Visit My Deliberate

Homepage Damn It!

feelings, feelings,

and then you write

friend fiend and brother

wound wound and bother

talk is not

its in your hand and your movement

looking at veins again

is she activated

activating is

feelin

struggle and a,

has to save bird from cat

oh so little,

beeking

yellow chest and rapid heart

open windows

tell me

ideas ideas and then you write,

wigs and lipstick, vodka plastic

along a slope

do you remember, oh well,

 I dont,

write me how to thrive

while your past repeat your traumas.

The Quilt and the Beggar 1/Woman in Tower

of Song

From Her point of View/

All lyrics. ©Tonje Høydahl Sørli

All lyrics ©Tonje Høydahl Sørli

BONO-member

/poems / texts:

The Healing Day, Bill Fay: It'll be O.K. On the healing day. No more  goin' astray. On the healing day. Yea we'll find our way. On the   healing day. To where the children play. On the healing day.    When the tyrant is bound. And the tortured freed from his pain, and the lofty brought to the ground. And the lowly raised. Ain't so far away The healing day.

Truth Hurts

sorrow lost and sorrow won

did you get

what I`ve been plundering(ja jeg har altså plyndret på dette)* on:

I have

a blooming brain.

(song ref Sun has Gone, Broken Twin)

Carrier, Where did You Run>>>>>

>>

Objektiv

Skrevet/

---

In 2016 some claimed that

I imagined that I wrote.

Then my imaginary writing came

to grab my motherhood

by its tail.

Along with this,  mockery

of people with traumas has

made me care less.

So I have lost my

passion for sharing lyrics.

Also I have put

my pseudonyms/alias to rest.

And decided that I shall not work without

formal meetings in the future.

(which mean I have).

Love for 2019,                            be human

take care.

Lyrics On This Site:

These days I  publish only on this website. I got support from Kunstløftet in 2014 to do a comic-project on trauma-reactions, and will work on this as a theme (amongst others) in some of my projects a little longer. Right now the shortlyrics here on this site are  written and published over several years. They cover the core of  living in the aftermath of trauma, which is a life too many live  today. My writing about dissociation*, is done to highlight post trauma-living. As an artist I have chosen to read about and focus on Onno von der Hart, Kathy Steele, Suzette Boon and Ellert R. S. Nijenhuis thoughts on post-trauma-reactions Besides from this, my focus in lyrics has always been relations.

Although my lyrics sometimes were used, I dont often get to go to concerts  (ref Eat for Free, Haley Bonar). 

Though a direct tone- I dont write about anyone I have known or know on this site. And I have never intended to offend anyone with my lyrics.  Most  I write comes out of what I  observe around me, or read about.

Do follow me  on  Instagram:   

@tonjehoydahlsorli.

Tender Plants to Grow This Year

Im the

bid me

but I

I am

of

they make use of my

but then I

I never show

I never show

you know, I never show

Im little little

brittle

lights and movecontrol

waking up in fright

keeping out of sight

see their gardens growing

blooming, taking over

greens and yellows

flowerbuds and watery leaves

--- .---

I hid in your mothers

behind bushes

she telling me to leave

oh please

I begged,

let me have a face

but Im little little,

brittle,

lights and movecontrol

I never show

I never show

you know, I never show

Radiohead, Daydreaming, also backwards.

   Susanne Sundfør: Delirious, Fade Away,

                                Undercover

.

Right Now! In favor! Songs I listen ( I have a passion for songlyrics, had it since Smashing Pumpkin`s Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness came) to:

And to set the tone: Michael Nau, Love Survive. AND I   

Team Me, June, I Killed Sarah V..Lowell.

Squirrel Nut Zippers! Pallin with Al

Farao, Sparks Edith Piaf said it better

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To a Specialist, On Musicality

yu were so so wrong(x2)

yu were so so wrong(x2)

yu were so so wrong(x2)

lyrics without musicality

well, perhaps you should try to sing them

staccato

staccato

staccato

I bet you`d get them working then.

1  Bloom! & Jolly Future!

2. Pressure & Motherhood, this is theme in the piece Bloom! & Jolly Future! 

Bob Dylan, >>>>The Times They are A-Changing. GO pop-lyrics!!.                                   Society__>

All That We´ve Become

Losers Can Win(ref Starwalker)/

The Return

they say

with windows open

little is to fear,

but you know

the truth:

There are nothing more dangerous

than words,

in the bar their eyes gleiten

they want him to switch

just to have proof

if he muttered,

no but he wont:

I will never greet you as

the old friend you are

I know your gaze, posture

and hand

I remember a sentence, the shock

and smells,

in the bar their eyes gleiten

they want him to switch

just to have proof

artists learn skills noone else does

they play with genders and feelings

and become what others are

its not the same as

being a man.*

* Many female artists and writers have done this throughout the history: taken a mans name as pseudonym, or tried to write or create with the "gusto" of a man.

Men før det, i bilen på vei hjem så hadde de en samtale som var omtrent slik:

Hun: (fortvilet) Hva sa jeg, altså jeg bare, sa jeg at jeg hadde skrevet en Monsterhit?

Han: Ja, nå har det snæppa for deg altså, ALLE vet jo dessuten at det er jeg som skriver låter.

Hun: Herregud så flaut.

