Friday, April 29, 2011

Are you there, Dolores?

Tonight: I'm back in that burnt down forest, standing alone in the midst of gasoline fumes and smoldering charcoal. I'm freezing even though the ground is still warm from the fire, a cloud of black ravens circulates silently over my head. I'm wearing an ivory white Victorian style wedding gown, a sheer lace veil covers my hair that's been carefully arranged to look like a butterfly. Amazingly, the dress doesn't seem to have a single stain on it, and the pink roses in my hands look newly cut, covered with little pear shaped raindrops.

Instead of music I hear the sound of sparks from the recent fire, instead of wedding guests a thousand stars are watching me from high above in the dark blue spring skies. I immediately know that I've been here before, but I don't recall when or why. I think I had someone with me then, I can still feel his presence like electricity in the air, even though I know we last met years and years ago.

As the severed branches around me start burning again I'm violently awakened. Mom's standing over my bed, looking at me as if she had seen a ghost. "What's wrong dear" she says, once again faking her concern. I don't know where to start so I just tell her it was a nightmare.

I guess it was, but that feeling of standing alone in the dark still lingers as well as the smell of gasoline. It's morning but I want to go back to sleep, back to that forest. Something else has yet to happen there, and I want to know what it means.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Before they make me run

The first stop on his one way journey was London, where he bought more than a few Rolling Stones albums. He didn't have a record player but sat by the radio for hours waiting for their songs to come on. He had discovered music the first time he heard You can't always get what you want, but now the sound was different as well as the times.

I've been battered, what does it matter.

He wandered the streets alone, trying to enjoy as much as possible of the freedom of not being recognized by anyone. He felt like a new person, a bigger person, a better person. This was the beginning of the rest of his life, after that sad parenthesis called childhood.

It was just my imagination, once again
running away with me
It was just my imagination
running away with me

And soon: NYC.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Now you've disappeared somewhere

My dear ones, how was Easter for you?

I just woke up alone and completely rested, without any noticeable traces of nightmares. My skin is intact and my heart keeps beating. S came by last night, I could tell she was upset and that all I needed to do was to be close to her, like she has been to me so many times before. Being able to give some warmth back to a person who's always been there for me felt amazing, like a weight that's finally taken off my shoulders. I even forgot about mother and her friends for a while although their music kept piercing through the floorboards all night long.

S is so adorably shy and Christian, sleeping next to me in a pair of blue jean shorts and a silk blouse while I'm in my underwear. She's the best friend I've got now that so many are not here anymore. I miss Signe, I miss Miri, and I even miss Sarah, who might have stolen a fair-haired boy from me, but at least managed to teach me some Swedish swearwords.

Those times were just memories to me up until now, but lately they have begun hurting, sort of like a rose thorn under my summer clothes. I just hope it doesn't get any worse.

Friday, April 22, 2011

Sad songs say so much

Friday begins, mom's having some of her most obnoxious friends over for Easter. I'm in my room, desperately trying to get drunk off overly expensive eggnog while they're downstairs giving CPR to the early 70s. The smell of pot and Sangria intoxicates my whole system, tomorrow I have to break out of this cocoon, this sarcophagus over times well spent, then frozen and eventually lost. Even Chernobyl must be a better place than this, 25 years on, at least a more quiet one apart from the mutated birds singing for the dead.

I imagine spring flowers withering in the radioactive Ukrainian air, slowly languishing while nobody's watching. And I think of mother and her friends, fading in the very same way, except they always have an audience. The only question is: do they dare look at themselves in the mirror and face the aparent decay of their once so pretty and youthful features?

Judging by the way they're drinking, I guess not.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Pack and get dressed before my mother hears us

One week and how many days? Two. Like I could possibly forget or lose count. What I instead had forgotten was that feeling of not being able to breathe, the one of an invisible pressure on my bare shoulders, like a glas ceiling everywhere I go, collapsing in slow motion. I can't see it, but it happens right before me and fills my veins with sand and rose thorns. A beautiful curse of some kind.

I'm living with someone I should love but don't, and I'm carrying the blame like a load of bricks. She's me mother but the word has lost all meaning, and to make you understand why I have to finish telling the story about my father.

