in some cases, there are not even words.. no poems to cheer a person up, no words you can say to make the hurt disappear, no songs you can sing to make a friend relax…
sometimes, all we have is a deafening silence reminding us of how far we are from each other, and how inadequate we are.. how small we are.. how hopelessly lost we are to forces beyond our control…

sometimes, all you can give is love, and sometimes love doesn’t help…
sometimes, love is just not enough

there are no poems for how lost I am feeling.. for how helpless I’m feeling when I can’t do what I am meant to do.. when I cannot protect those who I love, in the only way my paws know how to; with sharp claw…
blood looks very nice on my paws.. they are made for it.. my claws are made for it.. and sometimes, my paws feel too small.

p – there is nothing I can do.. there is nothing I can do.. I’m so useless, I’m not enough.. there is nothing I can do…
o – You are doing what you can, and that is plenty. You are helping in what ways you can, and it is enough. No one can demand more from you.
p – but I’m not doing anything.. there is nothing I can do.. nothing…
o – You are doing what you can. You are there, when they need you. When they call you. They can turn to you.
p – but they get hurt, and I can do nothing to stop it, to protect them, to shield them, to save them…
o – You need that also, sometimes. You can not save people, they can only save themselves. Sometimes, you need to hurt. Sometimes you just need someone to be there when it hurts. To help to support you. To hunt for you. Not for the hurt to go away. And you are there. In all the ways you can be.


the leaves on the trees and on the ground has turned from golden yellow to brown.. as if they could turn to dirt while still on the trees to help the worms and insects, make it easier for them..
I haven’t seen an hedgehog in months…


on monday, I will hopefully get my books.. two on latin, one on dead languages, one for Kadanina.. (I will also make porridge with one of my Helpers, if she’s not sick. Oh, the lulz.)
if I do get my books, I will escape into the unfeeling patterns of grammar for a bit.. and learn new words.. at least I can do that in a way that makes me feel a bit less hopeless and stupid..
(fun fact, my mind is getting back to even less language barriers then usual even for a Pao, and suggested “honto ni waela murr’pau” as an acceptable and perfectly natural sentence.. it is a mix between japanese and ilythiiri.. :p)

soon, I might be back at writing diary entries in more than three languages, using tengwar.. those were the times

so, I will be reading latin and ilythiiri, while trying to work on pantherin and perhaps another conlanging project.. oh, and perhaps pick up french again, while expanding my vocabulary in english… not only will it hopefully distract me from a black hole of winter depression; it might also actually make my mind feel like it is actually doing something… :p
not to mention the hilarious stuff it might lead to!

honto ni waela murr’pau
marrah imail impossible yimi
lacunae narhile nahndaiao

well, yes… sort that one out, if you dare!

/pao 31 oct 99+10 06.47
(edited spelling, and added italics.. I won’t even write these edit-disclaimers any more.. only if I actually edit or remove or add anything of importance…)


(departure of kitties)

now the little furry, black monsters have left.. I am going to miss them greatly in some ways, but I am very happy that they are gone now.
I hope it helped though.

had rye porridge for breakfast.. yummy, tasty glue.

now off to bed again.. I hope for real rest now when it is quiet again.

/pao 24 oct 99+10 13.22



He was a big rat; he was. Big and strong, with teeth and claws that could find their mark even in the thickest fur. And his fur was warm and rough, and the darkest wildrat brown, with lighter, graying brown on his belly and his paws. But not a single white mark on his body.

When I wrote and drew about the samurai rats and the ninja rats, there was a rat called Skraa. It was the rat I liked the most of all the rats. He was a mystery to the other rats, he never talked about his past. He had the pointed ears of the ninja rats, but the highest master in the samurai rat village had him under his protection.
The thing was that one night, many winters back, Skraa saved the master rat from an ambush. Until then, Skraa had walked by himself, and just happened to come by.
The ninja rats didn’t trust Skraa, because he wasn’t one of them, and the samurai rats never trusted Skraa either.
Skraa’s only friend except from the master was the young samurai rat Mitoki (who all other rats kalled Toki), who was afraid of almost everything, never got taken seriously by anyone except for Skraa.
Skraa really liked Mitoki, because the young rat had a really good and gentle heart.