Han: (stille)

Hun: Kanskje jeg bare et lite øyeblikk skulle ønske jeg var deg, var i dine sko. Ja, tok noen av dine eh..ja du er jo så vellykket..ikke projeksjon, hva er det, attribuerte noen av dine karakertrekk?

Han: Godt mulig, du er jo i en fortvilet livssituasjon.

Hun: Ja,*

* Dette er ikke en dialog fra virkeligheten, men tekst fra en av pamflettene jeg har lagt ut litt høyere opp på nettsiden.

Arrival

I see his smile

in you

you

I see his smile

in you

you

I hear his laughter too

in you

you

and

his way,

his

how are the words he tell

does he whisper,

what does he do,

they owe me

in all their human ways?

Though even Bob Dylan

says winners are not like him,

so we will enter the outside

and walk in mud,

and thats when

we realize:

We always lived our indoor

lives in surround.

Whats the lyrics about? 

17th June 2017

My Manic And I,

Laura Marling,

Å ha ei lyte/skade

(credits to some that showed me this song) Listening then as someone that once lost a ring, and too as with the writing tendencie to find my

own story in anything:

The morning is mocking

and the birds are singing to calm them down,

My Manic And I

The fairy tale end

noone beleived it,

keep your head up

cse some still have,

of brothers and cousins and

evenings with friends,

others have become the manic,

& stand in trials to tell

that there`s no no illness in me,

no I am harmed by relations

like in the past,

and cse him,

met you with a hardened look,

down by that river filled with ducks,

you girl went too far

well,

one day his eyes were blue,

the next brown,

scorn & silent face,

and the travel of words on you as

a living hell

is emotional abuse my friend

so you dont believe him,

no but what with the confusing feeling of someone

that is hot or cold,

so you become the manic,

their faces filled with anothers

instead of their own,

so who are you then,

someone like Lenü,

but her aspirations in your way,

so he says

this is enough,

we went to far,

this is why we are ill,

and of a sudden

In the middle of the concert

he`ll get the throw,

her words a gift, I know,

with a beautiful voice,

no, whats the point in writing

songs* if noone really

hear you.

*its a referance in a referance!

Emilie Nicholas, Let You Out,  Junip Line of Fire

Timber Timbre, Demon Host   

                   Jacob Faurholt, Floating in Space

Nick Drake: ´Cello Song

    No Harm, Editors

That is what a text once was about: The trigging everyday life in the aftermaths of traumatic experiences. Be kind.

Female Gaze

is

on

Hands

To turn

around and

there you stood

tan an all

Batman

gav ham et manus

dette kan vi ikke lage bok av

sa han

The Wronged

:she

:he

:shrink

the shrink said

there are two types of

violence:

One is physical,

the other is psychological,

and the psychological

often comes first,

its the silence in between,

the secret smiles and little laughters

its the neglect of feelings, the

public mocking and emotional shield

is the sudden turnings, gaslighting

and no regrets

is the withdraw, the no answer,

you as noone and the other without

dissociative tendencies

This is why, With a referance to Bakhtin and his thoughts on polyphony, I Write and Make Art:

Industriell Rock.

industri med bismak., liten tid til treff i helga. gikk forbi i 5 minutter. mistet røyken. mistet umbreroen. gikk mot henne i 2 minutter. gikk inn igjen. mistet tiden underveis. gikk pervo på pcen hennes. tok ansvar etterpå, og lot være å gi henne filene. dro på ferie. gikk langt på ferien. likte mange bilder på insta. gikk tur med bøfler også gikk jeg ikke mot henne etter det. etter det ble jeg liten og bortgjemt. så gikk det bort alt sammen. morsomt med musikk i livet mitt. det liker jeg. men så er jeg musiker egentlig. ikke sånn som du tror. istedet gikk det ikke. minsten ble redd og så gikk det ikke bra. han lot være å si ifra, til det er altfor få likegyldige og derfor har jeg mistet fokus.*

*slik som dette skrev jeg for 16 år siden. Ikke her på nettsiden, som ikke er eldre enn 4-5 år, men inn i et skjema for bilder til en utstilling. Senere mistet jeg teksten, som ikke er helt utrolig til meg å være, siden jeg alltid skrev, men som du likevel vil se av nettsiden min

formidler jeg

at jeg

savner tekster og manus, som ikke er i mine hender lenger. Blant annet derfor har jeg skrevet litt om Mikhail Bakhtin, og hans tanker om ytringer, og det å bli sett og hørt. Det jeg liker med tekst er å være min egen sjef, uten å ha noen som involverer seg eller bestemmer hva jeg kan si eller ikke. Derfor mener jeg også at alvor er der, ikke ironi eller avvisning. For hvis jeg ikke kan si, hvor står jeg da som menneske? Dette og da med Bakhtins tekster om respekt for den andres stemme, og ulikhet, i tankene.

