There is a person in this house who have pets but has to go away now and again.  When he has to, I sometimes look after them.  One of his pets is a rabbit and it always seems a bit lonely when I check in on it, so I talk to it a lot when I’m over, keeping the lid open so that it can stand up and look at me.  And I sing a little while I give them all food.

He also has a very nervous cat and a paranoid guinea pig.  The first time I was there, I did dot even see the guinea pig, except for catching a glimpse of its nose once when I put salad outside its house.  The cat too kept mostly to itself, except for sometimes when it was studying me in places it thought I could not spot it.  This time they were both more at ease; the guinea pig stayed out of its house a few times, still a bit skittish but not running at once and the cat ate while I was still there, looking at me at a shorter distance.

The rabbit seemed to be a bit sad, but then it got salad and apple which it happily ate while I patted it.  After that, life seemed to be bearable again.

Also, I know know that he has a “Bryssla” (a kind of fish I used to have) and a frog in the aquarium.  Neither one of those found me to be at all interesting.

Tomorrow I’m off to my father for some sort of dinner.  I look forward to this a great deal.

/pao – 7 jan 2012 – 22.29




They came hidden amongst the explosions as if the fire in the air had called them.  Dragons or fire-snakes, slithering across the night sky like slow, red lightning.  Their roaring laughter echoing with the explosives calling out for cheerful destruction.  For one night every year they come out to eat that which we choose to forget, every possibility which never turned reality.

In the morning only burnt out paper tubes remain, reminding us of ourselves.




That was my day.  Now I live once again in the night.


For you I would be the perfect girl; a whispery-slender willow, a pale-clay statue dressed in the finest silk, the softest velvet.  For just a waltz in your arms.  For just a moment of feeling your body heat I would sacrifice my own.  For your breath down my neck I would give up breath altogether.  You lead and I follow.  You lead in the dance and I follow you.  I pretend that the flickering candles above are the stars and that we dance through the nothingness just we two.  You lead in the dance; for you it is a dance and you want to do it well.  For me you are the centre of the dance; for me it is all about you.  I have given up everything for this moment.  You lead and I follow.  I am the perfect girl for you.  I have made these waltzing shoes with my own hands; I myself have chosen this silk and this velvet to please you; I myself has made this gown just for this moment.  I am waiting for you to look down upon my face and see the girl of your heart.  I am waiting for you to look down and notice me.  My feet stumble and I almost fall but you hold me up, you lead on and I follow.

My heart beats to the music, to the sound of feet to cold marble.  Your arm around my waist as eternity stretches on.  Your hand against my own pressing my skin against my bones.  I look up at your face and you are looking straight forward.  I breathe your scent, I feel your breath to the top of my head and I tell myself that you care until the music stops and you lead me back to my chair, choosing another girl to dance with.

For just a waltz in your arms I have been the perfect girl, but you do not want that; you want a perfect dancer.


(a challenge)

I need something new and interesting to do creativity-wise.  100Words is fun and I love it, but it’s also just a hundred words a day.  So, I have decided that for the rest of January I will write at least one entry on my blog, no matter how short and/or cryptic it might end up.  I will be without internet for the eleventh to fourteenth, but I will still write entries for those days while I am away and publish them when the internetz returns.

Since I will focus on shorter entries, there is a great chance that there will be multiple entries in a single day.  I will try not to add everything in edits, but to actually make new posts.

This is an experiment, and as such things might not always work as planned, but I am bound to learn something from it.


/pao – 05 jan 2012 – 16.04



This is from an email I just wrote.  My female said I should put it up somewhere, so I do that here.  Will be useful if I have to return to it someday.


I think it is a bit interesting that two of my favourite books – both The Amazing Maurice and Fisherman – are in ways stories about stories, and one (Women Who Run With The Wolves) is about stories and storytelling as medicine.  I do not think this is just a coincidence, although I don’t think it’s just that simple either.  For me stories and storytelling are definitely important things, but not at the cost of everything else.  Although I really do believe that bad stories are better than no stories.

I used to think about myself as a forgotten doll in an abandoned and just as forgotten library when I was a Young Pao.  I still sometimes dream about that library, with broken windows and creeping ivy, golden sunlight sifting through the holes in the roof and the bright-yellow, fire-orange canopies of trees above, caught in eternal, sunny autumn.  Alone and immobile in an armchair, surrounded with books as wrinkled as the faces of old people.  Although at that time, I was quite alone and forgotten; in some ways it was by my choice, but mostly it was because of there being no alternative.  I did not mind much, I had books to read, poetry to write and a pot of tea to drink while I wrote myself through the night.  I also had Simon and Garfunkel and enough bitterness and hate to keep me warm through the coldest winter.


/pao – 5 jan 2012 – 03.22



Forest night bathed in midwinter darkness, devoid of summerbird song.  Diane curled up in the darkness in her shelter, still shivering.  Outside the wind howled incessantly, throwing around snow.  The dry grass and pelts inside her shelter kept her from freezing to death, but not much more.

The hunger nagged at her to go out, but she knew that prey would be impossible to find in this weather.  It would only make her colder, only exhaust her further.  She had to wait, had to be patient.  Now and again she would eat snow to keep away from dehydration, just a little every time to make sure she did not have to waste precious energy on melting it with her body heat.  And she waited, curling up with her feet under her body and her hands pressed tightly to her armpits, making her surface as small as possible.

Outside the wind howled.  Diane howled with it now and then, but the wind always won and drowned her howls in yet more snow.

(From my Nanowrimo novel 2011)


Rest in nest.

Home again after my half-celebrating of New Year’s eve.  Tidying up a bit at home, not doing much else besides playing games and listening to music.  I slept for over twelve hours last night.  I feel a lot better today, but the Christmas and New Year were a bit stressful.

I hope this year will include making of music and more writing than last year did.

Not much going on.  I will put some photos up later.
/pao – 3 jan 2012 – 20.42