hur väcker man frusen musik till liv? sitter man med den? är den tyst? kan den växa? kan den slå rot eller knoppas ut i blom? hörs den genom is som brustit. flyter den ut i ett hav. i en mynning. vilken färg har den? 

hur många varv slår den när den väcks till liv? hur krackelerar den och vad har den för tonart. Är den ljus eller mörk. Jag valde ett fotografi på ett växthus och en kroki på en kvinna som sitter i tystnad.

jag hittade en bok igår kväll på träbordet i vår lilla allé. det brukar ligga lite böcker där. jag tänker att det nog är till mig. ett tecken. jo jag är så galen. denna bok heter "Elden under snön" och det är ett vittnesmål av en tibetansk munk. jag kan bara tänka mig vad den handlar om. orättvisor. diskriminering. hot. våld. blir genast arg när jag tänker på människor i maktpositioner som medvetet trycker ner andra.
här är mitt favvoband när jag var en arg tonåring och inte visste hur jag skulle få utlopp för ilska. musik är ett sätt men det måste mer till. för det sitter på cellnivå. man kan känna hur det kryper i nerverna. måla är bra. att vara i en bra miljö är bra. nervsystemet är en minnesbank på tidigare erfarenheter. intuition är när du upplever en liknande situation du varit med om tidigare. det är något som inte stämmer. något säger dig att du måste bort. bra grej men svårt om du är fast i en dålig spiral. när du inte vet hur du ska ta dig ut för du är beroende på ett eller annat sätt för din överlevnad. Det är då people please aktiveras och du tappar din identitet. 

When I was little, I had a crush. His nickname was HP. I loved him so much—maybe even obsessively. I followed him everywhere. I don’t know if he ever noticed. He was into skateboarding, and I loved to dance.

At a school dance once, I inspired him to start dancing. He Abandonned skateboarding for dance. And then he became a ballerina—my dream. I admired him for that. Deep down, I kind of knew I was never going to make it that big. Instead, I fell in love with punk. I loved how they spoke their minds. I never did. I was too shy.

Is my opinion good enough for these people? Am I? I don’t feel as clever as them. I had so many doubts. But now I see—I had something else. Sensitivity. Though I never dared to show it. The only way I knew how was through performing—through singing, through dancing but at school. Expressing emotions through my body. And my voice.

But I never wrote anything myself. Songs, I mean. Or I did but never dared to show it. 

Right now, I feel just like I did when I was young—this distress in my body, this lack of warmth and hugs. Thsi self-doubt. I craved intimacy, but I replaced it with sex. It was quicker. Easier. But it stole my soul. It emptied me. I was living, but I felt dead.

I need like-minded souls, people I trust. But I’ve realized that the only person I can truly trust is myself. And that terrifies me—because I haven’t fully found myself yet. I react a lot these days. To small things. My patience is zero. I think I know WHY! It is because I am at a place where I don't belong. I am an artist. I need to be more free. 

The guy I’m secretly in love with? He might be a fantasy. But a fantasy saved me. And now I know what I want. Yes he knew he was a fantasy. He was my subconscious.

So what have I discovered? What I need in a man. 

I need someone warm, communicative. He needs to be able to express himself. Emotional intelligence is non-negotiable. A man without that? No.

He also needs to want to see me. To reach out. To look at me the way I look at him—with care, with love. And there has to be passion. Attraction. A lot of attraction. The kind where I can’t stand how gorgeous you are. The kind where I don’t think about anyone else.

That kind of man.

Until I find that, I can be alone. And I’m okay with that.

I do admit—it gets lonely.

I wonder… how do I get it out of my system without running away?  I need to get obsessed with something else.  And I need to rest. I am tired. Tired of being strong. I need to be little and to be cared for. I need someone who wants me. I am worthy of that. I feel it. Can I please step out of this longing now and write of something else. Sorry readers but it's a core trait. My longing. The picture is from South of Spain. A passage between mountains. That's how it feels to be me right now. So lost and lonely. 

och jag som tänkte ta en paus från mina inlägg här. i alla fall, jag dök ner i operan. behöver ha något som berör på djupet. behöver djup. opera är inget jag lyssnar till bara så där. det blir en medveten handling. jag är intresserad av hur ljud påverkar vårt känslomässiga inre. om jag lyssnar mer på opera, målar jag annorlunda? hur påverkar det mitt sinne? och vad gör det med mig i längden? jag känner att det vibrerar annorlunda inom mig. jag hamnar i något ekvilibristiskt. visst är det vackert...

Today, while I was on the tube, I noticed two girls filled with excitement as we passed through a tunnel. They were in a tunnel! OMG! I got so caught up in their world that, for a moment, I forgot all my troubles—including the fact that I was on my way to work. Yes, you heard that right. Sitting in front of a screen all day doesn’t feel particularly fulfilling to me. Is this really what I’m meant to do with my time on earth?

Still, it’s moments like these that make me truly appreciate my existence—the feeling of being present and grateful.