Music. innskutt. setning./snurr film /hestehale/hodefoting

iiii messages

i i messages

music

Id do it again

Id do it again

I I I I messages

I I messages

you me

me am you

its you in me’

and you me

in

I I I I messages

I I messages

music

Id do it again

Id do it again *

Dissociated Gaze*, To Those that Stays Inspired by Lyrics on Trauma:

c`mon

c`mon

you a true

should not

stand in line to mock

frozen gazes,

dissociated states

frozen gazes, 

and x5

oh ah I am a true believer

but in justice no not anymore

your hand without blood

and arm swings

from the carrying of you

body without any feeling

how then to defend

yourself

well, I will tell you:

The real trouble is,

you cant,

c`mon

c`mon

we all have faults,

but what of beliefs

later you ask:

why did you not

scream,

but people in frozen states

and immobility

dont talk or fight

and later

that colors everything

*Dissociated gaze:/stare Dissociating is a mental process that causes a lack of connection in someone’s thoughts, memory and sense of identity. Its a sort of  disconnecting from reality or feelings that are overwhelming. Dont laugh of, or mock someone that struggle with dissociation after trauma, instead I suggest you give him or her a hug.

Behaving, Shower..Spooky song..

Tip. Daniel Kvammen, , LINK to his music video.

They Knew About the Brain

Batman

gav ham et manus

dette kan vi ikke lage bok av

sa han

Closure

Friends, I have

Sailing in Stripes*

uniform at sea

it a salty eye and candyme

sayin you are my only friends,

made me feel sorry for all of us,

and then as always someone faked a traged death

me crying then to pier

and lay lifless as always too

in printed summerdress

and then you lifted your glass

evil and unmature

or was it me imagining your

cruelty

salty eye, queen and Anna(e)

salty eye, queen and Anna(e)

king and all the rest

cowardice was to never tell the truth

wood, wood,

I see your mother

And now I am scaring you.

The Hit & All Offended

a slap at

his cheek

it was one & once

after

he`d said

he looked forward too

her getting old enough

a toddlers first steps

towards

womanhood

Ferrante is alive(?) no, they say she is gone, 1498

perhaps she is a victim of modern marketing strategies! 

Please read my pushbutton-texts/pamflets>>>

Walking With Roses

walkwithroses

Fab

but, we dont walk in gold

sometimes we dont even eat x2

artists are poor,

try that,

and youll get the

feeling of true feeling.

and then you can follow me.

But me being forgetful, I suppose that already has happened.*

* this lyric has a referance to 4 Disney/Pixar movies: Vaiana, Finding Dory, The Boss Baby, and possibly Frozen. + of course my inner circle of friends.

Someone to Watch over Me

jeg hører på jazz og katten

ett ullpledd og, da jeg var nitten

sa det hissig i meg,

dro Min Besværlige Venninne

til Italia og ble soloartist,

da jeg var nitten, sa det,

puttet jeg en mann i en

kvinnes sko bare fordi jeg

var redd for ham,

ligger det i nakken

for den bøyer jeg

men som nittenåring,

han hadde svarte øyne

og det kvikke blikket,

han satt på rommet mitt

og var imponert over en oppgave

jeg hadde skrevet om det tidligere

Jugoslavia, en gjest i en gruppe

mennesker fra krig hadde landet

på en folkehøyskole i Norge,

men hvorfor fikk han

Den Besværlige Venninna

med seg, jeg husker ikke,

den selvbevisste og veslevoksne Venninna mi, satt han på et tog, skramlet gjennom

Europa, mens han sølte kaffe på henne?

En flekk her, og en flekk der,

som blåe ringer under øyne,

nei, en gang stablet jeg ham

på beina, han var uten pust,

jeg vet ikke,

mennesker med lyter,

vi gir hverandre lite,

mens vi vet altfor godt hva

verden trenger,

og hvis jeg møtte ham igjen

ville jeg ikke nevne 

eller noe annet,

for jeg har glemt

og 

I Am Another,

shuffled through the streets

a tired santa with

his white beard

came to my door

and said he was

another too

: I am a woman deep

inside, was that

the thing then,

: Just as you are

a man,

his eyes were scared,

so I thought, oh no

I know who sent you

to climb my stairs,

once I saw that in

m m m m m  too,

and to say goodbye to

people that I like,

yes Id rather stand in

a crowd

and see you do well

on stage,

and now to tell you:

I was never a man,

but once, in a moment,

I took a mans best traits

just to survive.

* This pamflet is on: To sympathize with the aggressor= In relation-ships: simply said, to, out of fear, take the perspective of the one who scares you instead of the one friendly.

(its a bargain for lost souls)

too many start

their careers with looking down

In The Wall

In 2009-16 I wrote lyrics that  have been made use of without me been involved.

*On triggers. A trigger is something that

reminds you of and sets you off into old and often  awful experiences. Are you traumatized and have triggers, that you tell your loved ones about, make sure they are stable and kind enough to handle that and them with care.

They Knew About the Brain

Whats the lyrics about? 11 april 2017

This is from me when listening.

Listening then, as a mother: To Wide Lovely Eyes from the Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds album Push the Sky Away-2013.

Wide Lovely Eyes

its Hide & Seek, and a song to a child, yes- I get the impression that the lyrics is written to a child, so:

The mother stands in the window as the father takes their child to child-care. Though everyone does, it feels strange to send the child away all day. As a family they are still working on that: The absence of child to get work done. And the child,

to cope with the absence of mom and dad. The child, with a small childs open eyes, and strides in her dress, waves to her mother, saying goodbye with her hands that still cant wave, instead they look like butterflies with fluttering wings, butterflies bending, and she is waving butterflies into the sky, and her mother answers the waving,  or  does the perspective change here, does she - the mother, suddenly,  see herself as from  a loved ones perspective: His eyes on her  as her brain  implodes and her hands goes up, up, a goodbye to a man, no,

and when she gets to her computer she wonders what world her child now caves into, perhaps a magical landscape that she  herself

has  left, yes through a tunnel of leaves down to the sea, and as grown-ups we can only try to imagine what our children do all day, and how they struggle to cope without their guides in life for many hours in row, yes ,

grown-ups close down the fun fair in our minds, and the the competitiondrive in men end up  killing mermaids and creativity, and so we try to

keep the real threats of terror away by telling jokes.