Skraa was a really introverted but loyal rat. Very calm and secure. Mitoki was always scared but did what he could. After Skraa gave him an old sword that meant a lot to Skraa, Mitoki tries to grow more secure, and finally gets into the service of the master rat with Skraa.

Anyhow, though I stopped writing about them, I still think of Skraa frequently. He was a very good rat.

I have no idea why I wrote this here. I just thought I should write something. Today (yesterday, Thursday), I bought some books. I think it was four books; two different books on Latin, one book about dead languages, and a book meant for Kadanina. I hope he likes it. If not, it can probably be used to start warming fires now when winter comes and all.

But yes. Pao will try to learn Latin. And she even believe it might be possible. Scary, that! (At the same time, I am once again expanding my vocabulary in English, and reading up on Ilythiiri again. I can picture several ways in which this might lead to really odd things. Oh, not to mention that I’m still continually working on Pantherin…)

All these things – together with me writing and drawing again – might just be enough to keep me from falling into a bottomless pit of winter depression. Funny that; how it is when I feel terrible I usually end up doing the really good and useful things, while thinking I do absolutely nothing at all.

Oh, and I have rediscovered the joys of rye porridge. Boiled, glue-like paste, made from rye, water and salt. It is easy, warm and wonderful though. I need a spurtle. (And “spurtle” is not in the firefox dictionary I use. Hahahah!)

I have stopped wearing elastic ribbons in my hair. Now I keep it back and up and in order by pins. O have no idea why. It feels nice to have it loose and still not in the way though. It protects my neck and throat. It is a good hint that I’m not feeling safe and secure.

I keep on hearing strange noises.

I really should sleep soon. I’m sick, and I made the mistake to go out shopping today. Otherwise, I’m still keeping myself sedated and resting. I feel a bit better, though.

/pao 23 oct 99+10 02.57



I am sick. The kind with fever and a constant feeling of being about to throw up. Threw up earlier, which made me think about yet another reason why I can’t believe in Intelligent Design.
“God works in mysterious ways,” fine. But if someone designed the human body, that someone still made some really stupid mistakes, or at least quite a sloppy job with some things.

The cats are doing fine. I really hope I won’t make them sick, but viruses and bacteria don’t seem to be that fond of jumping between species. Which of course is a good thing.

Not much happened today. Mostly because after having thrown up in the morning I gave up on this day and solved it with sedatives. And then I slept and let my body heal. I will soon sleep again, but I have learned that if I keep myself constantly sedated my body finds it hard to boot again, and I faint a lot. So I went up and curled up before my computer with my head on the table, half asleep to really terrible documentaries from the Swedish National Television.

I can has biscuits.
I even kind of lets dreda take care of me a bit. For you who know me, that is a sign of how bad I’m actually feeling.

I don’t think it is the swine flu. If it is, I’m still not overly worried.
As dreda so eloquently put it; “Most of those who have died used to be healthy people. You’re not healthy.”
So finally my sickness is statistically in my favour! Yay me! :p

Tomorrow (well, later today) Mothersister will return. I hope I don’t make her sick. :(

Tadah! End transmission for today. Now of to rye porridge and Rydjorn.

/pao 22 oct 99+10 01.36


(long day)

yesterday, that is monday, I went to see both my doctor and my psychologist.. it was an awfully long day, and I stayed in the building between the two appointments, except for when I wandered off to get some cola.

posted the letter(s) to Kadanina..

forgot to ask the doctor of a new appointment in about a month, but got a number and an e-mail address.. at least it is something else than having to depend on my sometimes terribly forgetful Helpers.

the two cats are doing fine now and seems to be very happy.. they are cuddly and very fluffy.

not much happening.
words are happening.
random recorder playing.

no keyboard playing in a while.. which is a pity, really.

and tea happens far too rarely; the same with sleep.

