panterdjuret

I remembered today that I am a child of the winter. I had forgotten how beautiful snow was, and how little the cold chills me.

This day (last day) was wonderful.

/pao – 16 dec 09 – 07.33

for three days, i have had an empty wordpad document open.. ready, if i should decide to write anything, listen to me if i should decide to speak…

but all i say, i say to them..
no words left for myself…

Mothersister was over last night.. she held me in her arms and spoke of hunting, with her soft voice filled with love.. wrapped up in her arms I found comfort, rest and warmth.. my dear Mothercat, speaking to me, her kitten, of things I had forgotten.. a mother cat telling her kitten about the joy of the hunt, the taste of blood, the sound of suffering.. and I told her things I hadn’t been able to tell anyone in a while.. wrapped up in her arms with her soft voice in her head, speaking to me at my level, it felt like a dream…
a wonderful, restful, peaceful dream…
soothing, calming, slipping over me like something cool, something fresh.. Calming.

and I snapped my teeth together and grinded them as if severing some poor prey’s spine, and sometimes I extended my claws.. and her soft voice in my head was just like a dream.. speaking of death and violence and pain and tears, lovingly…

And now I feel a lot better.
I will probably sleep good this night too.

/pao – 13 dec 09 – 05.08

i was supposed to write, but i can’t bring myself to.. too much pain, too little energy.. i have lovely music to listen to, but everything seems wrong.. they are not the songs i have in my head…

physical pain, mental pain.. hunger (starvation?) and clawing despair.. i tried to sleep, but the nightmares came.. listened to music and cried as dreda made food…

how can it hurt so much? how can i be able to have so much pain in me?
i am not eating much.. i ate some cheeseburgers today.. but i am not drinking much either.. it is hard to keep my head up, to keep myself warm.. and when i get cold there is just even more pain, and i get awfully tired…

i began a project.. a big one.. i am still thinking about how to do it the best way possible, practically speaking.. because i am a masochist who tries to manipulate pictures in ms pain(t).. because i never learn…

i feel so cold.. and lonely.. i bet that even if i set myself on fire, i would still die cold.. and the salamanders would probably not want to hug me… (i am not sure if salamanders finds paos attractive..)

i have this very, very bad idea about taking a cold shower and go out to sleep on the balcony and freeze to death.. but it is not a good idea.. and O reminds me of that.. as soon as I bring it up…
no hypothermia for pao…

i do not want to go to england.. i am not sure it is anything but a desperate attempt to flee.. flee from what? the winter? the fear? the despair? i cannot flee from myself.. i will be as depressed and sad and desperate there as I am here.. probably even more so…
because, even if I have been there, many years ago, it is too far into the past.. england would be a new place.. with new people.. new houses.. new routines.. new food…
perhaps i would be too overloaded to be depressed.. perhaps.. but i am fairly sure i am very capable of sitting in a corner, being quite sad…
(i am always in corners, being sad.. sometimes new corners.. but always the same sadness…)

it doesn’t matter…

i miss kopparberg.. i want to go back there.. only, that i don’t.. i never want to set a paw there ever again… but i miss the forests.

i miss my boulder.. i miss my howling song.. i miss the clear, human-created lake…

*

“under the rose bush / in the crystal clear autumn / i made him a bed of feathers.. / i put up the white ribbons / and laid his body to rest.. / i lovingly covered him with a blanket of leaves / then i left him, never to return again…”

*

will it ever end? will it ever stop hurting? there is joy and happiness too; there is love and there is laughter, but the pain never goes away.. is it supposed to be like this?
it is breaking me. again and again and again…
every single time it claws my lungs to bloody ribbons and i cannot breathe because of the pain..
how long will it hurt?

