tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28938545287247203382024-03-10T00:42:57.378-08:00yesterday i wrote on my hand for no reasonMariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.comBlogger164125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-89266151710659029992018-03-15T15:19:00.001-07:002018-03-15T15:19:17.032-07:00I close my eyes<br />
and there you are<br />
I can smell you<br />
I can hear you<br />
I can sense your touch<br />
on my skin<br />
there isn´t a moment<br />
without you<br />
<br />
yet you´re not here<br />
with me<br />
you are somewhere else<br />
with someone else<br />
another life<br />
parallel to mine<br />
I don´t mind<br />
I know someone will love me the exact amount I should be loved<br />
but in my minds eye<br />
I wish it was you<br />
I´m sorry<br />
its not<br />
<br />Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-39546279528477145802018-03-15T15:15:00.003-07:002018-03-15T15:15:45.118-07:00never wasyou draw me in<div>
you´ve shown me things</div>
<div>
I never thought I´d see</div>
<div>
or feel</div>
<div>
but baby its not us</div>
<div>
it never was</div>
<div>
the wear and tear</div>
<div>
it got to us</div>
<div>
it bit into us</div>
<div>
it made us</div>
<div>
into that thing</div>
<div>
we never wanted to be</div>
<div>
and I think </div>
<div>
its time we realized</div>
<div>
that its not us</div>
<div>
it never was</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-61327661036015689272018-03-09T15:22:00.000-08:002018-03-09T15:22:31.883-08:00aboutholding on<br />
is about letting go<br />
leaving<br />
is about entering<br />
keeping<br />
is about existing<br />
kissing<br />
is about being kissed<br />
writing<br />
is about thinking<br />
talking<br />
is about feeling<br />
creating<br />
is about opening up<br />
feeling<br />
is about knowing<br />
or not knowing<br />
hearing<br />
is about listening<br />
or silence<br />
smelling<br />
is about sensing<br />
running<br />
is about getting somewhere<br />
walking<br />
is about experiencing<br />
waiting<br />
is about patience<br />
singing<br />
is about channeling<br />
about about about<br />
a b out<br />
ab o ut<br />
keeping<br />
is about storing<br />
sleeping<br />
is about cleansing<br />
dreaming<br />
is about escaping<br />
loving<br />
is about letting go<br />
and taking in<br />
holding on<br />
is about letting goMariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-75480038288543262492018-03-09T12:57:00.000-08:002018-03-09T12:57:00.495-08:00closerPull me in<br />
a little closer<br />
so I can smell your skin<br />
so I can caress it<br />
feel the little hairs<br />
your little hairs<br />
those that will grow and fall off<br />
for what am I<br />
but a vessel for you<br />
to express your love<br />
and anger<br />
and regret<br />
and fear<br />
and pain<br />
through and through<br />
<br />
it is I who will listen to your secrets<br />
and hide them for you<br />
it is I who will let you know<br />
when you have overstepped your boundaries<br />
not my boundaries<br />
but everyone else´s<br />
it is I who will be asked<br />
to love you unconditonally<br />
no questions asked<br />
maybe even no strings attached<br />
except<br />
the one<br />
string<br />
tying me to you<br />
<br />
love is patient and love is kind<br />
but it is not only that<br />
it is also vicious<br />
and unforgiving<br />
and even though it might take you places<br />
you never thought you´d go<br />
maybe some of those places<br />
are ones that you don´t want to see<br />
are places that make you feel things you didn´t need to feel<br />
or want<br />
so I ask you<br />
to pull me in<br />
a little closer<br />
let me smell your skin<br />
let me caress it<br />
but please let me exist<br />
the way I want to<br />
be the person I should be<br />
and not the one you want<br />
and if not..<br />
the string will break<br />
and you will be left with no vessel<br />
no emotional harness<br />
no safety net<br />
and me..<br />
<br />
maybe I will be better<br />
<br />Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-53310408191800274012018-03-05T16:52:00.001-08:002018-03-05T16:52:28.232-08:00arachnii am a spider<br />
and that´s not an easy thing for me to admit<br />
because I actually loathe spiders<br />
or I fear them<br />
not sure which of the two is more accurate<br />
<br />
something about them makes me shiver<br />
I don´t know if it its because they´re silent<br />
and they sneak up on you without any warning<br />
or if its the fact that you´re never sure<br />
if they have venom<br />
you don´t know if the one staring at you<br />
doing the slow walk<br />
is lethal<br />
<br />
nonetheless I have decided I am a spider<br />
because I read somewhere that it´s good to face your fears<br />
that it leaves you with a sense of reward<br />
so I´m calling myself a spider<br />
even though I wouldn´t know the first thing about being a spider<br />
but I don´t think it can be so complicated to have<br />
tens of eyes<br />
and tens of legsMariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-30076979023677687232018-02-27T09:06:00.003-08:002018-02-27T09:06:42.907-08:00why writing is therapeutic and why I am starting againIt has been ages since I wrote something on this blog, a place I have kept mostly for myself as a sort of playground, a place I know almost no one visits, which makes it easy to store almost anything here.<br />
<br />
So why did I stop?<br />
<br />
And I mean, STOP. Because not only did I stop writing this blog, but almost stopped writing altogether. Gone are the days of whimsical scribblings, political thoughts and hobby poetry, or at least they have been. for a long time.<br />
<br />
The only thing I have continued doing is writing lyrics, but not without cause, never without there being a purpose for them.<br />
<br />
Writing used to signify something for me, something which in the later years just became work. It used to be a way to let off some steam, to give space to feelings, to be able to see them on paper and in that way understand more about myself. At what point did I decide that it was time to stop seeing them? To stop understanding myself? Writing gives a new dimension to thoughts and feelings, a place where they are allowed to exist, a place to store them, to leave them, to escape them, because the mind needs help to empty, to process. And writing can be that help. It can serve as a sort of meditation, giving the mind a focus point, and the opportunity to delve deeper into some thoughts instead of either ignoring them or simply watching them pass by.<br />
