Radiohead, Daydreaming, also backwards.
Susanne Sundfør: Delirious, Fade Away,
Dot Hacker, Eye Opener
Mas Ysa, Shame & Gun Lana Del Ray: Music to Watch Boys to
Team Me, June, I Killed Sarah V..Lowell.
Lorde, Team Highasakite: My Name is Liar+++
The Slow Show, Dresden Daniel Kvammen! Luve! Ferrari
Flora Cash: You´re Somebody Else
Jared Letho: Feelium
Crash Test Dummies: Mmm Mmm...
The Czars, Drug
Explosions in the Sky: Your Hand in Mine
Leonard Cohen, You Want it Darker & Leaving the Table
Nils Bech: Glimpse of Hope
Father John Misty: Real Love Baby
Emilie Nicholas, Let You Out, Junip Line of Fire
Timber Timbre, Demon Host
Jacob Faurholt, Floating in Space
All That We´ve Become
Coming: Jumpsuit. Umbrella Song.
Amason, Kelly & Yellow Moon Unge Ferrari: Balkong
Fleet Foxes, White Winter Hymnal
Lars Vaular: Dessverre
Rockettothesky: The Dead, Dead
Lily Thing Amason Marry Me
Just for Fun
Bowie: Girl Loves Me
John Grant: Grey Tickles, Black Pressure
Iris Viljanen, Ska vi fira
Bright Eyes, Lua
Cass Mccombs: Bum Bum Bum,
Frazey Ford, September Fields & Done
Erlend Øye: Rainman
Sufjan Stevens love your songs
livlig her i dag*
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
Smashing Pumpkins, Lily(My One and Only)
Jimi Tenor, Moonfolk, & Tame Impala, Let it Happen
John Maus, All Aboard/Skjønte du spøken!??
P J Harvey: The Ministry of Defence
I teksten over brukes mitt billedvevarbeid "Lille Pjusk" som illustrasjon. Denne vevde jeg til en oppgave i fagdidaktikk. Motivet i veven er appropriert fra Carl Barks sin tegneseriehistorie Jul i pengelens fra 1954. Og ble til med et behov for å si med vev hvor avmektig jeg følte meg som enslig mor med liten til ingen inntekt på egne arbeider, og det å leve på en inntekt under fattigdomsgrensa over flere år.
Og om lyrikk jeg har skrevet vil jeg si: det er utenforskap å gjøres bruk av uten å være ordentlig involvert. Dikt og tekst som på ulikt vis har havnet hos deg vil jeg ha tilbake. Vær snill og ikke gjør bruk av dikt uten at jeg er involvert i ditt prosjekt med meg tilstede.
Cold Mailman: Petra Pan & Something You Do.
CocoRosie: Child Bride London Grammar, Metal & Dust
Kent, Den sista sången du får.
Tindersticks: Follow Me
Night Beds: Dear Jewell Arcade Fire: Put Your Money on Me Tindersticks Dear
Mas Ysa: Face
Resume, Raise Your Arm.
do be a voice in this world:
Follow me on Instagram:
Nick Drake: ´Cello Song
No Harm, Editors
Squirrel Nut Zippers! Pallin with Al
Farao, Sparks Edith Piaf said it better
/poems / texts:
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 life events and aftermaths. Why? To live with a voice and to set focus on. And? Because knowledge bring social change, and empathy in peoples heads & hearts.
Please read my pushbutton-texts/pamflets>>>
when theyre back..probably in 2021. Please see that I have not used my pamphlets Waiting, Cocker Spaniel, The Only Mother(Håp, Sorg og Fødsel) ,You on the Island, Kapittel 11. Empending Doom & Gloom. Og Secrets too ++ myself because I dont want to. These pamphlets are not for sale or for share or use anywhere.
Young Girl in May,
this was me,
my voice was there,
I loved music,
the lyrics in songs,
I listened to them,
and looked to my poems,
piled as now,
I was too, careful not to
show my inner strife,
this made me write like
I wrote this song, if
you want to, you can use
it, but only if you delete
my writings before you use
-Signed then by me, as myself, but without my right name.
«Enjoy Your Style»
walking my town,
empathy lost in some absent song,
guess you know,
who I am supposed to be writing of,
its sad, to this day,
that you find it amusing that I even cared,
cared to share my words when I was younger,
younger and stranger,
but I no longer am,
and I no longer do,
I no longer do,
I no longer do,
nothing then, is my answer to them.