*

also, i feel fat.. i look fat.. but i know i cannot possibly be.
i am constantly hungry, but no food can chase it away.. so, there is no point eating.. (O – “But there is. You are hungry just because you do not eat enough. You have to eat more. You should eat more.”)

i am supposed to be the human one of us, right? a human, a pantherlike feline, and the grey pantherlike thing with wings.. so why am i the one who wants to hunt and bury my teeth and claws in a soft, twitching body?
shouldn’t that be V’s job?

*

time to sleep and face the nightmares..

*

/pao – 10 dec 09 – 02.12

and further down / in the lower, right corner / sat a magpie made of blood / the white was white / the black was red / and I did not yet know what all this meant…

*

the clouds, they crashed into the side of the mountain / they fell down to Earth and scattered amongst the trees / the red houses the silvery cars the stressing people / and for a moment we could all breathe the cold of heaven / and wear the tears of the sky on our cheeks…

*

you were the love I carried in my heart for so long / without anywhere I could direct it / without anyone in my life who was worth it / not anyone worth giving it to / tearing my heart into tiny pieces…

*

so we sit here in the cold winter silence / with only the music of snowfall / in our ears / as our words turns to mist..
it was hesitant spring not long ago / then warm and lazy summer / then suddenly autumn had come..
we saved what we could / we curled up around the fire / and we sang until our voices became gentle mist…
then we fell asleep / and we look at each other now / separated by fire that cannot thaw our frozen bones / and all we see are dreams from a summer passed..
like ghosts who cannot ever leave…

*

his hair was short when I saw him / and his eyes were icy cold and burning with life / and held my gaze steadily as he smiled / baring fangs / and I turned my back to him / led him towards my home /not sure if he would kill me / knowing he was dangerous to me..
the mallard I caught was warm and soft / under my paws / as I held it after the pounce / and there was fear in the voice of my companion / and he seemed relieved when I shortly thereafter / released the bird / and let it flee back to safety / far away from my claws…

*

there is no excuse for what I am doing to myself / and all my reasons are hidden and unreasonable / I have many friends around me / loving me / caring for me..
and I miss the time when I was alone in the world / no one to understand me / no arms to curl up in / no eyes to see who I was..
I miss the person I was / I miss the person I used to love / the glance I would meet in the mirror / I miss the girl who is since long dead now..
she lived alone / she died alone / I carry pieces of her heart in mine / but never again shall I meet / her gaze in the mirror..
she lived alone / and she died alone / a long time ago / and I miss her / but she never knew me / she died before I existed / but the pieces of her still in my heart / they make me remember / how it was to be truly free / and the sound of living forest night…

*

his embrace was warm and safe / and I wish I could stay there forever / feel safe and loved / but I had to go / I had to leave / I had to run off / I could not let myself stay / because the farewell will come / as surely as the night comes / the winter comes / the end of my life / and the end of the world..
“be careful of who you love” / but surely, we do not choose love / we do not choose to get lost / we do not choose the despair and pain / the guilt and the shame / the longing and the consuming desire; / we try to choose the warmth / the happiness / the safety..
we try to choose to stay / we hope that if we have to leave / we will still see each other again / and once again feel safe and warm..
but I could not stay / I had to leave / before I began to hope / that it would never end…

*

her eyes are alight with joy / when I kiss her / and she smiles / and I burn / and I want to curl up against her / dreaming of playing / dreaming of silence / dreaming of rest..
the red of blood / I don’t know if it is hers / or if it is mine / (is it mine?) / wrestling biting hitting squirming around each other / growling in anger in fear in pain / while our eyes shine with joy / and we curl up against each other / exhausted / and trembling with life / until we fall asleep…