I also enjoy when I am introduced to new music. You probably have heard him already; Oberhofer. 

I wanted to tell the guy in front of me on the tube that I liked his style. His cow-print bag was huge, and I loved it.

This morning, I listened to You and I by Black Ivory for the first time. It just popped up on Instagram—one of those little hazard moments I love. And then, I saw a man meditating. So I took off my headphones, closed my eyes, and started meditating too—tuning into all the conversations around me.

I think I’m starting to really see people again. I notice the ones who dress a little differently. I used to love expressing myself through clothes. My friends and I would go thrifting all the time. I miss it so much. I still do it, but I want to do it more. The weirder, the better. I don’t want to be just anyone.

I’m special. Makes me think of The Specials. Gangsters—loved that one. I put on my Dr. Martens today and felt like I was going to school again. Full punk. Scottish bagpipe skirt, black hair. Oh god, I miss my bike now. The shiny pink one. Jumping in ages now - I know! All these memories.  I remember that first ride—spring was barely creeping in, the ground still covered in sand and patches of snow. I wanted it to melt faster, so I helped, kicking the snow around, spreading it thin. Please melt. Please let it be summer again.

I loved every season, every shift. And I really wanted to impress the neighborhood kids with my new bike. If I saw the skateboard boyI liked, I’d try to look cool. One time, I flicked my hair back, the way you do when you want it to fall just right—but I lost balance and crashed straight into a fence. I was so ashamed.

I wish I had someone to impress now. I think that’s cute. He was a lucky boy.

I’m buzzing with energy right now. I know why. It’s the calm before the next wave.

So, so tired. It's all the emotions I have for this person. I literally feel him in my bones, in my soul. It's as if we are soulmates—but maybe not right now. We are so similar, yet not really. Hard to explain. That was my answer when I was little: I could feel it, but I couldn't express it.

I just finished reading Huis Clos by Jean-Paul Sartre. At first, I thought, What a terrible book—boring! But it turned out to be really good. It has so many different dimensions.

Three characters: Garcin, Inez, and Estelle. Each of them has done something wrong in life, and now they are together in this room—either in a hotel or, more accurately, locked in hell.

Garcin was a sadist who tortured his sensitive wife. He even brought home another woman while his wife was there, and she still served them breakfast. Inez manipulated her cousin into leaving his wife. Estelle married an older man but had an affair with a younger one. I think she even killed her son? I need to read it again—it was a bit complicated since I read it in French.

Garcin wanted silence. Estelle wanted his attention and was desperate to know how she looked. But there were no mirrors, so Inez had to be her mirror. Still, Estelle didn’t trust her. Meanwhile, Inez fell in love with Estelle.

I think the book (or the play) is about the freedom to make our own choices—and how those choices define our lives. L'enfer, c'est les autres. Hell is other people. We decide our own fate. And if we choose to be in someone's life, we have to be prepared to be hurt.

Being with someone isn’t physical torture—it’s emotional. It’s about enduring pain with another person and still choosing extreme kindness and understanding. That’s where we want to be—to live in someone else's hell. That’s what it is.

But we do have a choice in which hell we want to be in. It’s about remembering that everyone has a history, a story, insecurities. The darkness exists in all of us. And ultimately, how we choose to see our own shadows—how kind we can be to ourselves—determines how we treat others.

I think I need to see a friend soon. Lately, I’ve been living too much in my head. I love it, but it also scares me a little. I do interact with people—at work, on the tube, ahem—but today, I was just too tired for anything. I went home, unblocked my ex, then blocked him again. It felt right in the moment.

By the way, he wasn’t my boyfriend, so no X. Maybe a friend with X benefits.

These vulnerable moments matter. I’m longing for closeness. It feels almost surreal. But then, I saw a clip of Rihanna talking about how she had to go through the creative process alone, how she longed for divine connection. Maybe that’s what I need too—just to focus on my creativity.

I didn’t perform a song on Instagram yesterday. Three shows in a row is a lot for an artist. I needed a break. Rest is important. I’m planning to go to the park soon to skateboard again, but I don’t like being inside, especially when it’s crowded with kids. I feel stiff. When I mess up, I need privacy to deal with it. Well, maybe not exactly, but I’ve had weird experiences there, and that’s why I’m hesitant.

It reminds me of being little, not invited into a group, forced to invent things to do on my own. I lost my self-respect with them. I can’t afford that again. So I’m careful about who I let in. The moment something feels off, I’m gone. But I won’t give up on my skateboarding dreams because of past bullying.

I remember how tough it was growing up, always trying to fit in with the boys. I wanted to be part of their group, but I had to prove myself constantly. It felt like a fight, every single time.

Work is frustrating too. There’s going to be a meeting every other Wednesday to check on my progress. It feels like they don’t trust me to do my job. Then again, maybe it’s a good thing. Lately, I’ve been so deep in my own head with this website project. I feel like a writer who needs to write all day. And right now, that’s exactly what I’m doing—getting lost in my thoughts. And I like it.