Sommeren 2015 skrev jeg dette:
strekk ut den lubne lille hånda di
du klapper sommerfugler
ja slik er det
du snur hånda di og
det er støv der
som om noen
bare har blåst fargene på
og så tok du de
og øynene dine
du følger den
(og jeg) lurer på om den fortsatt
og det kan den
All lyrics on this page©Tonje Høydahl Sørli
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.
The comic Imprint, is on becoming distant when having triggers. A trigger is a reminder, almost as an imprint, in self and feelings, that makes you lose yourself for a second. I first learnt about this frozen way of staring of a psychologist that worked with refugees. Frozen gazes is a normal and healthy state when driving a bus or doing something you often do. As a post trauma reaction this distant glare is not dangerous or harmfull. Its just a brain pausing in the middle of everything.
yesterday she sighed:
why are they moaning as we pass,
m m m a ma ma ma ma
today I looked down,
another man spitting, all right,
m m m m ma ma ma ma
what happend to this world,
its like every other thing we do,
will make a lense, will hurt us back,
when we are without support,
my hand to my rinning eye,
becomes a pretend to cry,
my hand to my chest,
is just what he forgot,
a back with pain so I sigh,
is seen as a plan for mockery*
©Tonje Høydahl Sørli
* This is Norway 2019, and its five years back, that I realised: I cant talk, cse there is real hate in them, its not dialogue here anymore, but spite and venge and being on guard, and even artists now put intentions in artworks and lyrics that the maker do not have.*
* Det er trist men sant. Det jeg trodde om dialog og meningsytringer for tyve år siden har jeg gått bort fra. Det er for mye hat der ute, som jo kommentarfeltene har vist. Trakassering i det offentlige rom på bakgrunn av kunstverk eller tekst er aldri greit. Når trakassering blir en konsekvens av utadrettet virksomhet så er det vel også noen ganger vanskelig å står for sitt eget prosjekt eller lyrikk, og være sin egen støtte.
to cry at night
make you walk,
to look into my eyes,
is everything right,
dear, was I thirteen year old,
Petter stood in the woods,*
looking dark, they said:
lets make a movie,
yeah lets make a movie,
a honnie, red dress and black eyes,
just do this and do that,
and later her amnesia
will cover it all,
but then you will find her,
a cupid star, twentyone,
twentyeight years old,
but I cant free you from him,
who forced you, and me,
into loosing all hopes
for truth and love,
as years passed I have seen you,
anywhere in town,
walking empty, with dark pits in ur arms,
isnt that ironic, I know.
As if to let go, it had to be rockn roll or drugs over all.
And to sudden hide your hand
into the sleeve, as if a child appear,
in you as you meet with me,
or is just fun that you are on a date with her, who feebles the button in her dress,
and looks down.*
* This lyric Black Umbrella is written to my project on Dog/hip-Roses.
* The name in the lyric is not related to my life in reality, its just one name that I thought could be used when writing about kids hanging out in a neighbourhood. This lyric is also written to comment how unfair life is, when aggression wins.
*And how awful it is when someone have you on tape, in a movieclip, or use your lyrics when you are too young to say no, and loose yourself when suddenly everyone know.
I wrote a poem on the pandemic, in march 2020 was this. Hope you are well this winter, take care:)
I saw a bat,
made me say ou ou ou,
its eyes, and awkward smile,
I felt timid, and soon,
now just let me say ou ou ou,
and now the dolphines are singing,
and inside town they saw a deer,
and the wild pig entered centre,
it had kids, it had kids,
it did have kids,
I saw a bat,
the day, the day the virus came,
and we cant but stay inside,
I look to news,
and even youngsters get ill,
they say nature strikes back,
but I dont know,
its nothing nothing nothing I want more,
than to see this as someone elses world.
Lyrics 1 On This Site:
These days I prefer to publish here on this website. Right now I dont have anyone or anywhere I share my lyrics but this place. So my lyrics will not be for anyone, or for any project these days, but my own. Please have a look, if you are now here on this website, you are welcome to have a read. Nice to have you here.:)
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 firstly been personal, on feelings, and secondly to that on relations.
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 love in life, and that is how you and me relate, observe and reflect as friends and lovers.
All lyrics©Tonje Høydahl Sørli
Do follow me on Instagram:
On Facebook: sometimes also, and once probably under a pseudonym. Today this is not my thing, but to use pseudonyms wasnt peculiar or rare in artists careers back when I also made use of this teqhnique to get things said.