*

the power went out / and suddenly there was only silence / only darkness / and I froze as a rabbit who saw a hawk / there was knocking in the walls / and I was not afraid / but listen cautiously / (are they from within these walls?) / but then I lighted a candle from beside my computer / and the fire was warm..
and I took the knife from beside my computer / slid it into my pocket / where it would be easy to draw / for defense / if the scavenger gangs would come..
in the livingroom I put tea-candles on plates / lighted them / and they reminded me of campfires / spreading a bit of warmth and light / and gently dancing shadows..
so I retreated into the shadows / and I played the recorder / as silently as I could / and then a bit louder / but when I stopped I was still surrounded / by the natural silence / unbroken by human and artificial sounds..
I put some tea-lights out in the stairway / three lights on a plate / on a step / so that if my neighbors looked out through their doors / they would see something else than darkness / and perhaps feel a bit safer..
I turned on the radio / and the rasping crackling whining sound / filled my world / until I managed to find some really strange music / reminding me of Devil Doll..
sitting curled up before the fire / watching the dancing shadows / feeling safe inside my shell / confident in my own capability / of dealing with the sudden lack of electricity / the pressure of my knife against my thigh / as I ate leftovers from yesterday..
then suddenly the lights came back on / filling me with a sting of pain; / the feeling of loss / and then the human background sounds returned / filling up my world / with uneasiness / once again..

*

/pao – 9 dec 09 / 00.54

she spent her time wondering
thinking dreaming crying forgetting
finding herself finding her place
only to forget it all again

words and silence all taste the same
when you are deaf and blind

forgetting searching finding forgetting
and not giving up, trying again
again again again again again again
forgetting what she was looking for

*

are you lost, little cat?
have you forgotten once again?
the taste of being truly free
and the sound of springtime rain?

have you lost your way
are you howling in vain?
have you forgotten your path
and the sound of springtime rain?

are you so desperate now
to find a cure for the pain
that you would try to forget
the sound of soft springtime rain?

lost lost lost, little cat
but what does it really matter?
howl little cat, if you feel lonely
fill your world with your voice!

do not forget, little cat
the time will come for dance again
remember that you have all to gain
do not forget the springtime rain
do not forget the springtime rain
remember, little cat
remember remember
remember…

*

she spent her time wondering
thinking dreaming crying forgetting
finding herself finding her place
only to forget it all again

forgetting searching finding forgetting
and not giving up, trying again
again again again again again again
forgetting what she was looking for

searching searching searching
her nose deep in books memories
songs dreams poems thoughts
frantically searching
but she will never know
what she is looking for
before she finds it
only to forget it
again and again
and again and
again and
again

hoping it is not yet lost
running out of time
pain fear and desperation
and deep howling
calling calling

*

do not forget, little cat
marrana, marrana
the spring comes again
marrana, marrana

do not forget, marrana
the sound of rain
the taste of rain
the love of rain
the song of rain

bringing life again
just wait, little cat
marrana marrana
it will come again

marrana imail
narhil narhil
prahnde
.

/pao – 2 dec 09 – 06.45

So, today I started writing on the forum about heraldry that I joined some days ago. I really hope I don’t make a too big fool out of myself. But you never know.

I wrote a short introduction about myself, and then I put up my idea for my own weapon. I am quite afraid, but I hope it will go well. They seemed to be good and nice people, but I don’t know. They are still people, and I seem to bring out the worst in people.

Too nervous there to be able to write well, or thoughtfully. I hope they forgive me. And I really hope to be able to write good things and bring something good to the forum too.

***

you are the dream that takes me through the winter snow…

***

I want to breathe, but it hurts too much.
I want to sing, but I can’t.

***

does it matter who we are, if we cannot change?
I don’t think I have ever changed that much, because when I think about how I used to be… sure, I have grown, I have matured, but all my passions in life, all my major personality traits, all my character flaws… they are the same.

If we cannot change, who we are seems to be even more important.
But I think we change. I think we do.
Just never in the ways we want.

***

“In the terrible adventure of each night, whose irrational daring springs only from the ignorance of danger.. the doors open wide, and streams of unknown flow into the sleep..!” (Devil Doll – Mr Doctor)

***

V wants to see the sea. The cliffs and the waves, and feel the wind. I feel a bit sad for her for not being here the last time we were to England and Scotland. I remember trying to put my jacket on, and actually lifting from the ground.
I think she could have liked that.