<br />
I think social media has influenced my transition into not writing at all, because of the exhibitionism it promotes and asks for. I think it makes people, including me, get away with superficial observations, and at the same time it constantly asks for more. So you get these mixed feelings - on the one hand you would like to pour your heart out to your friends, but you know that the more friends you have and the more frequently you do it, the less personal it becomes and it therefore separates itself from your actual feelings. So writing loses its importance. It´s like having a public diary, you can´t be honest so you filter out stuff, but at the same time you don´t keep an actual diary, and so those feelings that exist in between never get to come out.<br />
<br />
The rise of social media has also brought (in my opinion) a huge focus on oneself, on what one does careerwise, that each move you make on social media needs to include some awesomeness, some talent, something unique - and this might make you shift focus - you no longer write because you want to, or you feel the need to, you either write because you want to be a writer, or you don´t write at all because you are afraid of being judged for not being better.<br />
<br />
Anyway, these are the reasons I stopped writing, according to my intellect. Now, according to my heart things get rather easy, and rather complicated at the same time. Feelings are not easy. Thoughts are not easy. Sorting them out is NOT easy. Exposing ones vulnerability to oneself is one of the scariest things for me. Accepting what´s good and sorted and what could be better but also what really needs to change in one´s life is not easy to stare into just like that.<br />
<br />
But I am starting again. Starting to write and express things, here, in my little corner. Maybe things will get easier to face. Maybe sorting out feelings and thoughts will get easier. Maybe writing will be fun again.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-51292804419982363682014-07-07T03:30:00.000-07:002014-07-07T03:51:38.981-07:00I dream of GrandmaLast night I saw something in my sleep. A sort of dream.<br />
<br />
There were only two people in my dream - my grandmother and I. She was in her - now- permanent Alzheimer's "haze" and we were having a surreal chat as we seem to have a lot lately. In the middle of this chat, her eyes came to life and she used a phrase she never uses anymore. Something connected to her pre-Alzheimer's self. What she said is not important, it was the way she said it, and that following that phrase we had a conversation about a movie star she remembered vividly and suddenly she was there, my grandmother, and she knew me and she knew the world and herself and then, in a split second she was lost again.<br />
<br />
So I wake up and my whole arm is numb, apparently I had slept on it, and I start shaking it violently as if I am shaking away the thought that my grandmother will ever be who she was again .. and I am crying loudly as if it was the first time, but as I feel the blood returning to my arm again, the crying stops and in I turn silent. And then I fall asleep.<br />
<br />
Last week was hectic. I was back home, in Mykonos, and it was summer and the sun was out and my friends and family were there and we swam and tanned and ate good food. And every day I would spend a little time with grandma, some days more than others, but knowing that she will only get worse, I need to see her, even just a little bit, I need to fill my head with moments of her.<br />
<br />
We have been taking care of her for approx. four years now. The last year and a half has been more intense, since her Alzheimer's progress seems to accelerate - her kids; my uncle, my aunt and my mom, have been taking turns on looking after her - one or two months at a time. So in October - November my mom and aunt went on holiday and I said I would look after her, I had just finished university and I was not working, so staying in Mykonos to take care of my grandmother sounded like a dream. Love all around. Sometimes it really felt like a dream.<br />
<br />
I was exhausted. I worked at a fruit and veg-shop from 8-2 every day, and the rest of my day was dedicated to grandma. It's not much, I know. But after a week, I started feeling it. Some days I left for an hour or two to go running, and I knew she was sleeping and it would be fine. Yes, it was hard. The emotional aspect of it was the hardest, and the most difficult to deal with, because I was alone with her. But it was all worth it. To take care of a family member with Alzheimer's, or any other disease for that matter, you have to look past your own limitations and "zone of intimacy" issues, I made jokes about it and she always laughed! "Look what it's come down to, the granddaughter changing the grandmothers nappies! Isn't it meant to be the other way around?!" And she would burst with laughter, probably because she would see the irony sometimes but also because I was laughing and she thought I was funny.. It's hard to know. Alzheimer's does that to you. You try and fail or succeed and then you take it from there.<br />
<br />
At least to a certain point.<br />
<br />
Last week was hectic. Grandma's condition has worsened, so up until last week, we used to cut up her food and eat with her, checking how much she put in her mouth and whether she swallowed it or not. I don't remember exactly which day it was, but as I am sitting with her at the table, and she is eating, I see her trying to grab more food than she can handle and putting it all in her mouth - at once. Yes, like a child would do. And as I stop her from doing those things - a thought passes through my mind - if she continues like this, we will be facing a choking incident. I look at her and she takes a bite, then she drops her arms down and her eyes turn to glass, they are open but she is gone, and she drops down into the chair and towards the floor. I react immediately - it was as if I saw it coming - and for a split second I try the Heimlich on her afraid that I might break her rib bones, but as I know that my dad is next door and he is a doctor, I shout like I've never shouted before: DAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!! DAD!!!!! My dad reacts immediately and runs to us, he hits her hard on her back and does the Heimlich, twice, and puts his fingers in her mouth and grabs the three bites of meat she had stored in her mouth.<br />