I keep seeing roses—or maybe I’m just disappearing into my own mind. It’s getting to me, but I also signed up for a course on launching a book. A book I haven’t even written yet. But who knows? Maybe someone will find me, see something in me. Maybe I’m a first-time bestseller in the making. Or maybe I’m just dealing with imposter syndrome. Or maybe I’m just a loser. But even losers can succeed. In my head, I’m a winner.

And I’ll keep pursuing my singing career. That was my dream when I was little—to sing and act. And now it’s getting clearer: I also wanted to be a poet. And beat the boys.

My Pip asked what I was doing this weekend. No plans. I don’t want to spoil my bubble. I feel like a pink, dreamy fairy, like the one in Wild at Heart, just working on my dream. This is how I was as a kid—always in my head. People called me selfish for it, said I only thought about myself. But I was dreaming things up. And I made things happen. I worked hard. I still do.

I admit, I should embrace a little anarchy. That authority cloud still lingers over me, like a God waiting to punish.

Did I mention I surfed with six firefighters in Spain? They called me de puta madre. I think it was all made up—they knew I was coming. Just like with the boys when I was little. They teased me. They gave me a wetsuit that was too little. But I showed them. I will do it better than you. Well, this does not include surfing. Yet! I left my ego behind on that one, and it is okay. 

Oh, I have a cold today. Guess I’m staying home. Nice—now I can’t be social. I also have come to terms with my own delusions. The past is in the past and there are no such things as reconciliation. It is only in my head. I don't need to like how people have mentally manipulated me throughout these years. It is a huge grief. And I still see it happening. They think I am an idiot. 

Picture of the day! Look how cute I can be. I have different kinds of cute.

Hope you enjoyed today’s reading! Bye, Page. Love!

This guy started talking to me on the tube. He asked about the book I was reading and what was so funny. I knew he was going to strike up a conversation—I could sense it coming.

Anyway, he mentioned he’d been having some KBT sessions for his shyness around women and had started making an effort to approach them on the tube. Oh my… no, I would never do that. He even said he’d walked up to women in the park. He was practicing handling rejection—yeah, I’ve tried that one too.

But honestly, I’m old-fashioned. I like men to approach me. Sorry! And, to be fair, I don’t enjoy men interrupting my time on the tube. It’s kind of like—leave me alone, I just want to sit here in my own head.

He said he didn’t like being in his head. But I enjoy being in mine. I guess we didn’t have that much in common.

I am anti-pet (pro-animal). Sometimes I get obsessed. I am with Miranda July. I wish I were her. I've always had this curiosity about what it would be like to be someone else. I guess that's why I'm so interested in people.

I just started reading this book, and so far, it's been all laughter! I went to sit at Ritorna, my favourite café. Or so I thought. It was hysterical. Kids screaming everywhere—not as romantic as I had imagined. I sat there reading anyway. But I get caught up in other people's conversations.

I noticed this woman on a date. It felt like she had a problem with just not talking—filling up the silence with words. I've been her. I think if I went on a date now, I would just sit in silence if I didn't have anything to say. Or so I hope. I love awkward situations—just to feel the uncomfortable.

And yes I am launching BOKA MIG! You can book me for whatever; a text, a song or a performance. Only serious bookers please! 

The Fay man.

A man should be seen not haunted.

Did I ask for your comfort?

No. 

Did I invade your space? 

No. 

Will you let me go?

Will you let me be? 

Will you ever feel anything?

No. 

Fay.

Change your state.

If a man could just bring Fay - 

Nothing else. 

No power games.

No jealousy.

No making me envious. 

No game man.

No "you need to be strong

to have that masculine side of you" kind of woman

NO! 

I am a girl and sometimes a woman.

Deal with it. 

I am not your father

nor your mother

I am a girl who likes to be pretty -

like barbie 

I am not punk

I am nothing to you -

Everything to me.

So bug off! 

Go to your second girl,

or third

or all the supplys that you need

to boost your fragile ego 

Bug off!

I want a Fay Man

A fay man is making my nerves hum

like a dream,

not in a state of terror.

You don't need to run away from a Fay man. 

A Fay man is all I want. 

And no 

And no,
I don’t want a whatever man,
a man who steals my energy,
a man who hides in shadows.

Bug off! 

Go to your whatever for comfort. 

I want a Fay Man—
not one who steals my spirit away.

A Fay man listens more than he speaks.

A Fay man don't give advice.

A fay man is just cool 

and loves me for taking space. 

Now - bug off! 

this page is closing down for good. 

Le Petit Prince est un garçon qui cherche des réponses aux questions philosophiques qu'il se pose en traversant l'univers. Il essaie de comprendre les gens, les animaux, et même les fleurs. Il pose des questions aux habitants des différentes planètes pour savoir pourquoi ils font ce qu'ils font.

