Surtsey

Oh Iceland where are you? Sometimes I just think I can go out an imaginary door, again stand in front of askja-building, lighting a self-rolled cigarette. Icy wind blowing in my face. Around me only darkness and the greenish shimmering light of the ten-eleven store on the other side of the field. 

Sometimes I just think about the term “Seltjarnarness” and my endless attempts to pronounce it perfectly. While driving with bike, against the wind, it was ALWAYS against the wind! Saying it loud “SELT-JAR-NAR-NESS” FASTER! “seltjar-narness” BETTER! “seltjarnarness” HARDER! “SELTJARNARNESS” AHHH --- PERFECT! 

I think about these “for a minor reflections concerts”, these sounds, which just made me feel to be at the exact right spot at the exact right time with the exact right people. I think about all this shit, about these fucking cheap beers at Kaffi Grand. About leaving in such a hurry, that I just realized what is happening when I saw the people at BSI waving after me. Fuck, I was drunk! And still I remember one tear running down my cheek.  At the same time smiling and laughing. It is like this paradox physical condition when a material is solid, liquid and gaseous at the same time.

Iceland made me reach my triple-point. And under all this pressure, everything erupted. Everything was buried underneath a huge layer of tephra. There is just black sand. No paths, no footprints, no plants, no orientation, just nothing I could refer to. I was happy and sad. Free and captured. Everything is familiar and still distant. I am sleeping with open eyes. Was it all just a dream?

Oh mighty nature you have spread your power by wind and birdshit. And I begin to realize that every goddamn lavafield will soon be vegetated again. Oh gentle spring will come, rising toward the sun, and soon there will be fields of moss, to lie on. Watching the sky changing its colours with open eyes. Surtsey has proven it.

Boots made in Germany, bought in Iceland, meet Austrian Alps!

Washing off memories

I just rubbed my face with some creamy, milk-containing shampoo. Like the one I had in our flat in Graenahlid. It was there when I came. No one used it except me. And I emptied it on my last shower before I left. Putting meaning into something completely meaningless. Either it was just me or the hope that putting meaning into everything will make it harder for me to forget. The water was rinsing down the smell of smoke from the last night. My eyes were closed, and in my mind I started imagining the window left of me. The rusting, orange building machine. The greyish gras, still waiting for the summer to come. The garden, in which nothing grows but stones. And Esja in the background. The plateau still covered in white, waiting to melt until I leave…

I opened my eyes. It was all gone. Lost in some wired, fucked up world of fading memories and future expectations. Watching the photos of people, who are still there, makes me feel I am still part of this, but at the same time I am torn apart, because I know that I am not. Thinking about going back for some time, but knowing for sure that it will not be the same. Thinking about the great times, and the opportunities I left out. I am not this kind of person who easily gets stuck in the past, but to be honest … I don´t know … I don´t know what I have expected but I really miss it. That is all I can say about it … 

Home is, where you dance

I guess in the past days and weeks I often thought about, what is home, where is it, and what does it mean. And still, I haven´t found any sufficient answer to this questions. Probably it just needs some time. Because like in most cases we won´t find the answer by asking the question over and over again. All in all I am quite fine, and although watching photos of Iceland make me feel like some part of my life is missing, I also feel that it has to be that way. And there is not so much I can do about it now. So what about this explanation "Home is, where your heart is"? Sucks! Cause I don´t know. So I would rather choose "Home is, where you dance" at least for those exciting days. Because hearts just can´t travel with the speed of an airplane. But we can dance, with the speed of light. Definitely!

My brothers wedding. After some REAL beer!

Take me somewhere nice...

... I am sure you will