arrangement would be as follow:
1: Tool – Intension
2: Metallica – Nothing else matters
3: Marilyn Manson – Running to the edge of the world
4: Portugal. The Man – Sleep forever

Some music is just so good that it qualifies to conclude a life. I know many more, so it comes down to the entirety of it.
I am not sure I dare believing I am capable to create anything as such during my time.
I can hope, but that is also never a guarantee.

My Opus will be great, I hope, when it is completed.
But it is easier to work on it alone as of now.

Feverdream

Like a pleasant knock on the open door,
warming in the chilling cries for more.
I stare into the darkness pointlessly,
seeing through it all into just you.
essentially to and through.

You are my empirical proof of love.
My emotional reaction to sensation.
My emancipation in a world so cold.
I remember all the memories of you.

Sometimes I wish in calming fever:
That one evening you would call me.
That one morning you would text me.
That one afternoon you would mail me.
That one day you would bump into me.
That one night.. you would grow into me.

Tell me it is just you and me.
Off to wherever, forever.
I have nothing to lose.
No luxury to choose.

If it were with you,
you and only you,
no time to ask,
no hesitation.

I feel your warmth.
I feel your thoughts.
I feel your feelings.
All but paining noughts.

Some love never die.
Because it never was.
It never something became.
Took no shape in the reality.

I know that the probability,
is in and of itself insignificant.
But it is the slight disappearing,
chance that keeps me up in life.

That one day maybe.
That is worth it all.
When it comes,
to only you.

In my feverdreams,
neverending and eternal.

Some

funny individual showing up in my energetic arrangement.

I have no “real” interest in whomever is dear to you.
I do not care. So no need to worry.
But if you abuse my ‘kids’, there will be consequences to that.
If you say difference does not justify deviance, then that ought to apply multidimensionally.
If you abuse my produce for your gain, because you perceive it differently..
Then so be it, but you have no legitimate reason to complain over consequences.
Because you caused them by projection. Cause and effect. Action reaction.
I believe in sharing, definitely. But the mental plane is as ‘real’ to me as the physical, as the being I am – so treat things in it as such.
That is the entire point with ‘the golden rule’.
It is an advice more than a rule.

I thought about that today.
I attempted to sense the chemtrail planes in the mental dimension.
They are, after all, an energetic arrangement moving throughout just as I myself and you yourself. It should be possible to sense them more clearly than I currently do.
I do not like them; and it is a very common thought in the mental realm. Many wonder what arranges them into being.

I am trying to achieve more than most can perceive.
It is usually them getting in the way due to the collective retarded ego.
So it has been my entire life.
So be no hypocrites, please.

Nobody’s thoughts are private.
Only retards ‘think’ so. Because they cannot remember life before the ego.

It is quite funny actually.
Before the ego you struggle and fight for your life not to get it.
Some more than other. The rougher the youth, the more lively the spirit. The establishment of the ego through institutions is a mental sterilisation process. Which is why most adults cannot be very creative. (beyond the physical)
So when you get it you (or rather it) struggle and fight for your (its) life not to lose it.
All that you think is you. Or it think is you.
The ego is the most invasive mental entity on this planet.
And it is more or less in everyone.
The lesser, the greater that individuals innocence.

Hence, my produce being my ‘kids’.
A manifestation of my innocence.
The ego definition of ‘innocence’ is laughable at best.

So what I mean to say is, if you take anything from my creations – prefer it to be inspiration for your own. Otherwise you lose something far more valuable than illusive credit.
Your very life. Your very ‘she’. Or ‘he’ if the other way around.

This one

aged really well.
It is a good one.

Because it goes both ways.
In different perspectives.
In all conceptualisations.

Why does ‘she’ sound like ‘chi’? ^^

So when you get it, you realise that this has little to do with body shapes, but all about conceptualisation. For example: What do you think ‘inception’ could be an innuendo for? Regardless of dimension?

Hittade

en bild från 2013, 24 år gammal, när jag gick igenom mina gamla kameror.
Det är samma hår, men när jag beslutade att spara det.