Le Petit Prince est un livre qui parle à la fois aux enfants et aux adultes. Les enfants, avec leur curiosité et leur capacité à poser des questions simples mais profondes, voient souvent le monde d'une manière pure et directe. Les adultes, eux, ont parfois perdu cette capacité à voir avec les yeux d’un enfant, car ils sont trop préoccupés par les conventions, le travail, les responsabilités, et les règles de la société. Les enfants n'ont pas peur de poser des questions apparemment "bêtes" ou naïves, mais qui en réalité touchent souvent au cœur des choses essentielles. Les adultes, même s'ils sont plus âgés et expérimentés, ne comprennent pas toujours ce qui est vraiment important, comme l’amour, l’amitié, ou la simplicité de la vie.

Le livre nous invite donc à retrouver un peu de cette vision enfantine, à poser des questions sans peur de paraître naïf et à se reconnecter à ce qui est essentiel. C’est une invitation à repenser la manière dont on regarde le monde, qu’on soit enfant ou adulte.

Je trouve que cette dualité est justement ce qui rend le livre intemporel et universel. 

Quelle est la sagesse du renard?

"On ne voit bien qu'avec le cœur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux." On ne peut que voir avec le coeur. 

Tu deviens responsable pour toujours de ce que tu as apprivoisé. 

Je ne sais pas si je suis au courant. Des fois on est oblige de quitter des relations. Mais je suis d'accord que on voit avec le coeur. 

Quel est le role des personnages secondaires: le roi, le vaniteux, le buisnessman, le buveur, l'allumer des revereberes, le geograhpe? 

Neurons that wire together, fire together! I’ve cleaned my apartment, but now I want to clean out my life too. I want to paint the walls a new color—something that doesn’t remind me of the one who faked the heartbreak. I wish him all the best and all the love. He had a role to play, and in the end, he was just trying to save me. But I’m not looking for him anymore. I’m looking for me.

I want to give myself all the love I once wanted from someone else. Yes, I know this comes from an absent father. I wanted to be seen, to be cared for, to be held, to be looked after with tenderness. All of that is what I need to give myself now. I can’t ask for it from anyone but me.

I cried this morning in my TM meditation. My mantra is "Shiama." Sometimes it sounds like shame. Haha. Maybe I need to say this word until I’m 50. Shiama feels like a name, and it makes me cry because I’ve had so much shame, so much guilt. Guilt for feeling grief—for grieving what I didn’t get. But it’s okay. I’m allowed to grieve what I should’ve received.

It gets hard sometimes. I get blocked in anger, fear, and sometimes the blue of sadness. Those periods are tough. But I’m trying to be soft with myself now. I need so much tenderness. So much softness. And no more hard work. I’ve done enough of that in my life, trying to make others see their beauty, trying to convince the alcoholic that they’re enough, that they don’t need to numb themselves.

I’ve learned I can’t do that for anyone else. I had to become them to realize it’s about me. I am all of that love I’m trying to mirror. It’s time to say it to myself instead:

You are beautiful. You are sweet and funny. You are creative and witty. I love being around you. You make my heart jump. You make my heart beat. I can make you feel safe. I will give you all the love you need. I am always here for you. I will never leave you. I will always dry your eyes, make sure you have food, help you look good, make you feel like you shine like a diamond.

More Room for the Fragile.

Marianne Faithfull has passed away. She was the essence of fragility. In a world that doesn’t leave space for vulnerability, her presence was a quiet testament to the strength in fragility. And that breaks my heart.

I find strength in fragility, in vulnerability. In today’s world, it feels like a rebellious act to allow yourself to be truly seen in your most tender form. Too often, people want to fix you, to make you feel better. What they don’t understand is that fragility isn’t something to be "fixed." It’s part of who you are. It’s an acceptance of your own strength—your ability to feel deeply. There is incredible strength in feeling.

I feel that inside of me too. I can relate to her search for love throughout her life. I believe that, even to the end, she was still searching for it. And that, in itself, is beautiful.

That love is gone

the one that baked bread and gave me a lunch box to work

that love is gone with the feet on the wall smoking a cigarette

that love is gone with the cry tissue

that tall man with brown hair 

that man with DU and it might be a little too weak with a kiss 

The man is gone who told me to go home  

The man with two phones in the middle of the night

It is my daughter's and

No answer is gone

That man is gone with the words 

The Helios man and the I want to come for dinner is gone

The man is gone who never says I love you 

The man who invited me to his boat is gone

The man who had money like a criminal and wanting a blue sledge  

That man who chased me and calling me "all you are good for is what you have between your legs" "you fucking cunt" 

The man who always had another supply  

That scared man afraid of abandonment is gone

The jealous guy  

That affair 

Going home with a stranger on the tube

All the strangers are gone

All the "where the hell am I"  

That affair is gone

The "I will do whatever you do"

That love that never wrote me a song 

That affair that gave me a listening ear  

That man wanting to send me his dick pick  

That love is gone that made me feel whole  

That man calling me

Wanting to make sure are you home is gone

That love showing me all the secret places  

That love drinking for a week without answer is gone 

that love that love that love that man that boy that boy and that 

is gone 

I understand that everything—every thought you put out there—comes back and vibrates. So I need to be careful about what I think and say here. From now on, everyone and everything will be PIP. I’ve invented a new dimension called PIP. I might even call myself PIP. Haha.