<br />
And she is back.<br />
<br />
This all probably happened in 10-15 seconds. But it felt like hours. As she wakes up, my panic sets in, and I run outside, hiding my tears from her. My mom hugs me, she is crying too, and says: "Someone who knows needs to take over."<br />
<br />
We can no longer take care of her. She has gotten to a point where she needs constant medical supervision, and we have accepted it.<br />
<br />
It was all decided quickly. My mom went to see this amazing nursing home in Athens that deals with Alzheimer's, and she booked her in. She is there now. She has left her house, her life in Mykonos and a part of herself. I think it was supposed to be like this, it all happened so quickly that we didn't have time for goodbyes and closures and all of these things that would have made it even harder.<br />
<br />
We all know that she will never come back to her house, and it feels like a chapter of our life has ended too. So in a way, it is an ending.<br />
<br />
But it is also a beginning.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjosY2lpdo5VfDlFt0OMyW7OXQ5jz7wDbGdG7hMBvtbqUh095JbJB6F4fpv54m_xtrTioljkLQMJP_QNdvgfP7wGKJUgo8olNcMjPrU7r0z46Iz1iaY2IP_X-SQ2e_BQpan_XL8l6-1dGby/s1600/10155090_10154037618735367_7782765407939990158_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjosY2lpdo5VfDlFt0OMyW7OXQ5jz7wDbGdG7hMBvtbqUh095JbJB6F4fpv54m_xtrTioljkLQMJP_QNdvgfP7wGKJUgo8olNcMjPrU7r0z46Iz1iaY2IP_X-SQ2e_BQpan_XL8l6-1dGby/s1600/10155090_10154037618735367_7782765407939990158_n.jpg" height="400" width="292" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-39425143652343961932014-04-02T15:15:00.001-07:002014-04-02T15:15:42.989-07:00Black Mirror // I am no poet<div class="p1">
On a train from Trondheim, </div>
<div class="p1">
going to Oslo, </div>
<div class="p1">
I can't help but notice my surroundings; </div>
<div class="p1">
eyes glued on screens, </div>
<div class="p1">
infinite scrolling done by fingers aging in a vacuum. </div>
<div class="p1">
I am a part of it too. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
But I never knew how lonely it feels. </div>
<div class="p1">
Being the one looking up from these backlit mirrors. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
An act of narcissism that we don't see, </div>
<div class="p1">
as we stare back at ourselves. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
This is isolation. </div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
Can you see the irony? </div>
Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-7707945861603645212014-02-22T15:56:00.003-08:002014-02-22T17:37:04.606-08:00On Grandmothers and Alzheimer's<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg39rQcuoHBx347C4IcPpC9VFQC_q9T5h_wB5DtWyCpI_U24jgOjpB65JoAZ6FuZf9SpwIW8ad1M5xUsutjFeTCJJ9DLxh_c6lYVK2tCIwsfyNFuYly221Hvz62-mQwDWzLoFTipnshhkx1/s1600/photo+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg39rQcuoHBx347C4IcPpC9VFQC_q9T5h_wB5DtWyCpI_U24jgOjpB65JoAZ6FuZf9SpwIW8ad1M5xUsutjFeTCJJ9DLxh_c6lYVK2tCIwsfyNFuYly221Hvz62-mQwDWzLoFTipnshhkx1/s1600/photo+(2).JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="p1">
On a bad day it is hard for me to remember what she used to be like before her illness overtook her.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
On a good day she becomes an adjusted version of herself again.</div>
<div class="p1">
But the good days are the hardest. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
When my grandmother first started forgetting, we all dismissed it as something natural for a person her age. Flimsiness, we thought, gets more apparent as one ages. Accepting her having Alzheimer's was hard, but as her memories faded away, it became clear that it was something we could no longer ignore. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Writing, thinking, talking and dealing with Alzheimer's is difficult. It is presented as an illness, yet it seems to affect every single patient differently, with no obvious way of treating or handling it. Sure there are general notions of measures to take when it has consumed a person - but there seems to be no pattern.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Anyway. I am no researcher or scientist or doctor. I am simply a granddaughter of an amazing woman who got sick. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Let me tell you about her: </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
My grandmother has many talents. She is incredibly bright, well-articulated and well read. She is an amazing cook - although her musicality probably exceeds her cooking skills. She has a beautiful singing voice and she speaks three languages. She is a good mother - maybe an even better grandmother (I guess people learn from their mistakes as parents), a hard worker and a compassionate human being. Her life has been hard, at times; marrying at 19, almost dying while giving birth to her first child (of three), keeping two cafeterias and a pastry shop for years, working an office job while simultaneously renting rooms to tourists in the summer, battling her husband's addiction to gambling // her life has not been easy. Despite all these things, my grandmother has always showered us with love, a love impossible to put into words, a deep, pure love. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I have many memories of her before the Alzheimer's - but my favorite ones are these: sitting by her kitchen table as children, "helping" her make meatballs, surrounded by the heavenly smell of heavenly food, listening to her singing, laughing at her jokes. She has always had a great sense of humor, my grandmother. And there is nothing like the smell of a grandmother's food. It is made with such affection, love and life experience - it truly is unique; at least for a grandchild. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