^Over her ligger et utkast av oppgave-besvarelsen min i fagdidaktikk mai 2018. Den henger litt i opplastningen, så trykk på refresh/last opp siden på nytt så dukker den opp. Jeg var kanskje for ukritisk til tema jeg ville jobbe med i vev i oppgaven, som tok utgangspunkt i teori om det å ytre seg/å uttrykke seg, men jeg deler likevel oppgaven her, også fordi jeg mener den kan gi perspektiver på kunstnere i pedagogikk. Og for å ikke gi inntrykk av noe annet skriver jeg og her at jeg ikke er for et fag uten kunst og håndverk med ferdigheter. Når jeg er kritisk til ferdighetskravene som det gradvis ble mer av i norsk skole, er det fordi mange trenger dette: å være gjennom å gjøre, fremfor også da å kunne før man gjør. Referer gjerne til oppgaven, men bruker du den til dine interesser, så ikke glem å krediter meg, siden det er viktig for meg😊og riktig også forståvidt
Fimo! june 2019
her hand left a mark on my chin,
she is the one,
she is the aye,
she who will make use of this
can call herself alive.
så seg aldri som dronning,
i et øyeblikk har hun snudd seg,
og ser med sorg,
det er vel ikke sånn,
at hun har noe annet,
hun en gang var,
en kvinne med en forening,
en mening og et verv,
at hun har vært stolt av seg selv,
men så skal hun for alltid være,
hun som ikke sa hvem hun var.
Human People, march2021
grabbed my thigh,
some say its gravity,
that keep them,
they like us humble,
but I am just human,
and want myself to be.*
*Its the perspective of someone I know. I shared the same perspective myself as young, and still do: Men should leave girls to be safe and human in every aspect of life. THS
WheArtists finner sitt sted
will you as past years,
pull me under in this.
that ill behavoir, of yours,
even the hounddog looked worried.
In the water, me I wasnt eager,
no one there deepseadiving like him,
his breath inside,
with bubbles to surface,
as he stumble up the beach,
and I sit there,
later, to laughter,
angried eyes into a shell,
and to despice myself,
adoralbe am I, or trusting,
in them glasses, yours,
and though I felt as seven years by your gang of friends,
is what I will remember the best,
the girl with yellow hair that flirted with you,
and I swallowed water, felt ashamed,
also that I felt sorry for you,
when you couldnt find your goggles,
you rushed to the ocean,
looked in the sand,
and I thought of money,
how you perhaps couldnt afford a new pair,
and how well you got your gaze- elsewhere this time.
later a student,
I miss you still,
though noone can tell,
I watch your silence,
and that yellow haired friend,
she always came walking late as myself.
the sea was cold,
my hand wasnt mine.
when I were young, and you was bold.*
*This collage of old and new poems is written for someone I sometimes think of as he was a friend in my youth.
Henna Dye 28.09.2020
today, on my way to my studio, I caught a little of someones conversation,
this: "Scholar ship..as her hands keep falling off and off."
This is sth I dont often hear. I will say it sounds like instant fusion of sth else, like, a symptom on,
fer exempel, like when you lose your face, and your feet and everything goes down into this, like when your veins isnt there, and your
feelings isnt either, as if you have sth other in the.
in fact:) I actually know someone that have lost her hands, once in a while this happens, its called a symptom of trauma. It makes you feel little in your body and feels scary if you dont know what the symptom is voicing. Dysregulation perhaps, but possibly also too much of secondary traumatisation. Too much of that and you have sth other than the rest.
So lift your hat to her, that have portrayed this for more than twenty years: to have a life with complexity.
Carrier, Where did You Run>>>>>i et traumatisert menneske må noen bevare respekten for verden uten å ha dette med i sin hukommelse: hvor brutalt livet kan være mot de sårbare i vårt univers.
This lyrics 2 site is also here because I lost my hardware with tons of stuff over 5 years ago. This has happened before. When 14 000 files is missing and also personal notes, its just creepy to know. What to do? Well, I had to start a new life.
Title Rhapsody, 03.03.2021:
Dikt-titler jeg liker, utvalgt blant noen av de jeg har skrevet siste to år:
-Fleksible in Work and Life
-When its Babylon in Amsterdam
-Sur Indre Stemme
-Money Makers & Fall Outs
-Bossy Him Kingdom
-Ferr a Ante
-Band for Stayers
-Psykososialt stress i Skolemiljø.
jeg så deg se dem,
fra siden av ditt ansikt,
og så sa jeg inni meg:
fint vær i dag,
det er ikke sånn
de burde være,
fulle av latter over andre,
og hvis du ikke hadde sett det,
som fra meg,
my eye, black, liksom.
Men du bryr deg vel ikke lenger.
