Analog Life.

Why is it every time I try to bring these silly things back, no one else seems interested?
Someone feel like dusting off some analog hard copy?  Maybe 200 characters with out a break, 250?  What would you say?
How would you feel if you had to wait a week to hear me?  Would you wait?  Would you care?
Maybe soon, when my silly new website is up, you may care.

A Night at the Opera

"Apart from this beggar here,
There's no one like you my dear,
Tasting my lips,
No one but you and him"
Forever and ever we both will be one.
The maiden, the fair and the young fell in love.

Will you still wait for me?
Will you still cry for me?
Come and take my hand.
Will you still wait for me?
Will you still cry for me?
Come and take my hand.

Wherever I'll go you'll be with me,
my first though and my last.
Though we'll depart in bitterness,
one day you'll understand.
Carry on, beloved maiden, mine.

Yesterday's memories, and melodies,
are gone with the wind so sad.
Where everything's pale,
there is no sign of you, I'm alone.
How I wish... you should be here.
I'm alone...
Telling me it's alright.
Come rest your head.
Come rest your head.
Come rest your head.
Come rest your head.
I'm alone and sadness reigns in my heart.
As long as we live, it won't go away.
We are one, but torn apart.

Sadly sings destiny...
Sadly sings destiny...

Will you still wait for me?
Will you still cry for me?
Come and take my hand.
Will you still wait for me?
Will you still cry for me?
Come and take my hand.

Harvest of Sorrow,
your seed is grown.

A lesson to learn...
Don't be shy just blame me.
Well, there is no need to feel ashamed,
Remember the oath,
remember the oath.

Under the ice you will believe.
Under the ice you will be free.
Released from rotten thoughts.
No more pain, and no more gods...

Please understand,
it's not in our hands.
Barren the land,
it's all dead and gone.

Khef runs dry...

Khef burns away in flames.

Khef, frozen and still.

My Nuria

Why didn't see it sooner?  I saw, and I saw, much and more.  But it wasn't all of it.  I called you, my luminous one, I made you real.  Nothing fills me with more hope, nothing fills me with more terror.  How can this be?  The things that go unnoticed in my life, what are they up to?  They listen, its clear to me they listen.  They are the rats in the walls of the castle, the little bird on a branch in the woods.  They are also the maker and the destroyer, gods and men.  How careful I must be...

          I forgive you, my bright one, for it was not your fault.  It was my own expression returned, and I welcome it home again.  What else can I do with it?  My children are always welcome at my table.  Did I reach out in pain?  What did I release to myself?  The balance was lost, so long did I sit on one side.  I choose suffering, why?  Time and time again, why?

          Is it so easy to play that part?  Yes, so easy.  Its always around, just tap into it.  Is it so easy to connect with it?  We all carry it along.  Is it interesting?  Oh yes, ever so much so.  I was never bored, not once.  Maybe you don't believe that, but its true.  Nuria, you have been the most stimulating thing to ever happen to me.  Is it a good thing?  In the end, I can see the good in you.  Thank you for every minute.  Dreams come true.  What am I dreaming?  Is it worth it?  Yes, a thousand times yes.  Living is the justification for life, and its true for all children, the good and the bad alike.  We treat them all as treasures.  They are all treasures.

          There was always some balance, there are the good times with the bad.  There is more, there is room.  Is that what feels so good about suffering?  The room for love?  True and simple, practiced, not professed?  All things in balance, maybe I fell off.  So here is the clean page before me, what do I write?  What do I say to the mouse, sitting in my house?  Its time to make this right, to tell your story, and to tell of hope.  We always have hope, I will remind you of that.  They will be listening.

          Come, sit by the fire and be at peace.  There is soft music and slow dancing.  A great bird roasting in the kitchen.  The snow falls out the window, and the sun fades.  But here its comfortable, warm and safe.  You can close your eyes and hear the fire crackling, you can smell the cold, and the wood, and the food.  Welcome home my child.

Lost Winter

Its less then two weeks until Christmas, and its just now starting to feel a bit like winter. It came up so quietly. I look out my open window and I see leaves on trees, feel a warm breeze pass by. One out of ten trees are bare, and that isn't even counting the evergreens. Most still cling to a bright golden covering, thinning but still very present. I feel like Fall just kept on falling and falling. Will true winter just pass us by this year? Its somehow a very depressing thought. I hope winter is just running a bit late, maybe half way to California it remembered it forgot all the snow and hand to turn around. I hope it comes back.
I think about all of my wintery feelings, and realize most are artificial. I'm entranced by a smattering of decorations and lights, but its better then nothing. It still makes me happy to see them. I drove by city hall today and saw the one mother with her child trying to skate through the melting slush they laid out. I applaud their determination and sheer bloody mindedness. I'm sure its the mothers doing, doggedly trying to give her son a memory of Christmas that fit with her own childhood joy. I wonder where she was from? Somewhere cold I think, somewhere in the real world. I keep coming to this thought, like there is something wrong... Something wrong with here. Like a "normal" place to live would have snow, and rain. And storms, real ones, ones that we talk about in a sentence with out the word fire in it. A place with forests and trees and rolling green hills. For most of the year the hills are just covered in sad brown grass, mostly dead. The odd small bushes, squat and prickly and uninviting. I have fond childhood memories of cacti and dust.
I can trace my bloodlines back to Sweden. A cold and harsh place, but also one of unsurpassed beauty. After my ancestors crossed the ocean, they settled in Minnesota and Wisconsin. They chose there because it was just like home, cold harsh and beautiful. I feel out of place here when I think about it. I keep reminding myself that we in the west only consider things like snow and rain as normal because that's the European normal. That maybe even a large percentage of the human population lives areas like here. But I keep coming back to the fact that in the greater picture, I am an out of place European. I am one of the first few generations to strike out to a radically new place. In the big picture, I am but a dot at the end of a long line that stretches back thousands of years. Is that were all these feelings come from?