I do believe I am worthy. I belong. I’ve done good. That’s been a huge part of my life—doing good for others. And now, I feel so selfish for not doing that anymore. I’ve hidden behind the idea that I want to be needed, so I do everything for others. It’s funny, though, because right now, I’m glad my PIP are with their PIP. I think I might have a bad influence with my longing to be needed. I’m craving to take care of someone else so that I don’t have to look at myself, or take care of me.

But I know I’m doing others a disservice by helping them this way. I’ve said this before. Bla bla.

This picture is from a walk I’ve taken a lot—by the water. I stop there and take a swim. I’ve heard that I’ll miss this period, the struggle, once I’m on the other side. I can romanticize the pain. I’ve always loved being in pain because that’s where you feel and create. But according to David Lynch, you don’t need to be in pain to create. You can create the pain up. I’m weird, I know. I like few connections that give me energy, not drain me. But I also want to be so spacious inside that I don’t feel others’ energies as either good or bad—just ONE. I want to hold both the plus and minus inside.

I had someone special over yesterday, and I felt this immense craving for closeness. I thought, Is this how it will feel to have someone close? Someone sleeping in the bed, someone sitting on the sofa, just being there. I haven’t had that for so many years. I miss it so much. But I also know who I need in my life. I need someone I can trust, someone who can take care of himself.

I think I’m ready for that. I still feel this calling to be more in my studio, to create more. I went running today, and the anxiety disappeared. That’s the cure—I need to be in my body. I’m longing so much for closeness. True intimacy. Sharing life.

Love you, Page 

SCENE 1             WORK

I am exactly where I was just before I met PIP. But now, I’m aware.
I’m aware that I’m in a pip that I don’t find fulfilling. I’m aware that I long for a relationship, and that I am extremely weak in setting boundaries. I also know that people think I’m stupid, and that I’m highly sensitive. My intuition is a gift—it's made by God. I can sense when you're manipulating me mentally and emotionally, even before you speak, even before you take your next breath. I can feel it in my bones.

I need to get all these experiences and exposures out. All the madness. All the crazy thoughts about what I’m being exposed to. I need to turn them into something—into an idea. I need to use them as a tool, instead of letting them drain me. I’ve got to be smarter. It’s a brilliant story. Every step is a scene.

I love self-destruction. It’s an act against someone’s control. Self-destruction is just someone else’s beliefs that they put on you—that you can’t handle things. It’s the violation of your space, your freedom, and your integrity. Just like I feel right now—being controlled, expected to be a good member of society. They want me in a cage, but I don’t want what they want. I need to use them in another way. Because I will die if I stay stuck at this job.

Today, a pip I really didn’t like in the beginning is retiring. The one I trust most now. I was so stressed when I first came to work, pip voice was too sharp for my ears. Back then, I had severe CPTSD. I’d been through bullying, been exposed to it all, and I was in a constant state of hypervigilance.

In this mental space, I had an unhealthy relationship with a pip who also thrived on self-destruction. What is it with self-destruction? It must be the mystery—the mystery of how far one can fall. But back then, I didn’t even know I was in it. I was so messed up. I remember this man in pip talking about the illusion—bla bla bla—but he was right. I was in an illusion, and now I see how I got there. It’s all starting to make sense.

I’ve been depressed for about five years now. Really depressed. No, I think I have been depressed my entire life. What is depression? It is a mask you have been putting on and that is wearing you out. You just get so tired and need “deep-rest.”. So what if I could turn all these chaotic experiences and thoughts into something else? A painting won’t cut it. I need something more challenging. If I have the energy. Right now I want to be alone and write. Eat well. Get some rest. Studio. Exercise. Make my apartment into me. As Beautiful as me. Love my sensitivity now. I love that I feel deeply. I love that I love people deeply. This seems like the most impossible task, but I’d love to make a short film—or something that could be a film. To create either my uncomfortable feelings during this period of being exposed of my subconcious mind. That creepy feeling you know?

I can create a scene with the chiropractor, the way he touched me subtly during the examination. Situations like that happen to me all the time. I guess it’s written on my face "easy target". I am longing for connection with like-minded souls. Preferably the mad ones. The creatives. The ones who want to experiment with ideas. I’m obsessed with David Lynch as you now know. Everything he says resonates. He eats the same lunch and dinner every day, just so he has more time for being in the flow. I totally get it. I’ve never experienced that crazy flow myself, though. But with TM meditation, I’m sure I’ll start feeling more of my suppressed emotions I’ve kept hidden.

