Christmas is over for another year.  In a few day there is the human new year’s eve, which I will spend – and not celebrate – with my male.  The only way I celebrate that new year is by singing a song by the Swedish band Big Fish Nyårshambo.
Translated, the refrain goes a bit like;

It seems like it is new year’s eve again
a new year has come to an end again
and that which has happened can never happen again
now the new time will begin..

It seems like it is new year’s eve again
a big part of our lives has passed, one two three
and we shall also fade away, one two three
then there will be no time to mourn!

That is the only way I celebrate this new year’s eve.  The real new year I celebrate the last of April, when I can thank life for returning, when I can mourn and sing for those who died and for that which I had to leave behind in order to survive.  When I burn the regrets I have to let go of.

My hundred words for today;
I have never bothered with creating worlds.  I have created languages, letters, people, creatures.  For being a creature who loves mountains and forests and rivers, I have created awfully few of them.  I have always just created enough of scenery to set a scene in.  I have never really explored a world of my own creation; I have never built it up stone by stone or tree by tree.  I have never felt the scent of the flowers between the dialogues of the /people/ I created.

I have never sat under the trees, in the wind.

I really want to.

It is 06.40 am here, I am awake.  I can almost hear the midnight birds and feel the scent of flowers on the autumn winds in the sacred portal grove.   I am creating a world in my head, trying to do it for real this time.  I finally got tired of having languages, myths, legends and people speaking of them, without me even knowing how the midnight birds sing in the darkness of the forest and how the dried-blood coloured rancar blossoms looks like in the light of the red moon.  So I decided to find out.   I left all of my characters to their intrigues and battles to go walk in the forest for a while.

There they put up the portal stones, in the glade surrounded by the gnarled white-grey trunks of the silverwood aspen with their heavy silver-coloured leaves tinkling in the nightwind.  The wines of the rancar creeping over the stones, their flowers soon to bloom.  And there, there is the forgotten path, leading here.  It is hidden for most part, the forest protecting this place at it’s heart.
The pack of midnight birds singing and laughing, preparing for the night’s hunt; big like great eagles, white with clear blue eyes, hiding in the trees, but we are safe from them in this place.  Their song may enter, but not they, because that was one of the rules put up long ago.   They will always help protecting this place, unable to leave.

And there, there is the highest ridge where Sori of the Mountain lived before she walked into the valley, following her river to the sea where she found the island and extinguished the fire of the volcano with five of her tears, or so the villages at the mouth of the river says.
Up there, the snow never melts, and spring never comes.


In five days I have had two twenty-four hour periods (or more than that) where I haven’t eaten.  I think that is rather fail.  But hopefully things will calm down.  I will have books and music and rest until it is time to sing bitterly again, reminding myself that life is a temporary state that will be gone eventually.
Not that it is the temporariness of life tastes bitter, because I find that much comforting, but…  even if I no longer fear death I want to live at the moment.  I want to see what will happen.

And I have books to read and stories to write, haven’t I?

In the end when I am gone, I don’t want to be remembered, but I would like for some of my stories to live on, without me, without my name; changing, evolving like stories do, taking on new shapes and forms in the mouths of others who will give them new meaning.  I would really like that.  I don’t want to be remembered by name or deed, because I am just meat, and animal amongst many.  I want to die in the forest in the dawn by a small forest lake, surrounded by birdsong and whispering trees, but no people or friends to mourn me or remember me past their own lifetime.  When I am gone, let me be gone.

But I want to see this, I want to see what will happen.  I have a new Paobook to write in.  I have many ideas to write down.   And I have the project I started that I must finish.

If I died now, would I have any regrets?
Just a few.  Only one of them which I think I deserve.  But I think that it might change before it is time to feed it to the flames.

I hide the embers under ash and snow
so that when the winterwinds grow
they will be hidden, safe below..

and with my anger I do the same
hiding the wind from stirring the flame
until people, fooled, call it by another name..

the shadows cast by the wind-dancing snow
show me a path to were I cannot go…

I wrote that on the bus on the way to my male, just before I left the bus and a person I haven’t seen since I left that small town where I used to live.  He told me that I used to write poetry, and I told him that I still did, that I just had done on the bus, that I seem to be unable to stop.

Sometimes, I fear my dearest friends.  I think that in one way, I have to fear them.  It is very hard for me to feel love for things I do not fear.   Beautiful things are usually frightening and or dangerous; like raging wildfires, like the deadly cold of the winter that covers all surfaces with frost.  And so are usually the people I end up loving; beautiful, deep and terrifying.  Some would argue that I am as well.  A beautiful, wild creature with clear eyes and sharp claws who can sing gentle songs when I want, need and have to.  Perhaps I am.  I hope I am.  I hope I can be.

I watched the fire in the fireplace and I watched the embers glowing, the salamanders playing in the flames.  And I want to see what will happen.  How this will turn out.  Perhaps this year will be interesting.  Perhaps it will pass far too swiftly into nothing.  Into another new year’s eve, another bitter singing of that song.
Perhaps one day I will put all these Paobooks into the fire with the rest of my regrets.

Perhaps one day the Great Firebird will swoop down from the sky, burn me all to ash and boil the last drop of blood from my body.  Perhaps it will have clear, cold jackdaw eyes…

I found a new song I haven’t heard by Matchbox Twenty today, called How Far We’ve Come.  I will listen to it to repeat for the next day, thinking of fire and the scent of rancar flowers in the cold autumn wind…

I believe the world is burning to the ground
oh well, I guess we’re gonna find out
let’s see how far we’ve come (right now)
let’s see how far we’ve come…

/pao – 27 dec 2010 – 07.45


(christmas 02)

So, with forty-five minutes of sleep, I still managed.  I am awesome.  There was some reading done.  There was massive amounts of food.  I managed to steal about an hour of uneasy, light sleep a few hours ago.  It was filled with the talking and laughing voices of Marrawa’s family, and it was pleasant.  I stirred now and then.  Marrawa’s mother offered me to borrow a very pleasant blanket; soft and fluffy.