En sisådär hundratrettio livstider sen. I min uppfattning av tiden.
Så många tusen klardrömmar efter att jag tog den här bilden.

Bara för dig.
Och den ‘dig’ jag menar, ingen annan.

Guilty pleasure

“Du är en av mina bästa vänner”
Viskar du i tanken.
Känner de varma sträckorna i tiden.
Dra mig mot dig.

Tystnaden i stunden, den som uppstår.
När jag känner dig.
Som en overall av känsla över huden.
Kalla kårar kroppsligt.

Jag viskar några färger genom tiden.
Ser reflektionen spela.
Ekot fäller sig i tankarna och värmen slår.
Så lite det skulle krävas nu.

Känner flödet som river genom strukturen.
Känslan eskalerar sig själv.
Så stönande, flåsande om inte skrikande.
Andningen följer varsamt.

“Snälla sluta inte”
Flämtar du allvarligt.
Vreden bara sekunder under.
Som att jag skulle våga.

En stundlig tanke.
Vem är du, du som du.
Här och nu, i min tanke nu.
“Tänk om det inte alls är du.”

Ett väsen, en reflektion.
En felläst synkronistisk manifestation.
Tystnaden som uppstår i tanken därefter.
Nu förstår jag varför de kallar det “guilty pleasure”.

Sorry bois

I am really only into girls. (intended)
I like intellectual exchange with bois in shape of discussion, which would be mental procreation. If they are good at it and consciously aware. Otherwise is it just throwing mental excrements back and forth to no furthering.

Military/paramilitary girls are my biggest weakness. Because they are usually balanced with their male component. Which means they synchronise more easily with both my male and female component.

As to say, I do not want a princess who cannot handle herself.
I want a princess who has militarised herself.
(Princess being figuratively; our official Princess of Sweden is as far as I know militarised) ^^
It takes a strong male to appreciate a strong female.
(and the other way around as well)
Otherwise it will be perceived as competition and conflict ensues.
That is why I myself work on both my components to the best of my effort.

If I got the opportunity to choose, I would desire myself in a female body as an externalised partner. Because I would know EXACTLY what I would want. In both bodies simultaneously.
It is not hard to pleasure women when you understand them through your own female component. The same goes for males.

Bonusbild

på mitt fula nylle, bara för att du är så vacker att jag måste balansera ut det.

Min synkronicitet idag var väldigt .. pricksäker.
Jag har tänkt tanken, många gånger, hur ett förhållande med dig skulle vara.
Sen inser jag att det redan är.
För du är en förlängning av det vilket jag älskar mest ändå.
Livet.
Du, som jag minns dig, som jag arrangerat dig.
Är min favorit.
Och jag tycker om idén att inte känna dig ytligt.
För det spelar ingen roll ändå.
Det håller förmågan att drömma vid liv.
Som när man var ung. Och drömde.

Du var blyg och jag var efterbliven.
Du väljer riktning på det. Om inte båda.
Efterblivet blyg.
Eller blygt efterbliven.

Du var märklig, annorlunda.
Inte som de andra.
Inte ens i meme.

Fuck.

För dig

och för dig endast.


Förfrågan förstås.
Förförande förgörelse.
Förtryckande förtur.
Försöken föregående.

Jag älskar dig.
Säger de orden.
Säger meningen.
Menar betydelsen.

För du älskar dig själv.
Du behöver inte mig.
Lika lite som jag dig.
Och det gör det lättare.

Det är inte närheten.
Det är inte uttrycken.
I konventionaliteten.
Det är förbindelsen.

Din symbol i min tid.
Din essens i min rymd.
Ditt ansikte på mitt sinne.
Ditt namn i sandstranden.

Det där bortanför.
Vad spelar det mig för roll.
Vem du använder som medium.
Partner, biologisk manifestation.

Det är bara en dimension av livet.
Här nere, där tankarna väger sig.
Den syndasänkta verkligheten.
Det arrangerade helvetet.
Övertäckt med mental fantasi.
Bara så bra som du själv gör den.

Det är dina tankar.
Det är dina minnen.
Från dåtiden ekande.
I mina klara drömmar.