But anyway, I need to create. I need to write. But I also need to fuck. And I also need to think that everyone at work is so perfect because they all talk about how much they work. They’re in bed by 7:30 in the evening, acting like their lives are so disciplined. Well, fuck that, I say. With your guilt-tripping bullshit! Is there anything more boring than someone who always has to look good in front of others? The "perfect" person? A photo of today. I asked a pip at work if she had a aspirin, she said that I should buy it myself. I mean seriously. Time for som meditation. Do you like my picture? I massaged the pain away instead. All I need is a pen.

Where am I today?
I managed to do two TM meditations, and it feels nice inside. Then, X contacted me. I’m worried, yes, but I won’t tell him that—he doesn’t like pity. I don’t pity pip; I’m just worried. PIP doesn’t take care of himself, and I can barely take care of myself.  I’m doing my best to keep it together.

I also don’t want to be a monster and not care. 

Then, the cop guy contacted me again—the one I thought was married. He said that’s not true. He didn’t like that I asked for his full name. I explained that I can’t meet anyone without knowing who they are, but he didn’t understand. He felt controlled, like I was demanding something from him. I tried to explain why I needed it, but there was no understanding from his side.

I realize now, maybe pip was a test or just someone giving me information in a meta kind of way. Pip knew my X would contact me, and I can feel some kind of connection between them. It’s almost more exciting when I can’t understand why I can't understand people. I bet they say the same thing about me. 

I get it why he didn’t like being told what to do. But honestly, the question was simple—just, “What’s your full name?” with a smile. Haha. He didn’t answer, though.

Today, he wrote: “Is it better if we see each other on Friday. DOT.” No question mark, no consideration. It just felt cold. It’s sad that we couldn’t connect. He seemed nice. He wanted a dog. He liked to bike. But he was a cop. And he’d just been to the hospital. Honestly, it sounds more like my pip, who’s in contact now.

Was it all just a sign? Maybe.

So, what am I doing with all this information?
Well, if you’re reading this, I love you, but I can’t do more. I lost myself with you once. I’m worthy of the energy it takes to take care of myself. I’m no monster. It just breaks my heart. 

The Moon Cards today were beautiful. I pulled "The Scales."
It spoke of love, like a rose with its thorns—equilibrium, unseen compatibility. Love that supports individuality. Balance and harmony in unexpected unions.

This is a photo of me just after I got sober, maybe two years into it. I miss PIP, I do. But I also need to stand alone, to dig deeper into the darker parts of myself. I only drink sometimes now, but never to numb a feeling or elevate one. I just enjoy a beer or a glass of wine. I wouldn't do that if I were still in PIP. I would have called it a relapse, and I would have shamed myself for it. But I don't see it as a relapse. It feels healthy to me.

I wish I could still be part of PIP, but I don’t belong there right now. That’s something I grieve, too. Pip was a family. But I can’t go back. I left, and they left me. My pip didn’t think it was a good idea. “You’re brave,” she said, but it felt like she was warning me: You don’t know who you’re dealing with. You’re going to live in hell from now on. They’ll bring you down, like a fallen tree. They’ll have their eyes on you. That’s what it felt like.

Pip made me feel helpless. I felt so guilty. Awful. Like I was the worst person. Everything I had confessed in those meetings hit me back in other ways. The things I said about others—they haunted me, too. I put that mental energy out there, opened Pandora’s box, and it wasn’t safe. I wasn’t safe.

So I stopped confessing to anyone. I stopped trusting. The only one I’m trying to trust now is myself. I never wanted to live like this, but you get punished when you don’t obey. They have an army, and I’m someone they can easily break emotionally. 

It’s not fair. They’re trying to shame me in so many ways. I bet you won’t believe me, but I don’t care. I believe in me. I understand how someone can make you look crazy, can make everyone else believe it too. And when you react to their games, they’ll say: Why are you so upset? Calm down.

I know exactly how the bullied ones feel. I can spot it from a distance when someone has to people-please just to fit in. It breaks my heart every time. I feel so helpless. I wish I could just tell them to leave. 

I wish they’d knock on my door, or that I’d wake up from this terrible dream and hear them say: We had to do this to you, but we’re still here. We love you. You’re safe now.

The more I write about it, the more anxiety I get. It’s like if I tell the world, they’ll come for me. It’s hard when you know someone’s watching every move you make, waiting for you to slip up so they can report it. They’re watching me, waiting for my mistakes. I’m in Foucault’s Panopticon, as my coworker said. She’s playing the game against me.

I’m tired now. I don’t want to be under surveillance. I want my freedom back. I want my peace. If you have something to say, say it to my face.

Yesterday, I wanted to die. I’m so bored with my pip. I feel lost, and depressed. I was meant for something more. What has my life become? An empty room in an empty corridor at PIP. I cried all night. When I cry like that, it feels endless, like it will never stop. I don’t know how to get out of this.

