We all need inspiration for doing what we love. Sometimes we get inspiration by doing what we love. But what if there comes a time when everything is just gone? When your inspiration cup looks empty..

Usually I find myself most inspired when I’m depressed. This goes for everything I do. Writing, photographing, painting, and playing music. Also for knitting.. Damn, I got a lot of hobbies. Anyways.. What if I’m happy, or even just content, how do I get inspiration?

I guess I could just watch the news, to get depressed again, but I want to be able to feel inspired in a blissful mood.

Example: 2014-10-18 14.44.30

Painting to the left – nostalgic mood
Painting to the right – good mood

The one I painted in a good mood, is obviously not finished. Usually I don’t finish the paintings I don’t complete in the same day. But I will finish this one. I have to.

Another example:
This song I made after my grandfather died..

And this one I made for my nieces. Their mother is norwegian, and their father is australian, so therefore it’s in both english and norwegian.
It’s a children’s song, and it’s also unfinished.

It’s definitely something I need to practice on. Making things in a good mood and completing them. Usually I go to music and art for comfort, it’s the same for this blog. If you look at my old posts, there are more depressing posts than feelgood posts. Usually I just post pictures if I’m happy, cause pictures say more than a thousand words.

It’s not fair to you people reading it, and it’s also not fair to myself to produce so much sadness. Well, maybe some people find comfort in my words or work, but I want to spread smiles as well. Not only tears and deep questions about life and it’s meaning.

My next post will be of progress. I will force myself to improve. I want to be better, and I will create something beautiful and not depressing.

I don’t know what it will be, maybe text, maybe music, or perhaps a painting. Something will be published, hopefully in just a few days. So buckle up, this is going to be a bumpy ride.


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What’s wrong with me?

I listen to my old songs, and find that it sounds like shit. I read my old posts and it makes me sick. Was i that incompetent just a year or two ago? Or am i evolving very quickly? Or is every compliment I recieve a big lie and everyone is originally maintaining this “truman show” sherade?
That movie still fucks me up.

Seriously though, am I being over intensely critical about my self, or am I blind to my present talent or rather – the lack of talent?

I don’t know man. Here i am in my bed, supposed to be sleeping, and I cant cause I have these hundreds of hypothetical scenarios to play in my head, so there’s no time for rest.

Incredibly, I am now most worried about the future me reading this and feeling even more incompetent of my newest “progress” of the past.
Did that make sense?

Make a note that nothing good ever happens after midnight. Except food, sex and music.

Closing my eyes in… (3, 2, 1)
Take care now
Bye bye then

I didn’t close my eyes. That was a lie.

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Family bbq?

Yesterday I went to the woods with my sister and her children, and my stepbrother and his fiancee. We made a bonfire and cooked some hot dogs and some bread.

2014-10-14 18.29.29 2014-10-14 18.29.42 2014-10-14 18.30.41  2014-10-14 18.41.43  2014-10-14 18.42.10 2014-10-14 18.42.16 2014-10-14 18.42.53 2014-10-14 18.43.49 2014-10-14 18.43.55  2014-10-14 18.54.43  2014-10-14 18.56.15 2014-10-14 18.56.21

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It’s been months and maybe even a year since I last wrote. Almost put my email address in the username box for the login. Apparently it has been, according to WordPress, 4 years since I registered on this webpage. 4 years. Wow. Almost as long as the time since my previous post.


Earlier this evening, I was sitting in the living room of my dad and stepmother. I was about to make a reference to my age (regarding some examples in a small discussion), and as I opened my mouth to complete the half finished sentence I was speaking, I stopped.

“Am I 21 or 20?”

I drew a blank. I honestly did not have the answer. I looked at my dad, and received a confused facial expression on pause. He too was unsure.

But as soon as we covered that I was in fact born in 1993, he instantly told me I was 21. Later, after my dads wife had gone to bed, and after an episode of Vikings – which is a really cool tv show, I brought it up again.

“I will definitely become senile at an early age if I don’t do something about my brain soon”, I told him. He asked me why, and I referred to the conversation earlier. “No, don’t worry about that. I forget my age too, you know. When people ask me how old I am, I want to say 51. But then I remember I was born in 51, and after thinking about it, to my own shock, I realize that I am 53.”

I suppose I should have had a comeback, something like “yeah, but you’re old”..

But my dad isn’t old, and I was tired.

So why is it that I don’t have this information printed in my memory? Howcome I can’t say it automatically, the minute somebody fires the question; BAM! 21!


Perhaps it’s not as crucial as I’m trying to make it. Maybe it’s just that I don’t care so much about my age. But I do have a bad memory, for certain things. Such as dates (birthdays, important historical happenings etc), names, duties, time…..

Howcome I can remember things of no importance so clearly, the small things that should go unnoticed, the things that no one cares about?