I- worry- Bernardie, Bianca(with reference to a song)
This is bugging me: I write lyrics every day. I dont give them away. Today I take good care of my lyric-side. I write for myself, and with thought for those close, I dont have a publisher, or let lyrics circulate. I will never publish them on facebook, or give them away(as I once did). And, agape was something I was writing of, with interest in lyrics and vocabulary. Without that context the message disappeared into sth I didnt was or liked. To be misunderstood by is one of my not so fun facts in life.
And only If you let me know you, as a part of you life, I would perhaps, do write to and with you in mind.
All lyrics on this page---->>©Tonje Høydahl Sørli
Listening to Tobias Jesso Jr. -True Love:
this song isnt for distance
and makes me think,
as I am listening,
of an article and intervieuw,
years ago, that I read,
about a young couple,
somewhere on this earth,
working hard to make it,
having little money,
him waiting for her to come home,
working late and working for each other,
anything for you.
And I thought and I think,
about this everything for someone,
where one need each other,
as a silent answer to this strange worlds loving.
Thoughts on Ferrantes book 1, 30 july 2017 :
I believe this is A book Written to a Brother for him to see what he is surrounded by & I do think its written 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.
-Tonje Høydahl Sørli
This is Norway. Eagerness
put em on a train,
stack them between,
send them away,
throw licences and linen in a tray,
f them and show them,
seek and find a plausible cause,
discard them of children and homes,
give up and live lonely,
live like nothing in a world of abuse.
Let alone in Norway, no: to find someone to scapegoat is kind of no problem you know, and so become an example of why you shouldnt lie, and for them to make sure she is a mother of four.
Then the bill, half a million thank you, to pay back,
though this plausible-cause-people make benefit from and blackmail a rule.
Eagerness Id call it: To make someone vulnerable an example and fly her or him off to countries without homes and lives.
And this is why they shouldnt paint Norway gray:
she is afraid.*
* This frantic lyric is written with thought on the political process of withdrawal of asylum for people that got and lost a place to be and live.
Satisfactory it is,
in this garden,
to lure them small,
they have no breath,
and yellow bleed,*
potatoe, small & great.**
they dont live without friends.
so hello friendly inside,
I do know you are there,
eight or ten,
fourteen, maybe older,
you once had a girl as friend,
whou you always treated well.
*yellow= note on a song, of course.
** similar, but on small & great, a a small collected
Up & Up.
The Boat n Nervous Song/ version II
his head explodes
as the summer goes
hasnt seen it,
her dress against,
against his legs,
some women vibrates,
in evening glow,
as others grow silent and alone,
this boat to the island,
she who liked him,
cant but see,
that they slowly agree:
he is more handsome,
more handsome than
than she is to he.-
is he in distress, so
I cant but care:
that he is choosing
this that awkwards me.
^From Her point of View/
with windows open
little is to fear,
but you know
There are nothing more dangerous
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
I remember a sentence, the shock
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.*
* To explain this lyric I write this: 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. This because of perspectives and expectations of women, both now and then.
Perhaps this is also why summers become strange and foggy for youngsters in May:
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.
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 karaktertrekk?
Han: Godt mulig, du er jo i en fortvilet livssituasjon.
Se viktige serier og filmer som Skam og Hva vil folk si
Numbing and Immobility
they say this movie
is a eye into someones
I think we make too many a girls life a struggle
living in Norway as well,
stimes its like this world likes to think that shame and family first dont exist in white middleclass
if you find yourself in offices or in schools with silenced and frightened youngsters, help them
Summer in my studio, and this struck me.
I chose Only
i work alone
by heart, and head alone,
and my hands,
But Why , Ungdomskilden:
the worst thing I think, about traumatizing experiences in your youth, for those that happens to, is grief at being changed, forever not to be who you once were, feeling absolute lonely, and living in fright that those you care for could experience the same as yourself.
I had no language for my experiences. Except to try to guard myself and those I loved. But then, I started writing, and to try to reach those I loved through lines. My lyrics I did put almost everywhere in my youth, and I gave away my lyrics as well, but I wont say I suceeded in my reaching out though(wich is what I actually tried to do), partly because I was so secretive about my lyrics. Still, my rhymes and lines are out there, for someone to see. That again, is also a bit typical for someone like me to do, to reach out without being seen or heard, and is also why people with traumas live with a heart that is open to them that gets it, or else it keeps silent. This is my words to you as my reader, not to you as someone I know.
©Tonje Høydahl Sørli
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 a child,
till I got to her door,
where she had turned her face down,
she said she was another, another,
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. Though she wasnt a friend I must have trusted her,
On tapestry: I do a project now on Dog/hip-roses/ Nyperose, those you find north in Trøndelag, where I grew up. Look:
The Ferry is Gone
you know nothing about 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.