/pao 20 oct 99+10 05.15


(cats II)

still not sure whether to write everything in the same post during the day or not.. so this one is a short, free-standing post/entry.. dancing in limbo.

all pets moved into my room.. Mothersister with cats due to arrive in half an hour.. haven’t slept a minute.

the orangy creatures look very curiously at Linus.. I hope they aren’t predatory.

I have to find somewhere to put the lamp, or it will get very dark in here.

also, at some time in the future, I would love to take a shower…

I opened my door, and looked out. It is day now, and the bright light hurt my poor eyes. I opened the glass door out to the balcony and stood there, blinking. With the windows closed, it was about ten degrees Celsius there, and the sun felt warm to my skin.
It felt almost like a memory of summer.

Soon it will all be gone, once again.
Fade into a distant blur.

Linus doesn’t really seem to approve. Let us see if he will approve more when the cats arrive…
“Come muse, let us sing of rats!”

/pao 18 oct 99+10 10.27


… in difference from euphemistic kittens.

Tomorrow, Mothersister will bring her two cats here; Isis and Nepthys. If I ever get two cats, I will call them Bastet and Sekhmet.
Not that I would ever get two cats, but I guess that’s for the best of all cats and felines involved.

Hopefully, all will go well. I will bring the rat, mice and cockroaches into my room. I’m not sure I want to share it with any living being, including the orangy creatures right now, and definitely not any more living beings… but extreme situations calls for extreme measures.

Also, watched Doctor Who earlier. Watched the episode Blink. I can’t even begin to describe my love for that episode. It is beautiful and subtly terrifying. But then, I have always known that statues actually do run around eating peoples’ life force, so perhaps I shouldn’t be trusted.
I mean, that is one of the reasons I love statues, and why they freak me out. A bit like dolls and mannequins, but made out of weathered, durable and solid stone…

Anyway, I should sleep since long back. But I can’t. And this mornings’ dreams (well, I slept to about half past five in the afternoon due to fever and sickness) are still bothering and hurting me.
I can never respect someone who puts herself in a collar..
It still hurts. It hurts so much.

And while we’re on the topic of the physical world: I really, really miss my male; my beautiful griffin, my Aiwendil. I miss him so much. I haven’t seen him in a month, or something like that. And he lives about an hour away from me. I’m pathetic. I should just go there and bite him lovingly.
But I can’t stand people right now. Not the sight, the stench or the sound of them. I can’t stand their stupidity, their tugging at me when I’m out. “Do you believe in the Devil?” I guess it must be the hat. Everyone wearing a black top hat believes in the Devil. And of course, the Christian Devil. (I do believe in Devil Doll, but it’s not the same thing. They have the cat-headed butterflies, and they are a perfect soundtrack to my returning insanity.)

It’s interesting how I can only really write late at night when most of my friends are asleep. Perhaps that is the only time I can feel that I have time for myself. Time to think, to draw, to feel
For some reason, the new person, the Shinyman, doesn’t count. Perhaps because I don’t feel obliged to be there for him. If he calls, I can still ignore him if I am doing other things. Speaking with him comes naturally in the intervals of the writings. At natural pauses. And speaking to him doesn’t feel as something that is imposed on me against my will.
Then again, I have been in the same room as him, almost forgetting he was even there. V still remembered me now and then, but… he doesn’t really count, in any way, that would hinder my nightly writings.

And Narraiao is learning D and seems to be happy. She can write “spoo”. Shiny, happy spoo for her, in shiny, new language.

The mouse is dying. The computer one, that is. It is annoying, but I don’t get another one even though I have plenty. I have to torture myself a bit more. It builds frustration and patience.

I can never respect someone who puts herself in a collar.
Sounds like something my friend from all those years ago could have said to me. But it wasn’t her. If it had been, it wouldn’t have hurt as much. She is allowed to, because that’s what she does. She freaks me out.

Being apart from people you love, also really hurts. And right now, Aiwendil and Kadanina both feel as distant. As far away. I can reach neither one of them. Aiwendil is an hour away, Kadanina are several hours away. But I can’t reach neither one.
My heart is slowly pulled to pieces.
Torn between all the people I want to be with, curl up with, share the silence with.
But my Narraiao is here, and without her I would start painting the walls with my blood and write awful poetry on them with a black marker pen, or something else suiting an insane and suffering artist.
(I think I even might have done that. I wonder if I could.)