It was cheerful.  I showed them my new bible.
Earlier I went with Marrawa’s father’s side to light grave-candles and things for the dead.
There was terribly sad and frozen birds there.  It is cold and hard for them to find food now, but people give them food there.

Frozen bird.

On the way to Marrawa I took some photos of the ice on the glass house-thingy at the bus stop.

And there was frostbitten, ice-crystal covered trees…

Now I’m off to take my drugs and hopefully pass out into blissful oblivion.


/pao – 24 dec 2010 – 20.06


(christmas 01)

I think that perhaps I have slept around forty-five minutes this night/morning.
So, here are some pictures from yesterday and the day before instead;


An old bible.

I found a bible when I was out shopping.  It seemed old, and I could not resist buying it.

Many of the details are just stunning.

I’m not sure what this picture is supposed to illustrate, but it is from the old testament.
Perhaps they are just crucifying a snake because they where all out of Christs?
I have no idea.  People say Christ didn’t exist back then, but that he existed, but he hadn’t been here yet, so it didn’t count.  Still, I find this picture quite odd.

This is the standard Christian prayer in Swedish. Perhaps slightly more than 250 years old Swedish. It is beautiful, isn’t it?




More snowflakes.

More snowflakes.

More snowflakes.




I have written all christmas cards, but I haven’t posted them yet.  I may be adult enough to actually write them nowadays, but not get them posted in time. :p

But.  Time to get dressed in prettier clothes.  It will be a long day.
Hopefully I will be able to sleep early.

/pao – 24 dec 2010 – 09.18


it is 07.46 am, and it has been snowing again.
I am awake, and outside there is a man in a tractor, trying to clear paths in the snow, piling it up neatly.

it is 08.02 am, and the man in the tractor has left.
the cloudy sky is greyish deep blue in the dawn.  the chocolate is cooling in the kitchen and my pills lay here beside me.
but I do not yet wish to sleep.

the rats are mostly sleeping.
my female is sleeping.

I hear footsteps upstairs, in the apartment above.
the world is waking.


I guess in a way that I should be happy.
Why aren’t I happy?

There is a beautiful winter out there.  Cold, hard and deadly.
I want to go out there and sit in the snow and think.
Feel the icy cold to my skin, feel the burning, paradoxical pain set in.

There is such a gentle snowfall outside.
I want to see the snowflakes land on my clothes, in my hair.
I want to watch it as it doesn’t melt.

And then I want to come back in, curl up beside her and thaw again.

/pao – 22 dec 2010 – 08.38

National Novel Writing Month Winner

Nanowrimo2010 Winner

So…  I did it.  I really did it.  With a few days to spare I wrote the 50 000+ words for Nanowrimo and won.  It is a story about the end of the world, a lighthouse, assassination, madness, a dimension-traveller, snakes, an unfortunate mermaid, a mad female scientist…
And a lot of fishermen.  Changes and choices.  It begins with the end and ends with the end again, from a different point of view.

When I heard about Nanowrimo a few days before it was to begin, I thought it sounded a bit like 24 Hour Comic Day, but, well… a bit longer and for a book.  So I decided I should try, just as an experiment.  Just for the hell of it, just to see what would happen.  In the beginning, I had this vague idea that I would write about a group of people that had almost nothing to do with each other, to describe scenes from their lives from different points of view.  Sometimes their paths would cross.   I thought that idea to be a bit fun.

In retrospect, I would say that it was a success, more or less.  There are still loose ends in it, and when I go back to it to look it through, I may try to add to it and end some of them.  Like what happened to the Zombie Girl?   Did she ever find vampirehood?   What was up about the empty room in the lighthouse?  Who had lived there?
There are also a few more scenes and stories I had ideas of that I couldn’t find time enough to write.  One of them was about Pantherina and Marcus, the unwilling drugdealer, and the consequences her words had on him.  I really wanted to write more about Anai.  Why was Anai so insane?  What was up with all the maggots?   And I really wanted to write more about Wen.  Even though the Pantherina and Min-storyline was the easiest one for me to write, I really think the ones with Wen are my favourites.  They taught me the most, and they were fun.  They were hilarious to write, and I love them.
Something that stands out was the beginning of the lighthouse story.  I think it got more Pao as it progressed, but it wasn’t very Pao neither in beginning nor end.   I really wanted to write more about that as well, and perhaps someday I will.   I really, really hope I will, because I had a lot of ideas for that one as well.

All in all, I still made the wordcount.  I wrote more than 50 000 words in a month.   I really did it in the end and the result is a collection of scenes – short stories – about the lives of some people that have very little in common except for the fact that sometimes their paths cross.  Like when Anai and Min met.

It would have been interesting to arrange a scene with Min and Wen as well, just to see what would happen.  Perhaps one day that will happen as well.  There will be another year and I still have stories I would like to write.   And I still love writing.

Even if I have to be honest and say that my daily hundred words at 100Words have been somewhat of a safetyline.   I knew that I had at least hundred words to write each day that were completely my own, and this was a great comfort.


I am tired and there is a lot of snow outside.
I am tired and feeling slightly ill.
I am going to bed for another hour now.

Here, have some more pictures…

Moon above the market

Moon above the market

Strange lights around the church.

Strange lights around the church.

Pretty black branches against the red sky.

Pretty black branches against the red sky.

Snow and pretty lights.

Snow and pretty lights.

/pao -1 dec 2010 – 15.39