It started with her re-telling the same stories. It then progressed to her forgetting important details of stories, and mixing them together. Two years ago, I remember her trying to tell me how she met my grandfather, but she couldn't quite figure it out. A year ago she told me she wanted to see her mother again, "Let's jump on the ferry and visit her", she said. "Your mother has passed on", I told her, in a soft voice. She looked at me with puppy eyes filled with surprise and fear "How do you know? Who told you?", she replied. After that, the rest of us agreed, as a family, to never tell her that some of her loved ones had passed away. There is no purpose in making her grieve time and time again. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
She is a different Maria now. Surrounded by old and new photographs where she hides her remaining memories, she lives her life, day by day. We share moments of laughter, tears, anger and frustration. We have found that music soothes her, and even though she can't remember song titles, as soon as we start singing, she immediately joins in, remembering all the lyrics. It really is remarkable. We cherish both her old and new self, adjusting our behavior on a day to day basis, depending on her mood when she wakes up. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Sometimes I struggle trying to remember her as she was. But being a part of this stage of her life is a gift, even with the hard days, I treasure every moment I have with her. Throughout her life, she has been a devoted wife, and a loving mother and grandmother. The least we can do, is try to make it up to her. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
So.. to everyone who has been affected by Alzheimer's in one way or another. I know how you feel. But what I have realized through this, is that grieving is pointless. After admitting she was ill, I grieved. But there is a time to grieve, and it is not now. No matter how hard it can be, treat each day as a blessing. Life is a series of events, of phases we go through as human beings. Dementia can be a part of it. There's no recipe on how to deal with it - except living in the present and not in the past.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You can find some info on Dementia and Alzheimer's <a href="http://www.alzheimers.org.uk/">here.</a>Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-25226427409785647262014-02-22T14:09:00.000-08:002014-02-22T14:17:30.823-08:00Generation Z and Mobile Politics<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2nQw2FURsnDl3NZO8MXpxgFJKDcpcnHlZ1_n74HldO1saoamJGifnTeAqKXpjk-4yqe9vgbSeMNYVYEfK7l_Of-2pcYnkVBPRnGTqxEdhJPzQpj__-a0CIbagYBgE4N1lf_oQz_4Quv7/s1600/cassette-to-iphone-converter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd2nQw2FURsnDl3NZO8MXpxgFJKDcpcnHlZ1_n74HldO1saoamJGifnTeAqKXpjk-4yqe9vgbSeMNYVYEfK7l_Of-2pcYnkVBPRnGTqxEdhJPzQpj__-a0CIbagYBgE4N1lf_oQz_4Quv7/s1600/cassette-to-iphone-converter.jpg" height="298" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Lately I've been thinking about my generation. Born in the late 80's, early 90's, we are torn between the worlds of the first mobile phones and the smartphones, between MS DOS and Snow Leopard, between casette, the CD, or the mp3. Riding the tube in London, observing how everyone clings to their iPhones, like Gollum to "his precious", playing games to make time pass quicker, blocking the rest of the world out with in-ear headphones as their barriers.<br />
<br />
The fast evolution in technology has made me, the inbetweener, confused, frustrated and sometimes, worried. Social networking sites have created an alternate reality, alternate lives for people who sought them, and for those who didn't. The constant need to be online troubles me, as I am also captivated by it. Having an iPhone meant, for me, giving into a new lifestyle that has made me a passive, and an, at times, antisocial person. And I'm just starting to realize it.<br />
<br />
Twitter and Facebook do make our lives easier, in some aspects, we can choose to stay in touch with people from our past, we can update friends and family all at once just by one click of a mouse, and we can upload photos and share our memories in public. Blogs act as online diaries where we pour our thoughts out and serve them to ourselves and everyone else on a silver platter, and YouTube serves as constant source of entertainment. The revolutions in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Syria were and are very dependent on these social networking sites, and their function in that aspect is appreciated. At the same time, their function in the Western World seems to be different. These sites serve as platforms where the Average Joe gets his 15 minutes of fame, by tweeting a funny sentence, a witty line, or re-tweeting other peoples comments, becoming increasingly aware of the fact that he needs to sell himself. These are merely my observations and comments, but having used Twitter more and more lately, as I am observing others in its use, I am also observing myself.<br />
<br />
I started thinking about all this when I saw <b>Black Mirror</b>, the mini-series created by <b>Charlie Brooker</b>. The series addresses things that exist in our society as it is now: social networks and the internet, reality shows, "15-minutes of fame", and the obsession of constantly re-visiting the past, an obsession of such a scale that, through my eyes, seems unique to my generation. I will not draw a synopsis of the series, but Charlie Brooker's version of our present and future paints a worrying picture.<br />
<br />
Being a "leftie" politically active teenager back in the day has left its traces, and while using the internet, I try being aware of its political effectiveness. Noticing the decrease of direct action - only in the last ten years - at least in Norway, leaves me wondering whether people that used to be politically active have taken to the Internet - continuing their "work" online. It seems we are living in a world that is increasingly being governed by money, banks and corporations, where politicians play their role convincingly at times.. still they seem powerless. Political decisions made in a single country count for nothing - when that country is being governed by higher institutions - by EUs and IMFs.<br />
<br />
The question is, is the Internet a fair replacement for direct action? For protests and demonstrations?<br />
On the other hand, maybe direct action never really made a difference. Maybe we never really stood a chance against the people that hold the power. I do respect the power that the Internet can have. But mostly, I worry. I worry that it acts like a veil, imposed by people that benefit from the lack of direct action - bringing more and more apathy to countries in the Western World that are as well off as Norway is. Who cares about the genocide in Syria when we can read about the 5:2 diet? What makes a more interesting read, how to get the perfect bum, or the continuing crisis in Greece?<br />