In the experience of becoming a mum her brain is expanding, growing, the world is full of  worry, and that while she and all organize surroundings to cope, and try to fill gatherings of friends with laughter,

and yes, me, sometimes I miss organizing shoes after shoesize and color and to look onto the world with curiosity.

Or as some girl said,

after she accidently had over-

heard a grownup conversation:

 Næmanæmma died? She  asked

with a serious look in her eyes. And I jumped at her having heard

my words, which were not

for her ears, and  at her

already there to look for

answers I was afraid to

give. So, the world has

changed, I, we know.

And thats what 

Wide Lovely Eyes

reminded me of.

Kärlekens vånda & krigets

helvete

Nähe, Thankful Song

Thought On

the ballet Sleepless Beauty,

Nasjonalballetten,

Oslo 7ht May 2017

Persefone & the rest

it a mans hand on your chest and neck

and me walking into

the foajé

as I say abuse, abuse, abuse

to lay in love

is to have man above

till the mothers eyes

turn sore

blackn white suites

and them holding apartments

for little lovers

without regard to any other

like a child walking into

sleepless nights as her mum

working double shifts again

couldnt that make

a beauty, blackened eyes

till the mountain as a curtain

his finger pointing to th sky

and then they fold

her green dress and possible

evil plans for futuristic towns,

till the end that I loved:

Curtain, drapery, and the

lift of her

yes

he lifted her.

Shore

come with me

and lend some warmth in hand

this tsi is some other lovesong

but then the loss of time

wont you come running after me

waking up with green leaves

no

had the feeling

you stood back there and cried,

tears for you and me

FFF*

high heels heading out-

I was told to leave a lovers night,

heard him whisper

fff

fff

fff

as I walked,

oh no oh

my pinkerbell,

I that got so many things to tell,

had a folder

with that name,

started in a kitchen 2000,

a sudden comfort

from a man

gave me a secret crush,

so

I wrote poems

that later accidently ended in all ears

fff

gone, of course,

who I wrote back then

was of a brochy family,

but thats oh so long ago

(17)(or so)

(Later fff* became a off pist web thing, that I lost to someone else.)

(*fff is of course also a song by Bebe Rexha)

Giblets, Gibbons, Burglar,

My Last Song(2017)

are awaiting

are awaiting

a break down

7 year old

7 year old

song

20 year million

20 year million

song

with no friends

in music buisness

its bisniss

they say

she lives in a one room

apartment

but

we want the world to bow

in the hall of fame

we are nothing but burglars

and,whatever,

noone will know.

Radiohead,

Oslo Spektrum 6th June 2017

Alle Ble Flaue/ Aa Bb Fau

Aaa Bbbb Faaau

(efil ym fo flaH)

(half of my life I fooled my loved)

Thoughts on daydreaming and a concert,

writing then as some strange lady

amongst audience,

and how do we listen to noise,

its in the background,

and what I hear is on

men in a row

they love(hope that you) it when you choke,

happy to serve you, were you,

Thom Yorke and every true musician,

no glam or glitter,

but knowledge, warmth and a strange glare,

some affects perhaps,

moves o a girl I cannot see,

she moves her body and Thom

does too,

sweetfaced ones that

we all can love,

thats whats happen when

you think youre in place,

perhaps a future in a song,

creator has a kit to make

an identity to come forth

in a once loved,

sadly, Groundhogday makes

no way,

no, truth will mess you up,

the true tale of your life will mess you up,

him a grey jacket, that hair,

always a new door, endless corridors

and then the sudden smirk.

All this to say:

love, love to Radiohead.

Sweet Faced Ones

We All Can Love*

as I walked by

her eyes hit your cheek

side by side

in your window

you lowered your head

oh no no

this i thisi girl

is in love

thisi girl

this i thisi girl

is in love

Reverse in Hand & Backwards Give

oh why

dont give me

whats mine,

50 000 from my

solitary fund

and she wouldve

had a room on her own

did he regret it

as he stopped

my reverse in hand

no dont do this to me

I I I  that wrote songs

and verses from my

little town

we sat on the beach

and he fell in love

with any other than me

piles of books and him

perhaps as south

as any man

in north can be

so you lay me down

said

if you dont behave

your belt lit a light

till I scratched myself *

left marks

on my chest

didnt I

him road

was a backwards give

said

did you hurt yourself

or me

* This lyric is written to describe retraumatisation by violence, and self harm. To inflict self harm is a way to control your feelings. Its a normal reaction to/after abnormal experiences or abuse, but often scary to  witness for those you love. If you know anyone that inflict self-harm, know its a language thats about outer harm turned inward. Help him/her to get calm, help him/her get out of harming relations, and in the length he/she will also need help to place shame where it belongs.