I want to meet people. Make art and maybe go to an art exhibition, but not right now—not after M told me he’s going with friends. That triggered me. I’ve lost all my friends. That’s also why I cried the other night. More grief than pity. I don’t even recognize myself anymore. This isn’t who I am. Or maybe it is? I am searching and it is very exciting. I do love solitude. I think I need this grieving. And to learn who I am in solitude. I have been away from myself for so long. I had so many around me before that I didn't create time for myself. (But I also need to PIP—just sometimes, to relax—without someone trying to make me feel guilty. I know it’s illegal, but I’ve been through enough to handle it now. I’m so tired of other pip beliefs. I was shaped by their beliefs, taught to doubt myself, to put my faith in God rather than in me. And I believed it all.

Sure, those beliefs led me down paths I never expected, paths that gave me clarity, but only after I’d been through hell. No road is ever a regret, they say. But I’m not so sure.)

Can anyone hear me? Can anyone save me from this? I was meant for something more than this. Another 13 years as an administrator? I’m dying here. Does God even care?

Yesterday, I texted M and asked if he wanted to come over for sex. He said he liked the idea, but then mentioned he was going to an exhibition witholdfriends. I asked what they were going to see, but he didn’t answer. So, I wrote, “If you change your mind,” with a big smile. He didn’t respond. That bastard.

Now, I’m talking to a police officer at a dating app. He is the one who is ON. Usually, what that means is this will end pretty pretty soon. The guys that can be ON have nothing to lose by being ON. Which means they can go ON to the next girl ONline. I could be overthinking this. But this is the right place for overthinking. This is where my mind creates where it wants to be. I’ve never dated a police guy before. Though, I have had cops in my apartment once. When my friend P was making a joint in the bathroom. They came because of a noise complaint. It can't have been because of us, all we did was some karate moves in the kitchen. No screams. Laughs yes. But who can be annoyed of laughter? Maybe, people who don't laugh? I know  they can be annoyed, because I don't laugh so much anymore. And I get annoyed by laughter. Or not really only by a coworker who has been really not pleasant to me. Anyway. After they left, we were shaking. P saved the joint. How mental is that?  I would have thrown it out. But we smoked it. Sitting with huge teddybears in our laps, unable to move. Shaken about the whole thing. 

Back to the officer. He’s 9 years younger than me. Funny, because he reminds me of the artist I was together with or NO he said it was an affair so ok his affair. What reminds me of him is that I was 9 years younger than him when we met. I would still me 9 years younger if we met now. I am so clever sometimes. Anyways. I’m reading into this, thinking it’s another test. He’s cute, sure. But he’s told me twice, “You’re very cute,” and that’s a trigger for me. It takes me back to an acting course I once took—though, maybe it wasn’t really a course. It was all about triggers. We worked on a script called Betrayal, and in it, the line was, “You’re awfully cute.” So now this guy calling me cute? It’s a test. 

It might not make sense to you, but it’s a big trigger for me. Every guy I’ve met has either reminded me of my exes or triggered past trauma. This one is no different, but I’m learning something from each encounter. Yes, I get depressed, but I also gain energy afterward.

I know we won’t be a couple—he’s 38, I’m 47. Or why do I say that? Who knows? I am playing GOD. Yes. But why would he want a grey, dull administrator from Stockholm University? That’s all I am. Because that’s what I do, right? No that's all you put in your head. You are not that. You are cute. He is cute. And he is a cool cop. How punk is that? 

Pip har hört av sig. Jag använder Pip som namn, inte för att Miranda July använder det i sin novell, utan för att jag faktiskt brukar göra det. Dels för att jag vet att jag är övervakad. Om ingen tror mig, fine. Jag tror på mig själv och gaslightar mig inte längre. Kanske blir jag nojjig när killar kollar in mig på nätet innan de försöker seduce me. Det finns faktiskt sådana killar. De studerar en. En kille trodde jag var lesbisk för att det står att jag bor med en tjej. Grejen är att jag har försökt få bort det, men tydligen måste tjejen som jag bodde med, och som nu bor i Tyskland, höra av sig till Skatteverket och be dem ta bort det. Jag har kontaktat henne flera gånger, men hon svarar inte. The story of my life. Ingen svarar. Alla tror att jag är lesbisk. Fine för mig.

Paus i berättelsen. En ny berättelse i berättelsen.

En kille på jobbet var jätteimponerad av min kaka. Jag blev lite generad och tyckte det var lite väl mycket uppmärksamhet för en kaka som dessutom såg ganska deppig ut. Alla tittade på mig. Men så slog det mig att han måste känna exakt likadant när jag berömmer honom för hans kakor. Hans kakor är sjukt goda, och han borde verkligen öppna ett bageri. På riktigt. Ja ja.