<br />
Technology does have power. But it also <b>distracts</b>, it <b>hypnotizes</b>, it gets you to a point where you live your life virtually - forgetting about the real world - therefore giving the people in charge the room to do exactly as they please with <b>your world</b>. Of course I realize the irony of this piece of writing - published in the same virtual world that I have spent this post worrying about. Well.. <b>When in Rome</b>.Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-33610964573429323742013-12-09T13:26:00.002-08:002013-12-09T13:26:46.652-08:00Bedtime Stories // I am no poetA silent bed whimpers in misery,<br />
dreaming of times when it spoke a thousand words.<br />
Of married folk, of lords and mistresses,<br />
of trembling teenagers and secret lust.<br />
<br />
Its clothes have been ripped off,<br />
torn, burnt and hidden.<br />
Its wooden body lays covered in dust as it stands<br />
in a stripped down space longing for one last embrace that may never come.<br />
Like an ancient relic needing to be discovered<br />
its history will never be unlocked by warm bodies tangled up in knots,<br />
by fiery breaths and lingering looks -<br />
by blonde locks of hair resting on its velvet body.<br />
<br />
No one will ever study the wooden embellishments carved on each side<br />
or hide under the feather blanket;<br />
an old companion locked away in a closet somewhere.<br />
<br />
As this bed stands silently, its siblings speak restlessly;<br />
they squeak and weep and mutter and flutter<br />
they breathe and cry, they laugh and stutter.<br />
Naivety intact.<br />
<br />
A joyous dance,<br />
as they stand unaware of their ill-fated future,<br />
yet to hear the tale of our silent friend<br />
with a story to tell.Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-2569067771896248732013-10-20T08:53:00.001-07:002013-10-20T08:53:57.740-07:00Ballad for Grandma<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/aUjpOGX114I?list=UURf-YM_4QmNoW3dLndGUqTg" width="459"></iframe><br />
<br />
You want your husband to come home<br />
you hate to be all on your own<br />
oh Maria<br />
why don't you come with me<br />
<br />
You have forgotten why you're cold<br />
spend all your time looking at the boats<br />
Oh Maria<br />
what are you looking for<br />
<br />
I feel you slipping away<br />
Maria don't run away<br />
I know you don't want to stay<br />
but Maria<br />
if you stay<br />
I'll stay too<br />
<br />
You had to feed a thousand mouths<br />
You were a queen without a crown<br />
don't you see that<br />
it was all worthwhile<br />
<br />
You hide your memories in things<br />
and you still know the words to sing<br />
you have the feelings<br />
but you don't know what they mean<br />
<br />
I feel you slipping away<br />
Maria don't run away<br />
I know you don't want to stay<br />
But Maria<br />
if you stay<br />
<br />
I'll stay too<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">©ogtoringer</span>Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-59588968487956606482013-10-01T17:23:00.000-07:002013-10-01T17:23:33.055-07:00MOLEI have lost my mind<br />
I have no sense of right and wrong<br />
Think I'm turning blind<br />
think I'm falling in a deep deep hole<br />
<br />
Living in a hole<br />
My head on the road<br />
Living in a hole<br />
My head on the road<br />
<br />
Words are coming in<br />
Silences are running out<br />
Always try to win<br />
In the end I'm falling in a hole<br />
<br />
Living in a hole<br />
My head on the road<br />
Living in a hole<br />
My head on the road<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 16px;">©ogtoringer</span>Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-37791965693712455472013-09-13T13:39:00.001-07:002013-09-13T13:39:25.855-07:00Broen // Invader Ace - The Split Jump Drug EP out now via Kakao MusikkNow available for online purchase on Spotify, iTunes, Amazon and other online services.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="380" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify:album:3qpUDwfVmRlh86CmQE4QHd" width="300"></iframe>Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-80157528215844062862013-06-29T05:46:00.001-07:002013-06-29T05:46:22.005-07:00<b><u>INCREDIBLE FACTS ABOUT YOU</u></b><br />
<b>Did you know: </b><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #444444;">how much one event can change a person?</span><br />
<span style="color: #666666;">how much one encounter can do the same? </span><br />
<span style="color: orange;">how much ONLY ONE encounter can change everything?</span><br />
<span style="color: #ffe599;">how much your encounter makes you believe that it changes everything?</span><br />
<span style="color: #e06666;">how much of yourself you give away to believe it?</span><br />
<span style="color: #e69138;">how much you mould yourself into something that makes it true?</span><br />
<span style="color: #cc0000;">how much you think it makes it true but it really doesn't?</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;">how much you lie to yourself thinking you're doing the right thing?</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;">how much effort you put into something that makes no difference at all?</span><br />
<span style="color: #783f04;">how much your encounter invests into changing you without you noticing?</span><br />
<span style="color: #b6d7a8;">how much your encounter puts the blame on you?</span><br />
<span style="color: #93c47d;">how much your encounter ignores all the effort you put into it so that it makes no difference at all?</span><br />
<span style="color: #45818e;">how much time you will spend blaming yourself for the loss of the encounter?</span><br />
<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">how much time you will spend blaming the encounter for the loss of you?</span><br />
<span style="color: red;">how long you will suffer over one encounter turning your life and your being sideways?</span>Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-92139037097234958962013-03-30T14:15:00.001-07:002013-03-30T21:10:55.168-07:00Η Μύκονος και το ΧωροταξικόΕίμαι εξοργισμένη. Είμαι μυκονιάτισσα, 23 χρονών, και νιώθω μία οργή μέσα μου να μεγαλώνει.<br />