So This is Where We Have Met,

aaaa

so this is where we met

some harsh lit in yours

as I say

this is where we met

neck

aaaa

so this is where we met

a yard, a stair,

aaaa

truth is

a

I dont remember a thing

tongue

aaa

so this is where we met

giggle

mmm

aa

I dont remember

any

of

you

scar

mmm

then mock me

aaa

till this ends again

down

are there really none

that will not turn and whisper as I leave

in the corner of my eye

this what I see:

giggle, say

the guys made me

oh thats what you are

some gang of friends

that have not yet realized

how to greet

the one we love.

Thoughts on Ferrantes book 1, 30 july 2017 :

:

Its A book Written to  a Brother & with love

Scarecrows & Widgets

Brother(as in Friend), where to put this anger.

I cant anything but see.

Brother, where to put this anger. I cant anything but see what scared me as a child still scares me. Men, their aggression and fights with or without fists. And then, as from the sidewalk, or in some window, from the side: what did you all become. The morning was mocking me, this pile of books off from some mans hand between thighs. In a daydream, he came by, said, do you remember, or did you close your eyes to them bullying us, and I: no lyar, dont do this to me, what else than to put him down and regress into writing instead. And to find words elsewhere.

Raining Giftful Giving

put page

and looking through appendix

me a

a a a ame

that small pony suits me

and we`re friends, the dog and me,

so pony, dog

any cats too, and a guinea pig perhaps,

cause we`re thoughtful

and now I tell:

listen, pony, cat, dog,

everyone seem to think

they know my inside head

mmm

mm

mna a a a

his ex or some across

the table

looked at me with spite,

mmmm

mmm

aaaamnnnnaa

tree, tree,

use in us

Committed By

Ordinary Canary, Salute

its a sad

he said

youll never recover

so they put forth some road

a bar, night, oh its commitment

to remember oneself

through new versions

thrown all over

helpfull, please see,

what if your own moments

walked right through me

might I render them,

and put em on instagram,

but I am not you,

I forget to mention

your inner feel,

proud or sad,

some gutfeel that say:

this is all so wrong.

it was me, leaning back

I was proud,

some V in my hand

oh back then

I was writer to a band

Se viktige serier og filmer som Skam og Hva vil folk si

V

V

Numbing and Immobility

they say this movie

is a cultureshock

well, we make too many

a girls life a hell

like shame and honour dont exist

in white middleclass

------

if you find in offices or in schools with silenced youngsters, help them

Manhood

laugther filled

but then you are

an instrumentalist

to the core

my hand against

your neck to

put the collar right

your comment

on this

would be

already you are

correcting me

my hand against

your neck to

put the collar right

it my grandma

hands in move from

inside me

and I never questioned

it to be anything but

care.*

© Tonje Høydahl Sørli

* and I still think it is: an act of care.

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^^Over finner du pamfletten Den Eneste Moren. Skrevet sommer 2016 om det at par/foreldre kan saksøke hverandre etter brudd, og at dette tillates, mens Konfliktrådet burde være stedet ex-par-men-foreldre(og andre) får hjelp:

Lines, on Motivation, in Norwegian

hvis eg skreiv, verkeleg skreiv og ikkje oppfatta dette med hovudet i skyane og ballongar under føtene så ville eg ha spurt kan eg skrive på nynorsk for det var eg god til på ungdomsskolen der eg hadde verdas beste norsklærarinne  og selv om nynorsken min no er skrullete og rar så var det ein gong ho som lærte meg å skrive skildringar eller var det da ho krevde det av klassen at eg oppdaga korleis eg såg på verda for vi skulle skrive ei skildring, ja eit sommerminne, og da skreiv eg korleis det var å rusle opp Karl Johan ein sommerdag alle luktane og lydane, bandet som spelte i gata, og ein gut som kikka på meg og så las ho mi stil høgt som så mange gonger seinare, for klassen, eg prøvde hardt å ikkje bli for stolt, men kvifor, endeleg var det noko eg verkeleg kunne, som akkurat eg var god på, eg kunne skrive, og om det seinare skulle bli noko som ble brukt mot meg så visste eg det ikkje da, heldigvis, det var lenge før folk stimla saman over ein pc på ein fest mens dei kikka spakt på meg og mumla at dei skulle finne noko, vi finn dei ikkje, filane er borte, ikkje sant, ja, men kva hvis eg hadde ein motivasjon anna enn å skrive om det eg såg og hørte fordi eg samla på sånt, så skal eg åpenhjerta nå si til deg at hei, eg har kapsla inn desse minnane, dette hendte meg, og eg har ikkje sagt dei til nokon, og då dei hadde vakse og brunne inne i meg til eg ikkje orka meir så putta eg dei inn i ei ramme og den ramma heitte ei forteljing, og hvis du finn forteljinga vil du kanskje klare å se dei øyeblikka som eg egentlig ville si deg men som eg ikkje turde  på grunn av ei trussel om utsletting, og det er sørgeleg men det er menn, dei øyeblikka og den utslettinga  er menn. Og eg skal leve kvar dag med hovudet på denne halsen og ryggen og eg skal fortsatt ikkje vise at det som kan skake nokon inn i ei anonym tilværelse er menn, for så tidleg, altfor tidleg tråkkar unge jenter inn i menn, eller er det omvendt, men ja dei har nett  sprunge ut med frekner over nasen og små knoppar av bryst, ja akkurat da tar ei grov hand tak i deg ikkje sant og du skjønner at no for alltid så må eg væra på vakt, og det berre fordi du ikkje er eit barn lengre.