Environmental written 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 within, is within.
Awhile I make amends,
the world is slowly turning,
turning on us all,
with heat and no bargain,
no trust, just leaving afraid.
little bee, and acres,
the smallest little things,
for people to realise
we are not living when living too scared .*
*Yes I know this looks like doom and nothing else matters, 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 time isnt for fun, its for living with care and thought for other lives.
^Pamfletten over skal være første kapittel av Luskende, og er del av et prosjekt jeg startet på i 2015 om musikk, relasjoner og glemsel. Postet her og skrevet kun for denne nettsiden. V
Inntil videre er pamflettene Luskende, Waiting og Den Eneste Moren fjernet herfra. Dette fordi jeg synes de trenger et bedre format. Men de er mulig å lese i papir på kontoret mitt
From Outer Space in a Livingroom,
This three page comic I once made to a friend. It has references to music(to ie. Cold Mailman).
Christmascard on Thereafter.
Or Choice of Words in Need of A Melody:
written by me, dec 2019
Ill take that one
as I pass them,
this couple and a child,
buying their first christmastree, perhaps,
and for us, the story thereafter isnt what I hear.
But me, everytime I get a tree,
and I carfully carry it, till Im on the Tube,
and there it looks like, like I hug it, the tree,
like we are a couple, almost, sure,
and thats a thought, just, because this has happened:
For the last years,
yes every f year of my single mom life,
some man has given me this very cross look,
as I hug the tree, though its just me, holding a tree so it wont fall to the floor, and get stains or whatever, flares perhaps, even.
-A man, is he so grumpy, I ask, -That he has to give me looks.
This tree, always answers -yeah, and though as a Norwegian Spruce,
this tree will also let me know:
-the man that I obviously offend by my graceful gesture,
thinks I am holding hands with "evil in me", as a last thing.
And isnt that fun, and isnt it strange,
to be a tree,
soon in the yard discarded of pine,
and happily over hugging me.
Tender Plants to Grow This Year
they make use of my
but then I
I never show
I never show
you know, I never show
Im little little
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
she telling me to leave
let me have a face
but Im little little,
lights and movecontrol
I never show
I never show
you know, I never show*
* When to have a voice and be part of. and to participate in change is my project, and then losing my anthem and favourite lyrics or works, getting nothing sold, just given away.. this will change you and your interest in this world. To this I will add that this project was not mine anymore, after I lost access to the computer it was written on. Loss of passwords is also sth I have in mind.
Still I think this is a changing world, but we have little to give each other when every other human is giving in vain.*
*added 21.10.2019, Sørli
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
skjerm gir lys i sjelen,
ikke sant, men krøkes
det virkelig tekster
i verden, det er
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..
Kommentar til sak i media fra oktober 2019 om selvskading og
Noe trist er skjedd med norske medier i det siste.
De er blitt slendrianer og gir sjikane et ansikt med sår.
Dette er ikke for dere med trigger warning, men for
dere som tror media kan hjelpe unge jenter i utrygge situasjoner.
Dette skjer med selvskadere: de mister oversikten,
de møter lite varme, de er for ensomme, de liker ikke seg selv.
Synes du det høres godt ut? I det møtet med deg selv
som en ingen liker, er det dette du gjør:
du skader armen din, eller hånden din, ansiktet ditt også.
At dette er jenter som ingen ser vet du vel kjære media.
At du skal gi dem et ansikt er ikke greit, og
hvorfor er det for voksent det du gjør? Det finnes kun få
som gjør riktig i møtet med vold mot en selv, og den
riktige måten å ta det på er å si:" jeg vet du har vondt
på grunn av noen eller noe, og det er ikke din feil.
Du må ta hånden din og gi deg selv en venn,
den finnes inne i deg og er der ikke for at
du skal dø for egen hånd som 14, 15 eller 19åring."*
* Å henge ut jenter i media og gi bort alt de har for seg selv er helt grunnleggende feil strategi. Det gjør deg trist at jenter vokser til å gjøre skade for dem som gir dem bosted, støtte og hjelp, for det er vel det som menes? Det er såklart smitteeffekten det tenkes på, men at media er komfortable med å henge barn og jenter ut sånn som det gjøres nå er ikke ok.*
* Må og få forklare at denne teksten er skrevet for dem som nå drives ut av Instagram av norske medier. Og det er jenter som skader seg selv fordi de ikke blir sett, får god nok hjelp der de bor, eller har noen som vet hva selvskading egentlig er.
*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.
Waves of Guilt, 15.03.2019
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.
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.