<br />
Απόψε πήγα στην ενημερωτική εκδήλωση για το Χωροταξικό της Μυκόνου. Μια καλή προσπάθεια από τους οργανωτές, αυτό να λέγεται. Καθώς οι δύο ομιλιτές αδέξια προσπάθησαν να εξηγήσουν κάποια πράγματα μέσα από επαγγελματική πείρα, κοιτώντας γύρω μου πραγματικά αναρωτήθηκα ποιό ακριβώς ήταν το κύριο θέμα της συζήτησης. Κατά το τελείωμα των διαλέξεων που δόθηκαν από τους δύο ομιλιτές με κυριάρχισε μια αίσθηση πνιγμού, γιατί μιλώντας με όρους δικούς τους και ακαδημαϊκούς, κατάφεραν να με πνίξουν. Σίγουρα δεν ειναι λάθος. Αλλά σε μια εκδήλωση που γίνεται ουσιαστικά για να ενημερωθούν οι απλοί κάτοικοι του νησιού και όχι οι πολιτικοί του, χρησιμοποιόντας ειδικευμένη ορολογία ο στόχος αυτός χάνεται.<br />
<br />
Τέλος πάντων. Το θέμα μου είναι άλλο. Γιατί η οργή? Κατάλαβα, μετά από έναν τρίωρο διάλογο, πόσο άρρωστη είναι η χώρα μας. Το νησί μας. Κατά την διάρκεια της ζωής μου έχω δεί το λουλούδι που ήταν κάποτε η Μύκονος σιγά σιγά να να μαραίνεται και να αργοπεθαίνει. Ανάμεσα στις βίλλες και τα ξενοδοχεία, τους οικισμούς και τα εμπορικά κέντρα, η ψυχή που είχε κάποτε αυτός ο πανέμορφος τόπος φαίνεται να σβήνει. Αυτοί που παίρνανε τις αποφάσεις όταν εγώ και οι συνομίλικοί μου είμασταν βρέφη ακόμα, δεν είχαν ποτέ το θάρρος να σκεφτούν το δικό μας μέλλον, τη δικιά μας ζωή και τη δουλειά που θα πρέπει να κάνουμε εμείς όταν ο δικός τους ο κόσμος καταρρεύσει. Ανάμεσα στα λαδώματα και τα φακελάκια, πρέπει τώρα η δική μου γενιά να τα καθαρίσει όλα. Και πραγματικά αναρωτιέμαι, αν αυτοί οι άνθρωποι πραγματικά καταλαβαίνουν το βάρος αυτό που τοποθετήθηκε πάνω στους δικούς μας ώμους. Μέσα απο αυτήν την εκδήλωση απλά κατάλαβα πως η φλυαρία έχει κυριαρχίσει όλα αυτά τα χρόνια, βάζοντας την πράξη στη σκιά. Γι'αυτό και πιστεύω οτι τα λόγια σε αυτή τη φάση ειναι περιττά. Γιατί να με νοιάζουν οι μελέτες, αν αυτοί που τις ερεύνησαν δεν εχουν πατήσει πόδι στο νησί? Γιατί να με νοιάζουν οι μελέτες αφού μπορώ να λαδώσω τον ξάδερφο της πεθεράς της αδερφής μου για να μου χτίσει το αυθαίρετο?<br />
<br />
Για μένα, λίγα από αυτά που ειπώθηκαν απόψε είχαν ουσία. Όμως αυτό που με ταρακούνησε ήταν οτι πραγματικά συνειδητοποίησα πως αν δεν αλλάξουμε εμείς την δικιά μας νοοτροπία, δεν θα αλλάξει τίποτα. Γιατί αυτή η χώρα μπορεί να κατάφερε απο θαύμα να επιβιώσει όλα αυτά τα χρόνια, αλλά έχει πλέον φτάσει στο σταυροδρόμι και πρέπει εμείς να της αλλάξουμε πορεία. Πρέπει να μιλάμε ανοιχτά για τις παρανομίες που γίνονται ΚΆΘΕ ΜΈΡΑ, και όχι να τις αγνοούμε, και να τις θεωρούμε μέρος της ελληνικής κουλτούρας. Ήρθε η ώρα να χαράξουμε εμείς τον καινούριο δρόμο για την Μύκονο, και να το συζητάμε κάθε μέρα. Να το πολεμάμε. Γιατί τελικά, απ'ότι φαίνεται, εξαρτάται μόνο απο εμάς.Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-74183391529063072112013-02-24T07:15:00.006-08:002013-02-24T07:16:30.294-08:00GOLDEN TOWER<span style="color: cyan;">PAST REPEATED</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">ANGRY NATION</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">ALL THE HATRED</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">SEGREGATION</span><br />
/<br />
<span style="color: cyan;">NATION SHAKING</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">BRINGS DEPRESSION </span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">COUNTRY'S BUILT ON</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">SELF SUPRESSION</span><br />
/<br />
/<br />
<span style="color: cyan;">STEP AWAY NOW</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">LEAVE YOUR MOTHER</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">BE PREPARED TO </span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">LOVE YOUR BROTHER</span><br />
/<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">* THE GOLDEN DAWN HITS THE GOLDEN TOWER</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">SO IT SEEMS IT'S THE GOLDEN HOUR</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">SO STAND UP</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">UNZIP YOUR FLIES</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">WE GIVE THE GOLDEN DAWN A GOOD OLD GOLDEN SHOWER*</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">/</span><br />
/<br />
<span style="color: cyan;">ONE THING BINDS US</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">GHOST REVIVAL</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">ALL THIS BLINDS US</span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;">MONUMENTAL POWER</span><br />
/<br />
PITCH BLACK CROW EYES<br />
LEAD TO EMPTY BRAINDEAD DICKHEADS<br />
LUMPS OF MUSCLE<br />
/<br />
<span style="color: blue;">** THE GOLDEN DAWN HITS THE GOLDEN TOWER</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">SO IT SEEMS IT'S THE GOLDEN HOUR</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">SO STAND UP</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">UNZIP YOUR FLIES</span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">WE GIVE THE GOLDEN DAWN A GOOD OLD GOLDEN SHOWER**</span><br />
/<br />
<br />
COPYRIGHT: BROENMariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-66515013670517175102013-02-24T07:02:00.000-08:002013-02-24T07:02:46.554-08:00ΜΠΑΤΣΟΣΟΠ<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jBxP5GNUzYD8-saHcwQd3GjECQqS1aNvQuLAj-5aozCPG9R5ySPJNOD1sdhwZJ_-K40DvVJMxMH0iO9pVkvde58wdUjM6ARKMjb7qSOH9yRzEdM5v8z4GjjkaRKOZjibUOPUcHlUVIor/s1600/529521_10151413588154334_128470276_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0jBxP5GNUzYD8-saHcwQd3GjECQqS1aNvQuLAj-5aozCPG9R5ySPJNOD1sdhwZJ_-K40DvVJMxMH0iO9pVkvde58wdUjM6ARKMjb7qSOH9yRzEdM5v8z4GjjkaRKOZjibUOPUcHlUVIor/s400/529521_10151413588154334_128470276_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-18924990235280079622013-02-02T13:50:00.004-08:002013-02-02T13:54:38.995-08:00GREECE vs. THE POLICEEveryone who is Greek or has lived in Greece is fully aware of the corruption and constant abuse of authority that is the GREEK POLICE. Tough guys hiding behind a uniform as their mask, sadist violent pigs at their worst. I don't like generalizing. But when it comes to this issue, by generalizing I am ignoring a rather small minorty of people actually doing their jobs, if they even exist. These photos (below) were released after having arrested these alleged terrorists who were involved in robbing two banks. My problem is not with the arrest. My problem lies in the lack of democrary, humanity, and to be honest, the lack of COMMON_fucking_SENSE in this institution. You arrest, you question, you investigate. Nowhere inbetween those steps is there a hidden one that says - "oh by the way, beat them senseless". I don't know whether these kids are responsible. I'd really rather not contemplate on that - as it is not important at this point. The very cradle of democracy has crossed the line so far in that, to quote Joey from Friends, the line has turned into a DOT. Most of us know that this has been going on for a long time. But the fact that the police themselves know, that by publishing these photos that have obviously been manipulated (don't know if using the brush tool on Paint even classifies), they will go unpunished, is unreal. It's like they're doing it on purpose, taking the piss. To be honest, there's nothing I'd love more <b>than to take a piss on Greek Police</b> right about now.<br />