Annea Leaves Thankyou *

this is a a a

this i i i i i sis

evening boost

my tapestries in row,

on on oh its on

powerstruggle,

being small vs big, or strong,

what makes he

not greet me,

but, before I go,

to claim I am leaving

as Anna,

when I came as

myself, artist and mum,

Anna leaves, oh

then Anna leaves,

then to take her little hand,

earlier they had gathered, twenty dark youngsters at Walthamstow Central,

the speaker screamed:

this is evacuating alarm,

we found a sign to

the gallery and me

as always pretending

that everything was fine,

buying icecream,

and the riot disappeared,

Anna leaves, oh

then Anna leaves,

waking up without sleep,

they shrieked past my window all night,

the smell of

garbage and London

built on the old,

then I heared the

neighbour voice:

be a tiger for me eh?

I did pretend to see her,

his tiger in negligee,

till our flight was

cancelled,

and I rebooked and

then we left.

he gazed behind,

over his shoulder,

as I once did,

oh Yorke, this is,

why do we work,

like this,

Anna leaves, oh

then Anna leaves.

* I used to have names. Anna and Anne was

two of them. So this

lyrics is written with

thought on that.

Utested, Trondheim, starten av 2000-tallet en gang

han har sett så redd ut nå i lange tider,

hvorfor slenger folk dritt etter han, det er som om det blomstrer opp et hat der han og jeg er,

til jeg skjønner det: der de har forskanset seg rundt et bord i hjørnet, de roper Æsj, og sniktitter på oss som bare tar en øl, Pervo roper de,

han vil så gjerne slippe denne gjengen mer,

så han ler og spiller meg:

litt mer avmålt og kjølig blikk,

men så, etter uker med hersing

klarer jeg ikke mer- jeg snur meg og roper Pervo tilbake til gutta med sleik, Hore skriker de til svar, og ler høyt.

Dette er over 15 år siden, og starten på et liv med avmaktsfølelse, som ofte følger med mobbing.

Pervo var et ord unge i Nord-Trøndelag brukte i oppveksten min. Ble vi sinte og sure var det et ord vi kunne slenge fra oss. I gjengen som terget på utestedet den gangen, satt flere jeg kjente til fra før.

Selv om jeg skrev ironisk da som nå, streifet aldri tanken meg:

at noen kunne bruke en tekst senere, der Pervo var brukt som i

å sette grenser, for å plage noen som aldri hadde «vært pervo» i utgangspunktet.

For meg er og forblir Pervo et uttrykk fra en oppvekst i nord, som jeg ikke ville sagt med

mindre jeg hadde en god grunn.

HJERTE 1

Det som ligger mitt hjerte nærmest er å formidle rundt overgrep mot barn og unge.  Det jeg vet er at mange sliter  i etterdønningene av over-grep.  Å sette fokus på og formidle om overgrep og traumereaksjoner mener jeg derfor er viktig.

HJERTE 2

Lovende

blir til pervo, heks, hore eller andre sleng-bemerkninger. For deg som er ung, så vit at det  å få eller å slenge kommentarer eller avvise andre kollektivt heter namecalling og shunning på engelsk. Og at det er  skadelig for den som opplever det.

I chose Only

i work alone

by heart, and head alone,

and my hands,

alone.

Resume, Raise Your Arm

raise your arm

against rape and violence. Its

up & up. And then

embrace yourself.

Resume, but Why

the worst thing I think, about experience abuse in your youth,

is grief at been changed, forever not to be who you once were, and

living in fright that those you care for could be abused as well

For Me:.

I had no

language for this. Except to try to guard myself and them. But then, I started writing, and to try to reach those I love through lines.

I wont say I suceeded in my reaching out, secretive as I was, but my rhymes and lines are out there,  still.

  Do: catch the tone and tune, love, satire, humour or sarcasm, in a text or lyric.

Glances

I used to write

I used to write

I used to reach out

all uf us frightened

and only in the teens

but then they turned and smiled

as if I had some evil plan

she had this little dress

and flowers

sth else than me

but then I realised we all

had to go to a mans door

my hand he hit down, down,

into the floor,

I used to write

I used to write

I used to reach out*

all uf us frightened

and only in the teens

but then they turned to say:

I know who you are writing of**

* Why? Hurt is awful.

** Finding yourself in others writings isnt fun. Myself? I actually very seldom

write of people I know.

*** So this lyric is on being young. And writing about it later. And the look people can get when they think youve written about them.,

Letter too, 12.07.2018

Denne teksten er ment som en kommentar til de som velger å avføye metoo. Likevel er mitt perspektiv at det å offentliggjøre folk ikke burde høre med som en del av metoo. Å sette lys på erfaringer som skader eller gjør utrygg, i oppvekst, utdanningsløp, tidlig karriere eller yrkesliv, var en gang mitt ønske for en metoo-bevegelse i Norge.  Drop-out understreket dette i 2004.

*

det er lenge siden jeg skrev til deg,

jeg pleide det, Kjære Du, og hilsen:

Evig Din. Du var dagboka mi. Men selv

ikke i deg skrev jeg om sånt som

tidlig skremte meg. I dag tenker jeg

det var fordi jeg ikke hadde et

vokabular om eller en innsikt i

sånt som var motsatsen til det å

være god, som gjorde at jeg kunne

skrevet om det. Det var ikke ord der,

i forhold til de som handlet og valgte slemt, men heller følelser, reaksjoner og handlinger.