BBC’s Shipping Forecasts have almost stopped being hilarious and started being company. I’m starting to recognize and remember their voices. Oh dear kittens of mercy, it can’t be good.
(Shipping Forecasts.)
… losing its identity at the same time…

I’m finding mine again.
How long will I remember?

/pao 18 oct 99+10 05.18
(minor edits for grammar and spelling later… as always…)
(added italics, because I forgot about that..)

(The Shinyman is henceforth known as Kirrah-kinah / Kirrahkinah. It is a much better name. /Pao 05.55)



the tones, the notes are gently off, and everything is vibrating slightly, so very slightly out of sync..

the harmony and the scale is slightly off..

and the silence between the bursts of vibrating air is deafening…

the only time when I feel deep is when I feel as if I was drowning.

yet, every year, every single year when I come back, it feels as if I return from a dream, a journey, into cold and unloving – yet safe – arms.

the whole world is preparing for the cold, the starvation, the death, the hibernation.. as do I.

perhaps in the spring I will awaken, once again.. crawl out from my burrow and blink in confusion at the bright, warm light.. and then once again light my New Year’s fire, and sing.

perhaps, perhaps I will survive the winter, the cold, the starvation.. perhaps my fur is warm enough, perhaps my burrow is deep enough under the snow…

I don’t know.

the tune is slightly off this year

not even the cold is crystal clear…

/pao  17 oct 99+10  22.37



we always change, we constantly change, push forward, evolve..
we are constantly shaped, formed, molded.. we are forged, we have our corners cut off, carefully sandpapered down or beaten off with a hammer..

we can never change our past or that which has shaped us.. but sometimes, just sometimes

sometimes i think i might have gone with the wrong changes, misinterpreted the lessons life has taught me.. took the wrong way in the crossroads…
enhanced the wrong things…

i have to backtrack…
i have to find what i used to live for, because once i used to have things i felt that i could truly live for and be proud of… no matter how much i love my friends, no much how much i will always love them, i will ultimately die if there is nothing inside myself to be worth living for.. i will only be a soulless, empty shell, doing the happy kitty dance to make them smile.. but everything that was ever me would be dead.

i wish i could have it all.
the words the friends the darkness the incense the endless nights with a pot of tea in front of my cold computer screen
be a good friend while being a cat who walks alone
i wish the door was never locked, that i could come and go as i pleased
to hunt in the night and dance in the snowstorm
to return to their laps and return to their fires
purr and smile and comfort them and be patted
and still be free to leave when i heard the night call my name…

but it is not like that.. i lay in their laps and the hands hold me far too hard and it hurts
“go on,” they say “we don’t mean to hold you back.. go on, go out, we know that you love us, we know that you will be back…”
but their hands hold me, and their eyes are filled with pain and worry and sadness…
they are lying; to me and to themselves.. even though they know that i would return unless i got hit by a car, it is not enough for them.. perhaps they cannot believe me, perhaps it is i who have failed…
but it doesn’t really matter if they do it because they want me all for themselves or because they are concerned that i might get hurt…
they still hold me.

so i stay, and i do the happy kitty dance to make them smile..
because i want to be a good friend, and i want to show them that i love them, and to be a good friend you can’t be a cat who walks by itself and comes by to get cuddles and give them your love and affection.

love puts a lead on you, and you can never stray away in the night ever again… and if you try, you will find the collar strangling you.

even if they opened the door wide and the snow danced in, danced all around my paws.. even if they threw me out and close the door behind me, i wouldn’t be able to run away.
the lead is too short.

and they don’t even do it on purpose, so there is nothing they can do to make it better.

/pao 16 oct 99+10 17.16
(edited 18.33 / grammar fix)


under new management

this blog will from now on be about Pao and Pao’s own thoughts.

I apologize for any injuries and/or harm this might cause you.


“there are kittens on the way, they will arrive with break of day…”