I don’t like the sea. The sea scares me.
But, wind.. the feeling of the wind pulling me… I like that. I love storms, I love hearing the thunder and the rain.

***

I need morning tea now.

/pao – 1 dec 09 – 18.44
“heralds don’t pun, they cant“

“Do you always believe in God, or do you only believe in Him when you think you’re going to die? Because if you only believe in Him under those circumstances, perhaps you should let Him concentrate on the people who actually love Him…”

They are not really my words, but sometimes, I just get so frustrated and upset at some people, who only pray to God when they want things, to ask for things, to complain about things. It’s a bit like telling everyone how you really love your grandparents, and how wonderful they are and how happy they make you, but you only call them to complain about how miserable you are and ask them to please send you more money.
Also, people who tell other people that they will burn in Hell just because their opinions differ from someone else’s make me feel sick. (If you believe in Hell, it is slightly better, because then at least believe in what you say, but people who are only using the threat of Hell to convert people or threaten them when they disagree make me feel sick.)

But yes, people praying to God only to ask for favors or kindly ask Him to smite people, but never just once stopping to just say “Well, this day has been nice, and it hasn’t rained even once! Thank you God, it was just what I needed!” just feels very… false. Because if you love someone, you call them just to say hello too, right? Or is God some sort of cosmic grandparent you only ask for money?

It’s four thirty-one ante meridiem, and I am terribly tired, feeling very old and bitter.

People who only believe in God when they are in need doesn’t really care about God. They don’t love God. They just want someone else to sort out their fucking mess for them.

People like that depresses me terribly.

(especially when I would just want to pray myself, and really hope someone actually listens…)

/pao – 26 nov 2009 – 04.36

some music is life; it makes your heart beat faster, makes you breathe harder, makes you want to fight or run or think, change things.. it tells you about life.. about all things that are life, reality, teaches you things..

and then, some music isn’t life.. it is only a dream..
it makes you curl up and sleep and dream and float around in nothingness, not doing anything, not living.. just dreaming, waiting..

***

the music I listen to right now reminds me more of a dream than life..
I am not sure if dreams are what I need right now..
because dreams are to very little use if they are not used..
and right now, I need life..

but life is almost nowhere to be found right now, surrounded by chilly almost-winter.. life has fled, hidden, fallen asleep..

life is dreaming.

***

the page is empty..
my paws should write or draw..
but the dreams won’t stick to the paper..

they flow away again.

/pao – 22 nov 2009 – 02.33

(edit: adding a part of a terribly silly and hilarious fake-play I am writing. It was suiting…)

The winter is coming, and I do have to sleep.
And so, I fill the sleep with dreams so that
I will have hope and something to long for;
something to fight and carry on for.
Something to help me not die in my sleep
out of starvation and lack of food for my soul.
The Hambre del Alma is singing with such
a lonely and complaining voice -
like the voice of the winter gales! -
and the starvation of the soul is just as real
as the starvation the rabbits feel
in their burrows.

I’m quite sure not everyone has read The Cat That Walked By Himself. Those of you who haven’t done so really should. It is a good story.

A while ago when I woke up, I just had a short poem about the cat in my head, and I wrote it down. It was short and silly, but it was complete with rhymes and everything, which is very uncommon for me.

Well, here is the poem;

“I am the cat that walks by himself
and all places are alike to me”
no matter if I am in the forest
in the silently singing tree
no matter if I am on the shore
watching the gently rolling sea
even if you want it of me
there is no other place I would rather be
I have no place left I want to see
“all places are alike to me”

Enjoy.

Currently I’m not writing much here. My semi-secret language blog is taking some of the time, the rest of the time seems to be spent either on sleeping or being in pain. This monday I’ll get drugs again (my doctor fixed a renewed recipie), and after the nineteenth I will get a card for the trains and busses again, and (hopefully) be able to begin to hang around libraries.
Perhaps, with some luck, I might start to be able to do something useful. Something interesting. Something fun.