I dag står det igjen om megogså på nett,

og jeg tenker noe som forsvinner, og som og bør nevnes

i debatten om hvem som "egentlig

trakasserer": kvinner eller menn,

er psykisk vold. Som er en vold som dessuten

ofte kommer før fysisk vold.

Psykisk vold er det å bølle med,

herme etter, avvise, neglisjere, isolere,

ignorere, nekte å høre på, dominere,

gjøre mindre, true, invalidere, la

være å inkludere, diskreditere, benekte,

kritisere, og kommandere.

Er ikke det da, slik, at den som nekter

å ta inn over seg #metoo, megogså,

som en del

av en virkelighet mange kvinner lever i, egentlig på indirekte vis driver med den samme volden som var med på å kickstarte hele #metoo bevegelsen?

Og hva slags følelser oppstår i farvannet av det å igjen få sitt perspektiv og sine erfaringer avvist annet enn følelser som følger nettopp psykisk og fysisk vold? Som avmakt, skam, redsel, følelse av skyld,

depresjon, pessimisme, unngåelse

og tristhet.

Å leve i stillhet

for å slippe å bli avvist burde ikke

være et valg. Så da skriver jeg til den

som har problemer med #metoo, megogså:

lytt i stedet for å fortsette den neglekten det å avvise andres stemmer er.

Ties/ laces*       

bookmaker holds

a little secret friend,

always found them

when am was in town:

shoelaces, thread,

mmmnn

mmmn

in red, brown,

never submarine though,

I was so young

and noone remembered

nn

the next day

followed as the next

he carried me

across the field

and put me to bed

some summergreen

or harvest no

to awake to nothing

made me a fiend

*Its a title on a book, a book that, with my eyes, clearly is written by Ferrante herself. Bigfoot in her life.

When Talking, /Humour and the Spirit that Slipped of the Page or / When I Tried to Stop Being the Altruistic and Anonymous Writer but Failed and Started  a Yearlong Mourning /

When Talking

I didn`t

All lyrics ©Tonje Høydahl Sørli

Random Call 1

In 2013 I lost a hard disk/drive  with lots of lyrics, ideas, photoes, manuscripts and also ideas for exhibitions on. It was black, shimmery, and  also grey in color, and it disappeared from Kampen Slott where I lived. Seen it? Leave a note (sigh)*.

Random Call 2

In 2016 my piece When Grief Comes, with bluebirds, music, hammock ++ was stolen from an outdoor exhibition in Ask, outside of Gjerdrum community house.  My favourite piece!  Seen it:  email me.

Thirteen, Seventeen, 1996/97/98

crybaby

crybaby see

what are they,

I cant see them human, please,

my brothers back on the bike,

and his frightened rushing,

while this agent stood in the stairway,

he told me in childish words:

how difficult it is to drive all this

fucking way,

yesterday he had droven into the coast,

between Nærøy and Vikna, yes almost blind,

but the lyrics please?

I told him it was written by hand,

and had been sent off with someone else:

"he came by last week,

with a stringent look and a occupied mind,"

and with a laugh, yes he

laughed,

---*----

come, lets bike, its autumn,

we will find a way to grieve,

yes this is us blinded,

and we lost again, *

* This lyric is on writing when young and trusting. And also on how it is to see those you love in distress.

Elana, Spind 1982

she in the cottage,

walking into water with her, feet,

it was little toe, and then the hand,

she hug me and I saw her as friend,

she read to us,

in her kitchen,

the book of Ferrante,

but me a a a a ame me only 5 yrs old,

till I got to her door,

where she had turned her face down,

she said she was another, another,

than herself,

and I saw her head when,

when we passed as neighbours in the street.*

* This lady was my neighbour at Sørlandet, where I lived for four years. She told me people thought of her as crazy. But I cared for her, and I liked her playfulness, and her love for books(literature).

De er Vakter,

Song om Gjesping og Du er Vakker

jeg gjespet visst,

i i i stad,

akkurat da du sa

at du hadde klippet gresset

og leste 8 bøker,

at du savnet kjæresten og da, i faren din sin hage,

og snart har jeg fri,

men oj jeg gjespet visst,

jeg gjespet visst,

i i i stad,

akkurat da hun var fyr og flamme,

over en match eller noe,

jeg gjespet visst,

i i i stad,

akkurat da du sa hadetbra,

og vi hadde ikke sett hverandre

på sikkert 18 måneder,

og da gikk du litt bryskt,

og uka etter,

gikk visst alle og gjespet,

de gjorde det overtydelig,

og bare når de så på meg,

og hvis jeg pratet

gjespet ikke du og jeg: sammen,

fordi du visste

jeg slet med insomni.*

* knapt en ferdig tekst, og den handler om gjesping og det at noen triangulerer.

Nyperose

On tapestry: I do a project now on Dog/hip-roses/ Nyperose, those you find north in Trøndelag, where I grew up.  Look:

^ Pamfletten over er sjette kapittel av Luskende. 

Scroll down! What is this lyrics- page? Its u.t.t.e.r.a.n.c.e.s, my short texts, pamflets and lyrics on aftermaths. Why? To set focus on traumarelated dissociation and coping. And? Because knowledge bring social change, and empathy in peoples heads & hearts. My lyrics are not to be used or copied.