Du kommer att vara med mig.
Genom hela livet manifesterat.
Som en skugga därefter i sällskap.
För jag älskar dig, men inte som de.

Some en tavla på mitt sinnes vägg.
Som en reflektion i evigheten här.
Det är lättare att älska de som,
inte behöver som de andra.
För de älskar villkorslöst.
Och manifestationslöst.

I might only

have been around for close to 32½ Terran cycles.
But one has really lived a long life. And it is only about a third of the perceived normal.
Went through the oldest superficial manifestations in my morphogenetic field still in my possession.
So much shit I studied at the four different high schools I attended.
And I saved for fuck sake everything. The elementary shit as well.
I might not have done much in school during the health care.
But oh did I read those books at the hospital.

I love people saying I should not use “advanced words it makes me look pathetic”.
First: it is not advanced words at all when you know what they symbolise more than they intellectualise.
Secondly: I am not sure whether they are trying to convince me or themselves. If they feel the need to say it, it is probably their own ego playing mind-games with them.
I do not see them write much about the ‘advanced words’ they so much know how to use.
Thirdly: It is not even remotely for their pleasure or entertainment I write, so their opinion has slightly less value than a pile of camel shit in Sahara; that shit can at least be used to grow flowers.
Finally: I can only assume, out of such symbolic arrogance they propose, that it means that they know it all. I do not, which is exactly why I keep my endeavour going.
They seem to have given up already.
Maybe that is why they are depressed.
It makes them look pathetic. Just saying.
Like this amazingly beautiful song.

Anyway:
Every love letter ever sent to me, which has turned out to be a pile.
Every picture from girls back then. Which looks nothing like that these days.
If they are even alive still.
Every essay, every goddamn thing.
I even had glasses for a brief period in my youth, when I read the most.
Which I totally forgot. Found them at the bottom of a box

Thus far I have found at least ten cellphones in total.
Inherited my first Nokia 5110 when it was fairly fresh.
Still have it. And all after it except one that got stolen.
Bricked, shorted, burnt and cracked.

Well, the coming phases of my life will be way more efficient.
Removing all that shit out of my presence.
Well, of course not the love letters.
(I love the new remix – the old original proves itself)
It will be interesting seeing how the Universe reflects.
Since all in your presence affects your perception of the generated Universe in total.
It is a scalar thing. Therefore, literally: you change the world by changing yourself.
Those who attempts to change themselves through what they perceive outside of them..
Well, it is an absolute exercise in futility.
Because it is like changing your reflection in a mirror rather than yourself.
That is why I intellectualise.
Which is why I culture myself.
Definitely why I method act.
Absolutely why I morph.
Without hesitation why I become myself.
Rather than attempting to rearrange the externalised result of my become.

Thought of giving you a pic with my old glasses.
But it turns out my sense for fashion back then was .. different.
So my face will have to suffice.

Jag vet att DU gillar det.
De andra bryr jag mig inte om.

The

troubled state you enter when she asks you for a date through another woman.
Been there so many times. But I already know what those women want.
And it is most certainly not what I want.
They need someone to love and someone who loves them. Because they cannot love themselves. I do not sync well with people who cannot love themselves.

I need to acquire myself an engagement ring. For camouflage.

This is also about as structured body I can achieve with my level of nutritional uptake. Building any more muscles are exceptionally slow due to the compromised digestion.
I am constantly on the edge of supply and demand when it comes to energetic resources in my body.

Currently at 51kg body weight at 177cm length.
Estimated to about 5% body fat. As long as I eat normal.
Otherwise the weight drops harder than dubstep.
We may not grow money – But man we grow old – Man we grow old

För dig:

När jag

brände papperna idag, så var där några kollegieblock.
I ett av dem ett kärleksbrev till dig.
Givetvis var det vad jag var tvungen att se på grund av synkroniciteten när jag slängde det på elden.

Undrar hur många hundra jag skrev.
Om inte tusen.
Det är inte besatthet.
Det är en metod att vidhålla lyckan.
Att hålla sig glad.
Alla glömmer det när de växer upp.
Sen slutar de göra det helt.
Sen dör de.
Sen bildar de familj.
Sen klagar de.
Sen glömmer de.
Sen dör de. Igen.