Please bear with me, I need you.

Saturday, April 16, 2011

A lost chance

On the very last day he found himself sitting alone in an empty hallway with a one way boat ticket in his hands. The cememted courtyard outside was ful of his classmates, shining along with the spring sun in their white dresses and black suits, but he himself had nothing to celebrate. He had given in to the pressure from his teacher and accepted a series of lower grades than he deserved for his hard work, all for the sake of equality.

His calm breaths a requiem over a wasted youth, or so he felt. This was going to be his last failure, his last defeat. Never again was he going to suffer such humiliation at the hands of anyone that tried to hold him back or push him down. He didn't say goodbye to anyone, he just went home, packed his bags and left.

Behind him: a burnt soil where nothing but envy and mistrust could possibly grow.

Ahead: everything else and the ocean.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

I loves you

If the cotton and silk on my outside for the moment is prettier than the ravaging thorns inside, I know someone who is always equally beautiful on both. S is here with me now, looking adorable in her little vintage Kenzo dress, blue velvet ballerina shoes and a string of cream white pearls around her graceful neck. She calms me down and silences the constant noise just by being close, and that's worth more than anything money can buy.

She said she was getting a blog of her own, and now she has. You can all read and follow it here: My Darling Solitude

I love her so much.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Today's outfit

.Calvin Klein panties
.Armani men's shirt worn and left behind by someone I never loved
.Bvlgari Pour Femme, newly opened

.Angst for no reason
.Fear for no reason
.Guilt for every possible reason

I dreamt about a burnt down forest. The smell of smoldering wood echoed through the walls long after I woke up. It's been 130 months.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Songs that voices never share

First 24 hours with mom home, I'm literally counting the minutes and they seem endless. I had gotten used to the house being absolutely quite apart from the luxury cars passing on the street outside, and now silence is a slowly burning fire. The walls are thin here and I know they're listening, so I lean towards them and listen back.

Last night at dinner she pretended to care about how I've been but really only spoke of herself. She went to New York, then Paris, then back to New York, in search of something I guess. That's the part she always leaves out: why. Nothing has a reason or purpose in her life, it just happens.

I'm on the second floor in my room, still listening after sounds and noises to interpret. I think I hear her dancing downstairs, but the music must be locked inside in her head. Apart from her high heels clicking over the marble floors in the hallway it's dead silent.

Monday, April 11, 2011


For the first time in months I slept all night and woke up feeling like a little bundle of cotton on a silk pillow at 8. I went back to sleep and dreamt about drowning, also for the first time but the first time ever. I've never been afraid of water, never claustrophobic, always confused falling with flying, but when I woke up again at 10 my room tilted. My bed was standing on the edge of a tall cliff, about to fall down and hit the rocks beneath it if I as much as lifted a finger.

It must have been an omen, only minutes later I heard keys in the lock to the front door downstairs. Mom is home again, after months on the road, God knows where. The only thing certain now is I'll have many more dreams about being trapped under water, not able to get out, get up over that glittering surface again.

Saturday, April 9, 2011

For the sake of everyone (but yourself)

He wanted to finish everything off in style and leave a solid impression behind as he left. Therefore he studied hard all spring in order to get the best grades possible. They should never be able to complain about anything ever again, he thought, those people.

In April, one of his teachers called him up to his room for a brief talk. He looked troubled, as if there was something that bothered him when it really shouldn't.

"You know", he said. "You are the most brilliant student I've ever had, and that says plenty.

My father smiled on the inside, butterflies in his stomach, stone cold face.

"But... the problem is...", the teacher continued, "that you're, well, too superiour. I've been told that the other students feel recentment towards your achievments."

A chill ran down his spine.

"I'm ashamed to tell you this, but I wish you would slow down a little, for the sake of equality in the class".

The butterflies fell down dead to the ground.

As he left the teacher's office he felt a strange sense of pride coming over him, bur it soon shifted and turned to anger. For him, it was a wierd sort of accomplishment that his school had to hold him back. For the society around him it was yet another failure in reaching the final state of complete justice.

A cool wind ran through the streets of his little town, the newly blossomed spring flowers shivered.