The Ferry is Gone

you know nothing aabout what i just did,

and its not with subtle irony you stand there,

with your hand done to fist around strawberry jam,

me: i used to hold things,

and i used to stroke,

just to be here and to keep in touch,*

* For those that struggle with aftermaths: Hands are essential. To hold and to have in your hand sth, as a stone, a cone, anything, will help you to stay in the here and now.

Hamster in My Fridge, january 2019

n m a sorry to say

this is the (l)only mothers refrain

this morning i

this morning i

this morning i

pretended it was fine,

noone hearts in melt,

just our little pet,

this morning i

this morning i

this morning i

saw him walk by

with his hand gently,

like he knew truth,

n m a sorry to say

this is the (l)only mothers refrain

this morning i

this morning i

this morning i

did realise it wasnt hybernating,

or teasing us, her eye in a glare,

oh dear little,

our hamster just died,

and m i only to say

this morning i

this morning i

this morning i

thought of White Winter Hymnal,

Fleet Foxes, and that year every youngster

did walk in red.*

* Feels like its wise to always explain my lyrics..: This is on living alone, in now and past. Now: the sudden death of a dear pet this weekend, and what to do, and how tell a kid about it, and yes the north these days is frozen and cold. Past: hearing music that bring back feelings, and also remind one of living in Oslo ten-fifteen years ago- perhaps also when music was more a part of life than it is today.

Ingenting

Ingenting

En liten tekst om hat og elsk, feb 2019

vi holdt oss sammen,

på grunnlag av hav

og av et norsk slaveri

hvor tekst kjøpes,

og selges for ingenting.

det blir irriterende

når enden på visa er,

at ansvar og møter

gir andre informasjon

og endringsintiativ.

skjerm gir lys i sjelen,

ikke sant, men krøkes

det  virkelig tekster

i verden, det er

mitt spørsmål

i teksten her:

På bakgrunn av avstand fra meg til deg når jeg er skribent: Er jeg nå forfatter av et dikt som ingen forstår som annet enn hat. Uroer det deg da at navnet på forfatteren er tatt bort senere og erstattet med et annet, så vit at det aldri handlet om møter med vennskap i bunnen.

    Det er lite i dag som engasjerer mer enn debatt om debatt, men hva ventet vi oss som ikke er blitt hørt som den vi var. Forelskelse og elskede er ikke meningen bak vers om hat, det som er der er vel heller fordummende tøv om noe som ikke engang har vært levende. Og nå: er dette noe jeg skrev, eller er dette skrevet av deg? Eller hun? Han? En rekke bøker ligger der og har ikke blitt lest en gang.  Men hva gjemmer seg mellom sidene annet enn noe som burde blitt lest uten at hat var lagt til grunn for forståelse, at innsikt da forsvinner er åpenbart.*

*teksten er skrevet som en slags kommentar til kommentarfelt-debatten..

Stein/Saks/Papir

    So, this I have written on this page: Do: catch the tone and tune, love, satire, humour or sarcasm, in a text or lyric. 

    I write this because lyrics are easily to misunderstand. To instance I once wrote a lyric on tools you use in workshops. This lyric some found strange to say it without the right word. This lyric had layers that wasnt read: to instance that on abusive relationships. 

    Also this is the reason I dont share my lyrics anylonger: To have intentions on sharing to change how people treat each other, and be one of them that use words to do that, isnt longer what I will or want.

On Dare     written by me 13.03.2019

its just this,**

its not into, not anything, to me,

but living, and try living like nthing got into me,

and pull him with me on a sky in my head,

and that string, with two,

in opposite ends,

I cant meet someone caring

when he is above, is above.

Awhile I make amends,

the world is slowly turning,

turning on us all,

with heat and no bargain,

no trust, just leaving in vain.

little bee, and acres,

the smallest little things,

for people to realise

we are not living when life is at stake.*

*yes I know this looks like doom and nothing else mathers,

but this is what I care about: our living in harshy environments

and unliving guests. This is my finger to myself and everyone

in my surroundings: this isnt for fun, its for living with care

and thought for other lives.

** This lyric I change every other day, just to see how the meaning of words can change what you see or look for.

Waves of Guilt,        15.03.2019

Friday Morning

tried to start the day

with Pretty Pimpin,

by Kurt Vile,

then I turned to

Closer My God,

of Mikko Joensuu,

just to remind

myself of how the thirties

slowly changed to forty,

n cant anything but say

we always used to

see things in a humoristic way,

but then crosses come, right,

n as we are turning grey,

most of us rightly closer to a god,

but then, this morning, we started to sing,

with a little musicly guilt

One uf Us,

one of is,

yes, always in love.*

*Musikk gjør livet bedre, men hva gjør du med musikken?

Den burde jo overstrøs som krymmel men blir bare hufset vekk inn i ungdomstid og selvforakt. Men her i mitt hjem, sang vi i dag, også gikk vi til skole og jobb med roser i kinnene tross alt.

^Pamfletten over er første kapittel av Luskende, og er del av et prosjekt jeg startet på i 2015 om musikk, traumer og dissosiasjon. Postet her og skrevet kun for denne nettsiden. Ta en kikk.  

^Pamfletten over er andre kapittel av Luskende,