no you will not under stand anyway.,.,.,.
Ursäkta, jag skulle vilja kliva av här.
Feel like walking through the void. The endless, dim, void.
Om hoppet är det sista som lämnar en så har jag inget.
Sometimes my mind falls into billions of little pieces that flies into the sparkling cool night-air in late summer beneath a street light. There some pieces land on the ground, rolling around a few times in the wet grass. Other pieces continue flying around, some even peeking into someone's apartment in the building across the street. And then the pieces look at each other and some feel disgust over what a few pieces are and are not, but many pieces just feel a great sense of wonder about the fact that in the daytime everyone of these pieces can unite themselves into one almost functioning human being. After the sense of wonder slowly has faded from them, the pieces use their time to their favorite hobbies such as: hang-gliding, and sun-bathing (using the incredible street-light of course) and so forth. And in the morning the pieces all hurry back to my body where they gather together to become one again and I awake.
"Du har inga nya meddelanden" - Comviqs mobilsvar
Mindless existence. Life on nothing but my feet walking the thin thread over the fires. Over the fires with the dragons that eat green kittens for breakfast. The thin thread, needle-sharp. It cuts into the bones of my feet. Blood pouring down into the pit of doom beneath me. Pain filling my very bones. Independent. Needing no-one, nothing. Except the thread. It hurts. There is nothing but the sensation of walking, high up in the darkness, above the fires. Above the happy kitten-eating dragons with long spiky tails. My concentration flickers a short instant and balance vanishes. I try to scream but nothingness swallows everything. Instead I feel the darkness creeping into me, while falling. I try to grab the thread with my right hand, but it slices my hand in two and I feel myself accelerating against what I've always avoided. And even though I am falling towards my sure death, I can't help myself. I laugh. Darkness swallows my laughter, but it doesn't matter. I laugh anyway, laugh at my previous struggle, at my falling, but most of all, because I know I am not going to die. I am falling to my mental doom and maybe it'll be fun. I remember thinking this as I was falling previously. Sometime soon I'm gonna stop, I believe. Hanging in the air, on another thread, till that one cuts through me as well. And forever laughing to everything that doesn't try to kill me. And happiness filled the room... yes zoon!
Do not, whatever you do or feel like, think. It's quite hazardous
Jo, jag läste nån bok och Uffe skrev en sak, å så var det lite bra och sen skrev jag av det och...