Am I just biting after the sun?

I used to do things, not caring much about the outcome. I used to draw things because of the fun of drawing. I used to write things just to get it off my chest. To get it out. And now when I look at it… the drawings were better, but the poetry was horrible.
Silly words and retarded grammar.
But still… it feels a lot more honest.

I am no cat who can walk by itself any more. I wish I was.
I wish I could be, once again. I wish I didn’t have to stay.
I cannot stay. I almost feel like I exist again.

My nose deep in books. Sorting through old poems, old drawings, old memories. My nose deep in old books, new books, books with new and old thoughts. Old diaries. New blogs. New music. The recorder in my paws. Music to call back memories. Music connecting to new thoughts.
Tired, numb and dizzy, yet somehow… I feel strangely alive.
Almost free. Almost happy. Mercifully disconnected.
I haven’t taken the painkillers for about a week now. It’s not that it doesn’t hurt. They just ran out, and I couldn’t be bothered to get new ones. Tomorrow there is psychologist. And then hopefully cinnamon rolls with a friend. If she can show up.
And then when I go out and everything, I will pick up painkillers, send a book to a friend with a very confusing letter, and hopefully not pass out in the scary Outside.

Time passes slowly, slowly, and yet at the same time far too swiftly.
I wish I could be a big, heavy stone; too heavy to get caught up in the whirling river of time; lay safe and steady at the bottom, watching time pass, and dream slow and restful dreams.

**

I really, really, really…
Am I allowed to exist? For real?
I almost believe that I am. I almost believe that I exist.
When I look at my paw, I cannot see through it.
Not as I used to do.

I am solid. I exist. My heart beats in my chest, and I do draw breath.
I am alive. (Again? Or still?)

There is Pao, sometimes I feel vaguely hopeful for the world.
As long as there are questions, the search goes on.
Searching, searching, my nose deep in books…

/pao – 15 nov 2009 – 23.41

(written 7 sep 2009 15.14.. this is a reference to and an evolved thought from even further back, going home with a friend on a train.. an evolution and a shard of a thought…)

We are all strangers on this train. We all share this darkness in the window, we share this journey. Everyone is looking around without seeing. The young woman in front of me fidgets with her hair. We are all sharing this silence. We are still in the silence, even though we are talking. We are all thinking. I sit there with them. With my hopes and dreams, nightmares and fears. With all my pain.
(I bet you feel pain too.)

I am just like them, even if I’m not. I’m not like them, though still one of them. They excluded me early on, and I could never find my way back.

But we are all strangers on this train. We share the background noises. They, me, us, we. We are all being people. We are all thinking.
We are all being. We are all going somewhere through the night. Home? To friends and family? To work? Away? Perhaps in circles, around and around?
Perhaps nowhere.

Out there in the pale light, in the white light, in the orange light that man made lies the broken metal junk that man made. All the hopes and dreams that man made. All the things that man made to separate himself from nature. All the things man made to protect himself from nature. All the things that man took from nature and forgot where it came from.

Look out there. The light that man made, illuminating the big, concrete houses that man built. Hopes and dreams of a better life, away from the caves that man once found. But the apartments are still apart. Gaping holes in a wall of concrete. Gaping caves in a man-made mountain.
Cityline like the jagged line of a mountain range in the distance.

We are all strangers on this train. We are all strangers to each other. Most of us are perhaps even strangers to themselves.
We share this silence that man made. We share these background noises that man made.
For a moment we hide in the light together, hoping that this train will take us somewhere we want to be. For a moment we hide in the warm light from the darkness outside.

Then the train stops and we leave, all walking in our different directions, once again.

***

.

There was something else I meant to say, but it got lost.
I was sad, then I got happy, then I got sad again.

In other words, I am still alive.

/pao – 10 nov 09 – 05.06