Maybe it’s because all I care about in the great fields and mountains are the tiny grey stones with different shapes that could assimilate something familiar and entirely different than a stone.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been absent, away, in a floating state of mind drifting away from my surroundings and into nothingness. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy and indifferent to everyone and every thing.

As I finished that sentence, I realized that I ask a lot of questions in my writing. Words such as; Perhaps, maybe, why, how come, is it because…..

So pointless. I know that you, random or not random person who reads what I write, won’t answer my questions. It might be because I always focus on finding my own answers, and usually plant some various conclusions as to what the answers might be at the end of the speculations. Maybe it’s because you don’t care about my questions, or are too uncertain yourself about the issue at hand.

Or, it could be, simply, that the answer that you do have is not the right answer for me.

I would prefer not to post this, but I have to. If I don’t, I fear that I might never get started on the publishing of posts again. So….



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Suffering people

Disgusting. This world and it’s superior race.

Offensive. This humanity and it’s media front.

We float in a world of varieties. Varieties of red, green and blue.
I’ve heard you speak with anger, and I’ve heard you hum sweet tunes.

They’re actors, that’s what they are, playing their parts in the play.

I want to break away, escape, here the tears I cry are in vein.

Exploding desires, interrupted by tantrums, you will break me if I stay.
Surely, yes positively, we will drive one another insane.

Disturbing. A whole life filled with noise. Buzzing, unclearly yelling,
about what has become.

All I want is peace.


My mind is so frustrated. I’m surrounded by what I can’t understand.

Angry people, hateful people, manipulative actors of life.
I know you suffer even more than I
Suffering people, suffer until they die.

And I don’t understand why.

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Problem about relationships; usually one person will be on top, and the other one at bottom (not referring to sexual encounters). Because people are about control, and sometimes they fight about control without even noticing. Tragic, is it not, when we try to break down the person we love. And when they respond to this behaviour, we look for reasons as to why it’s all their fault. And whatever the outcome is, whether or not we’ve lost, we can fall out of love, because regardless; the control has been moved, and this might change the way we look at each other. Because this might change the way we look at ourselves.

If it is possible not to fight for control, will I become the doormat, or could it be that we could be respectful and loving as well as peaceful as a team? How can we even find the answer to this? Always with the arguments, the distance, the lack of understanding..

I know that I can love too much, if there’s even such a thing, and I know that I can stop myself from feeling all together. Now THAT’S control. Not being ruled by emotions, not being pushed around by confusion made out by these feelings.. But then again, what’s the point of control when you’re missing out on the essentials of life? Feeling is the magic of life. Feelings makes out the colors, the ecstasy, the sorrow. Feelings make things interesting, and suffering a heartbreak – that is the most interesting of all. Because you feel the hole in your chest that the emotion of love left you with, you know how powerful it can be, and it’s beautiful.

I don’t mean to come off as a whiny bitch, but that’s the thing about philosophy and poetry, sometimes I can’t help myself but combining the two. Sorry.

But I have wondered about myself, what is it that brings me back and forth on being certain? I know that I often feel sure about myself and my relationships, but I’ve noticed that I often lose courage, that I often find doubt, regarding myself and the people around me. Could it be that this battle for control is happening even when I’m not aware of it?

Could it be that when I let my guard down, they swing for the knockout punch (psychologically speaking), to win the superiority, to win the control, and then I find myself wondering about myself and my opponent, and perhaps this happens for the other one too, or maybe no one even thinks about it.

The point is, I think we all search for control. I think it might be natural for people to control other people. Maybe that’s why we want a dog, maybe that’s why we need a companion, so that we have someone to quarrel with, to win over, to be smarter than. I don’t fight for control on purpose. But I think I’ve noticed sometimes when people have tried it on me. And I think I’ve started to see my own behavior not only as the innocent kind, as I once thought it was, but also as it might be interpreted as – controlling. 

But if we don’t fight for control, will other people be the boss of us? Does it have to be a fight, or could we all just coexist?

I wonder about it, I wish for peace, but I also want respect. If I’m not respected, if I’m not considered as meaningful, than I’d rather not be considered at all. I’d rather be someone you once knew, than to be your obedient dog. As does it go the other way too, I’d rather leave you, than to be in control of you.

I type my conclusions, my sentences, my thoughts, but like I said, most of these fights happens in the shadows. So is there a way to back away from it all, when we can’t even see all the times it gets done, by ourselves, by our friends, by our mothers, by our lovers, when we’re blind from what lies underneath the covers.

If we think about it often, perhaps it could be done, if we had the patience, had the guts, to try and trust and love.

But for now I remain doubtful, for now I’m filled with flaws. I don’t even know all the things that people think I know.

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I wrote this song for my friend, as live took a new turn for him. And after I made it, I’ve barely left the piano at all.

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