Tillbaka till senaste nytt! Jag kan bli helt tokig när Pip hör av sig för att få lite energi från mig. Tyst i ett år, sen plötsligt tillbaka på min energi. Det funkar inte så. Det är ett test. Helt plötsligt dyker han upp och kärleksbombar mig. Jag blir såklart nyfiken. Jag vill se hur det slutar. Vad är hans strategi? Jag gjorde en ganska cool sorti, tycker jag ändå. Jag gick utan att säga hej då. Nu pratar vi om slutet. Dramatiskt och coolt. Love it!

Testet började med bilder på honom i toaletten. Jag svarade snabbt på allt. Sedan satte jag gränser. Han fortsatte. Tog inte hänsyn. Sedan igen, ingen hänsyn. Och så, helt plötsligt, börjar han visa hänsyn. Då har han lyckats höja mina känslor så pass att jag blir ledsen när han inte svarar på en gång. Jag ifrågasätter det, och då svarar han snabbt: "Men du hade satt en gräns." Jag säger: "Men du har inte lyssnat på den förut." Och han svarar: "Ja men nu lyssnar jag." Sedan kärleksbombar han igen, denna gång med emojiblommor. Vi ska ses.

Jo, jag är så dum. Jag måste ju se vad han har för strategi. Jag vet att han spelar. Jag nämner att vi får se hur det går, att jag kan sova på soffan om det inte funkar. Men han har redan bestämt sig för att det inte kommer funka. Han tar ett tåg till Kiruna och hämtar mig. Pratar om sig själv hela tiden, ställer inga frågor om mig. Allt handlar om honom, redan från början. Vi går till en italiensk restaurang, han ska impa med sina språkkunskaper. Han är halv-italienare. Sedan går vi hem till honom. Jag faller för honom, och han fingrar mig ett tag. Sedan skiftar allt. Han får det han vill ha, och jag med, men direkt efteråt vill han inget mer ha. Jag visste att det var ett test, så jag fortsätter att se hur han spelar. Hela poängen har varit att jag inte ska gå till sängs, men jag är så sexsugen. Jag har ju inte haft sex på flera år. Om jag hade ett förhållande, skulle jag behöva ta ut sex retroaktivt. Vi pratar sjukt mycket sex.

I alla fall. Han är anarkist. "No Gods, No Masters." Bla bla bla. Anarkismtestet i Kiruna? Han struntade i mig och jag fick roa mig själv. Någon slags konstig karma, måste det vara. Anarkisten fixade lägenheter åt nya vänner, hade dyra vinprovningar med rika människor. Han pratar om folk med pengar och deras beteenden. Han kan spelet. Allt känns så kallt och utstuderat. Hur fixar folk att vara så falska? Jag tycker att han var en mess. På ytan framgångsrik, men bakom kulisserna okänslig. Eller kanske var det bara ett spel? Jag tycker ofta att folk spelar. För det kan ju inte vara på riktigt.

Min del i det hela? Jag blev frustrerad när han dissade mig och inte ville ha sex, trots att han flaggat för att han ville ha det. Jag skrev "Fuck off" när jag kom hem. Ibland väljer jag att låtsas bli arg för jag vet att de aldrig kommer att komma tillbaka, och det är faktiskt det jag vill. Hör aldrig av dig igen. Han blockade mig. Puh. Skönt. Jag erkänner, jag skulle ha sagt att jag ville ha sex och inte spelat svår. Men kanske hade det inte förändrat något. Anarkister som han tycker säkert inte om sex. Bara om spelet.

Billion light years

That’s how it feels

To be away from you

All the stars move towards the same hall

They have rich and poor in space

Big structures

hopes and super hopes

its what they are called

I am not making it up

The discovery of universe?

Faire gaffe

Direct collision between stars is rare

A collision between two equal

size

spiral galaxies

emerge

in an elliptic galaxy

puh

anyways

There is a hierarchy in the galaxy

You got Leo

A hell lot of dwarfs

They are called Pegasus, Cane, Antlia, Phoenix, Tucana

And they got numbers

They got giants too

Super hopes

are not in a fixed system

They participate in the expansion of the universe

Oh my imagine

Stars can light brighter or dimmer

Magnitudes

Is the difference in luminosity

Try and say that a thousand times

Fast

Anyways MAGNITUDE

Where

Number

ONE

Is the strongest

And where number

SIX

Is the weakest

The Greek made that up

hasande bredvid

en magnet

schh

mjukare

Varmare

närmare

Snuddar länge

jag ryser

en exploderande värme

Anden

Slutar andas

Håller andan

Det känns bra

som

schh

så länge det varar

stanna kvar

hasande

Nu lite längre

bort

kläder som täcker

I nöd

Bara i nöd

drar i tråden

allt löses upp

handen

Två händer

värmen vill stanna

det är en kraft

jag dras med som tråden som dras ur sin stickning

jag är i stickningen

mjukt

Och börjar om

break through the layers of depth

make it bleed a little

so i can touch the leaves on the silk soften flower

make me pick les fleurs du mal and make it conserved in a night sky

and look at it with awe

and wonder

and say

you can handle it