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Article in Greek on LIFO <a href="http://www.lifo.gr/team/bitsandpieces/35789" target="_blank">here.</a></div>
<br />Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-29225519809245765852013-01-02T07:43:00.001-08:002013-01-02T09:22:28.825-08:00poems on planes/i am no poet/part 3<br />
<br />
<b>AMSTERDAM - TRONDHEIM</b><br />
<b>thinking about the flight from AMSTERDAM - ATHENS</b><br />
on the smallest plane ever, EMBRAER 190.<br />
<br />
"Do you want one?"<br />
No thanks, he said<br />
in a thick scottish accent.<br />
I wasn't sure what he meant<br />
until I saw his electric cigarette.<br />
<br />
"It's swedish<br />
it's tobacco,<br />
they sell it in Norway too,<br />
that's where I'm from."<br />
<br />
He asked me why I'm going to Greece,<br />
Why I would choose the poor country, not the rich.<br />
<br />
I didn't understand his question until he said he was working for a norwegian company:<br />
"We are searching for oil in greek waters".<br />
<br />
It infuriated me.<br />
The thought of one homeland expoliting the other.<br />
But it wasn't his fault.<br />
He's just a poor old Scot,<br />
no real agenda,<br />
other than to support his family<br />
working a job that always changes<br />
always frustratingly<br />
far<br />
away.<br />
<br />
His breath smelled of beer.<br />
Mine smelled of wine.<br />
Fifty-something years old<br />
balled,<br />
ring in his ear.<br />
<br />
We really had nothing in common.<br />
Not a single thing.<br />
Yet, I found some comfort in this conversation with a stranger whose words I occasionally understood -<br />
he had a thick accent.<br />
<br />
A three hour flight can pass quickly by,<br />
talking to a guy with so much to say.<br />
His drunk mumbling was a lullaby to my constant paranoia.<br />
<br />
Thank you for distracting me.<br />
You made my day.<br />
<br />Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-70273654255175128342013-01-02T07:25:00.001-08:002013-01-02T07:29:13.473-08:00poems on planes/i am no poet/part 2<b><br /></b>
<b>ATHENS - AMSTERDAM</b><br />
<b>PÅ TRØNDERSK</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
Æ veit itj ka som skjer, men det e sånn at når æ flyr<br />
så blir æ paranoid.<br />
<br />
Æ slår av mobilen på en manisk, bestemt måte,<br />
og gir ordre rundt mæ om at folk må gjør det samme.<br />
<br />
Det e jo logisk, e itj det?<br />
<br />
Æ glane uten skam,<br />
æ prøve å sje fram te tidspunktet æ lande,<br />
men det e ikke lett når æ veit at det e det samme.<br />
egentlig..<br />
Æ prøve å vær lykkelig<br />
og klare det!<br />
Før æ går på flyet... e æ det.<br />
<br />
Og æ e førsten te å innrøm at sjøl om æ har vært politisk aktivist og venstrevridd<br />
så gjør all propagandaen rundt flytura mæ te en rasist.<br />
<br />
Bare når æ e på flyet.<br />
Fakk det.<br />
<br />
Derfor drikk æ ett og ett glass vin<br />
og prøve å sje film eller serie på datan<br />
bare sånn at hjernen min får koble av litt.<br />
Æ sitt og skriv dikt.<br />
<br />
Æ e en hykler av en poet<br />
æ har itj my å stå for, men det hjelp faktisk litt<br />
mot frykten av det ukjente som kjem hver gang flyet tar av,<br />
når lysan slukkes og alle går inn i en dyp søvn<br />
e æ våken.<br />
<br />
Plutselig blir sansan spissa te,<br />
når alle veit at flyet drar og alle har snakka ferdig<br />
kjem en stillhet uten makan -<br />
plutselig hold dem fre'.<br />
<br />
Kanskje det e fordi dem også e redd.<br />
Kanskje dem nyt utsikta.<br />
Det hjelp å tenk at alle føle med mæ.<br />
<br />
Og når æ sir at æ vil ha vin<br />
klokka seks om mårran trur dem sikkert æ e alkis,<br />
æ tvile itj på det.<br />
<br />
Whatever.<br />
<br />
Æ putte en snus i leppa, tenke gode tanka;<br />
at flyet sveve i en rosa ball -<br />
det va mamma som lært mæ at det hjalp.<br />
Og æ sjer mæ sjøl inn i flyet, inn i en rosa ball,<br />
æ sjer ut viduet og vinke -<br />
og æ smile.<br />
E det mæ? Det e sånn æ sjer ut ja.<br />
Uten frykt, uten fobia,<br />
æ sitt ved sia<br />
av en drøm om at æ en dag klare å stå opp mot det.<br />
Æ miste itj motet.<br />
<br />Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-76737368468048625622013-01-02T05:43:00.000-08:002013-02-24T07:06:46.142-08:00poems on planes/i am no poet/part 1<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>
<b>TRONDHEIM - AMSTERDAM</b><br />
<br />
The beast<br />
breathing in the air<br />
that is so willingly given to it by the sky,<br />
and spitting it out again.<br />
<br />
It is used to feeding so gluttonously it forgets its precious cargo.<br />
Grunting, sighing<br />
it does not change its habits.<br />
<br />
Yet the undeniable tension is lost somewhere<br />
inside its hollow shell,<br />
every inch pulsating in a complex rhythm only the winds decide.<br />
<br />
Lost in a place between time and space<br />
the beast moves through continuums that makes one doubt on the reality of it.<br />
On whether it is standing still,<br />
if it is moving at all.<br />
And before the mind is left to wander<br />
it reminds you of a powerless desperation hidden in its size,<br />
there's no place to hide<br />
when push comes to shove.<br />
<br />
But all of it is obsolete<br />
in light of the one true thing it has in common with the people in its seats:<br />
the destination.<br />
<br />
Fed with plastic food with plastic names by plastic people,<br />
the carry-on, cargo luggage is seduced to staying<br />