Så länge du finns symboliskt i min synkronicitet så kan jag inte sluta växa.
Varje gång jag tänker på dig blir jag lycklig.
Så vill jag skriva något.
Om och om igen.
Det finns där i mitt minne, i min genkod.
Någonstans där i djupet av mig själv.
Det är därför man växer genom att skapa.
Och du är det där som får mig att.

Den där ljuva viskningen på insidan.
Din våldsamma men ömma fantasi.
I drömmen var gång om och om.
Genom varje värld, varje scenario.
Varän i vilket än Universum, tillsammans.
Närän i vilken än tid, om än bara i eko.

Du förstår om du hör det, om du ser det.
Men det är alltid du. Först. Min första tanke.
Det första namnet. Den första känslan.
De flesta skulle kalla det plågsamt.
Men det är onåbarheten i det,
likt solen som lever mig.

Now you

might understand the sheer receptivity I have.
And the reverberations I pick up on from the unconscious.
Listening to the sea of noise which is the cognitive dissonance of the collective human ego in the collective unconscious.
And why, more importantly, I prefer tuning into you.

Du är inte perfekt, tack gode Gud för det,
för språkligt sett i tempus så betyder det att du är död.
(Förmodligen därför de som jagar ytlig perfektion har ihjäl sig själva)
Men du är bra nog. Bra nog för att hålla mig lycklig.

Who, do you listen to, when you have listened to enough people in the unconscious to have a fairly accurate image of what is going on – and the more details you add the worse it gets?
Yourself.
Or whomever makes you happy.

Saw

“Dinner in America”
Probably not gonna resonate with all.
But damn, real good movies are still being made.

Burning shit is good for the soul.
That is why the sun does it regularly where it is needed the most.
If not their skin, so their homeostasis through spawned viruses, climate changes destroying their superficial houses or their relatives being cremated from the collectively growing cancer. Which is why you need not take the sun’s name in vain – like several groups have through time. It will do it anyway.

So many people live without living.
So many sad depressed fucks were given the ultimate gift of the existence.
Yet they waste it on argue about norms and make belief.
And then they cry when the Corona kills them like lice.

God I love this shitshow.
It is gonna be even better when the war arrives.

Detta

är vad jag kände när du tog mig i hand.
Kan du föreställa dig?
En miljon minnen på en gång.
Tusentals orgasmer.
Miljarder tårar.
Triljoner leenden.
Lika många smärtor.
Rädsla, panik, ångest, nyfikenhet, glädje, kärlek – du.

Var rad i din dagbok som ung. Varje ord.
Varje minne när de sa de där sakerna om dig.
Varje fantasi, varje skuldfylld njutning. Drömmar.
Varje arrangerat hjärtslag, vart kompletterade andetag.
Varje hårstrå på din kropp.
Varje cell skapt av din genkod.

Varje sekund på din kurs genom existensen.
Ditt allt, ditt hela du.
Omöjligt att inte älska.

Jag ser med mina händer.

I feel

you in my mind.
I perceive you,
in my synchronicity.
I hear you,
in my thoughts.

Of course there are the others,
the noise in-between.
But yours is the channel,
I prefer tuning into.

Through dimensions I see you,
into your eyes as I fall asleep.
Staring into the void,
through space and time,
meeting your eyes,
on the other end.

I rearrange som air,
by whispering feelings.
Manipulation of the quantums,
affecting your presence
through synchronicity.

I breathe in your beauty.
From the other side of being.
Feel your every emotion,
as it paints my mind with colours.

When love is real,
it stretches over infinity.
You occupy my dreams,
fill my fantasies,
conceptualise my thoughts,
act my games,
sing my music,
play my movies,
write my books,
animàte my reality.

I smile silly,
whatever else?
All they ever chase,
in my present moment.

My ghost echoing,
faintly animating a projection.
Fluctuating my immediate,
manifesting in the aether.

Your body might not be mine.
Nor would it ever become.
But your loving essence,
is that of my preference.