people reduced to numbers dangling in the sky.<br />
It is here the irony comes creeping in -<br />
the realization of the inevitable truth:<br />
<br />
<u>no one else decided.</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
You are the keymaster, the pupeteer<br />
the director<br />
producer and star of your bitter attempt to prove to yourself that<br />
YOU ARE NOT AFRAID.<br />
and once again.<br />
<u>you failed.</u><br />
<u><br /></u>
Now all you can think about is how happy you felt a few minutes before stepping onto this<br />
SUICIDE MISSION OF STEEL<br />
<br />
and now you are stuck.<br />
Trying to handle the mind games that the mind plays<br />
when one thought is on repeat:<br />
"I have to get through this"<br />
and mute whispers of<br />
"I swear I'll be a better person".<br />
<br />
The desperation that human beings feel sometimes<br />
is laughable and scary,<br />
it makes you weary to say it but it's true.<br />
Meanwhile you are sealing your eyelids tight,<br />
you try to get some rest,<br />
you try to block the light.<br />
<br />
It doesn't change a thing.<br />
<br />
The deep sleep you seek will not be visiting today,<br />
even if you glued your eyelids shut it wouldn't.<br />
<br />
This situation you are in, it is here to stay,<br />
your hung-over neighbour leaning on your shoulder,<br />
producing odours resembling dead horse's meat that's been hung to dry for three days<br />
will not go away.<br />
<br />
Sip your tea.<br />
Eat your cookie.<br />
<br />
Blue, yellow, red light to your left.<br />
Sunrise.<br />
To your right: pitch black.<br />
Night.<br />
<br />
Piercing through thick layers of smoked water<br />
as you are once again facing the paradox of a tin can floating on air.<br />
<br />
Not bad.<br />
Not bad at all.<br />
<br />
<b style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;">©</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19.200000762939453px;"> msar</span>Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-66598962688860730932012-06-15T07:29:00.000-07:002012-06-15T07:56:14.438-07:00stop the distorted future<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcU7mmV5b-MLdBJH6gKpyh7z6LAJ2LTmQhS_creZjL8xnHhcCoGptyuwmkHkoE2xihv-xIlRYjYbkxlBrR9jKicpXeNNKtg84lCGUVj9zYJTSD1hTXsGDNj5iYKuuYd-6FAdC6Zt2EKae/s1600/%CF%87%CF%81%CF%85%CF%83%CE%B7%CC%81-%CE%B1%CF%85%CE%B3%CE%B7%CC%81.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcU7mmV5b-MLdBJH6gKpyh7z6LAJ2LTmQhS_creZjL8xnHhcCoGptyuwmkHkoE2xihv-xIlRYjYbkxlBrR9jKicpXeNNKtg84lCGUVj9zYJTSD1hTXsGDNj5iYKuuYd-6FAdC6Zt2EKae/s400/%CF%87%CF%81%CF%85%CF%83%CE%B7%CC%81-%CE%B1%CF%85%CE%B3%CE%B7%CC%81.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoFvyY20cHO5G2IjTqtLCH7mcIKPf4zxaadWjFNbLpaob4HXnJtdOq1eHMmusgCa1qqTNgSyV17UQohYBSlUPo089HKKfSuK22VYUkWrOlIrgVLUpVdZ1KyzAwdeG0nVTQAiUzqKZsN7UE/s1600/neonazi09009c_468x298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="253" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoFvyY20cHO5G2IjTqtLCH7mcIKPf4zxaadWjFNbLpaob4HXnJtdOq1eHMmusgCa1qqTNgSyV17UQohYBSlUPo089HKKfSuK22VYUkWrOlIrgVLUpVdZ1KyzAwdeG0nVTQAiUzqKZsN7UE/s400/neonazi09009c_468x298.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-40544728471467200242012-06-15T04:38:00.000-07:002012-06-15T04:38:01.171-07:00written down the moment i woke updrømt om at vi skull fly te hellas fra norge, norwegian. æ og mamma og gunnar og ei skikkelig snill utvekslingsstudent med brilla som va kjempesøt. veldig stort fly, masse turbulens. etter en liten stund så ble flyet veldig ustødig også mått vi nødland for at dem sku skift ut nå gasscannisters (?). mens dem gjor det dro æ på do og på vei spurt æ ei av flyvertinnan (som satt på første rad) koffår vi hadd stoppa. æ sa at æ bare lurt på ka dem gjor, og at æ ikke va sur eller nå æ va bare nysjerrig. også ble hu sur og sa at "loven beskytte oss" og at dem kan gjør ka dem vil og at vi egentlig ikke har rett te å spør. også gikk æ tebake og satt med mamma. også va vi i lufta igjen også bynt dem å vis en film. også fortelt æ mamma om ka hu flyvertinna sa og mamma ble sur. men det skjedd ingenting mer med det, utenom at alle flyvertinnan satt rett foran oss for å sje på film og det hørt det. så sjer æ ned og plutselig e vi over dubai. også tenke æ, koffår dubai? det e jo helt feil. men så snakke æ og mamma om kor sykt kult det sjer ut, og det e bare gulle bygninga som sjer ut som en star trek by og det e sykt fint. også for vi opp igjen. og da plutselg sa kapteinen at det va en askesky på vei fordi det hadd vært en vulkanerupsjon. så ble alle redd. men tenkt at det gikk bra fordi lufta va så rein. men plutselig va vi inn i en sky og det va jævli mørkt og det ble panikk. og turbulens. også PLUTSELIG skjer det nå rart og flyet begynne bare å fall fritt. også sjer vi rundt oss SVÆRE skip i lufta som eksplodere, fly som e 100 gang større en vårres, med hull i sæ, også må pilotan pass på å ikke vær borti nånn av dem, også fly fi nedover i full fart men så må pilotan prøv å få oss opp, så dem drar brått opp men uten å skjønn at det e et svært skip over oss. så flyet vårres går i 90grader og over det for å ikke vær borti men så e de borti rundt der æ sitt og den delen av flyet flyr av. så sitt æ der i lufta inni flyet. så tar æ på mæ oksygenmaske og tror æ ska dø. så skjønne æ at vi e i et parallellt univers. så skjer det nåkka rart også e vi i fritt fall igjen enda en gang, men no e vi på rett jord. og vi kjæresje ikke fordi pilotan klare å ta halvveis kontroll. så e vi kjempenærme mykonos, men det e så vidt flyet går. så bynne æ å rop WOOHOO og HEIA og you can do it ogsånt også bynne hele flyet! alle heie på pilotan og alle klappe og rope. og te slutt klare vi å landMariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2893854528724720338.post-88738803526980964562012-06-15T04:34:00.001-07:002012-06-15T07:54:03.933-07:00his tash makes him a man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0fmYK0nXZg_6LEP1bq41SeSTZoVT4TvsYFaoJclrSPmaHjIPYnwUr4ia4saj9SnMc6mcOLv6inlmSClg3O-GAtWkAx7OGMc4rXlD_vwTiqOSz5s2XyKBccLPJMMdCGOkqqwvsvJk0mkIy/s1600/bjAsexy.tiff" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0fmYK0nXZg_6LEP1bq41SeSTZoVT4TvsYFaoJclrSPmaHjIPYnwUr4ia4saj9SnMc6mcOLv6inlmSClg3O-GAtWkAx7OGMc4rXlD_vwTiqOSz5s2XyKBccLPJMMdCGOkqqwvsvJk0mkIy/s320/bjAsexy.tiff" width="320" /></a></div>Mariannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16082937708917705983noreply@blogger.com0