papirfugl

090626
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Am I using him perhaps


Am I using him perhaps
to reassert myself,

to gain that sense of confidence,
which I think I can’t afford,
by getting him to pay
the price of pride, on my accord?

Does he spot the robber here,
holding hostage all the lives
that he could have sought?
Or are we what he says we are:

Already bleeding, both of us,
hit by bullets that we bought 
and fired with the guns 
of the unyielding law of love?

But if he’d known that I’ll always care
more about what is not yet there,
would he still raise his hands
and hold, against the sky, my plan,

my aspiration to become 
the person I think I could be?
If I only knew how to love someone else.
Someone, other than myself.

Yet if all we’re living for
is to make each other fall… 

I find it hard to separate
what is done out of selfless love,
from that which we do 
because we need to feel loved.

Or am I using this accusation
as another narcissistic self-justification?

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090620
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På samme vei

På en tynn sti som snegler seg inni mellom de kinesiske risterrassene, der, der krysses veiene våre. I to, tre sekunder holder vi hender i det vi hjelper hverandre forbi, griper hverandres kropper som om vi skulle samme vei. Stien er smal, og du trekker meg inntil deg slik at ingen av oss skal miste fotfestet og plaske ned i risåkeren, bryte den skjøre vannskorpa og knuse refleksjonen av himmelen her på jorda. Slik speiler vi oss i hverandre og holder godt tak i hverandres hender, som om vi var på samme kurs, sammen.

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090426
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Waves of glass.
Waves of glass.

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Kowloon Park, HK.
Kowloon Park, HK.

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Kowloon Park, HK.
Kowloon Park, HK.

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Kowloon Park, Hong Kong.
Kowloon Park, Hong Kong.

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090419
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Demand

On sidewalks wet with piss from those
too perfume-drenched to smell
their individualities
trickle down the drain

you carry your protective shields
forged by logos, L and Vs
click-clack into towers in
a tailored uniformity

To then say, “It’s the industry
Our paths were marble-tiled, then walked
What else is there to do but stroll
these floors of luxury?”

Still, your cards slide in and out 
the slit of your economies
as plastic burns between the thighs
of horny cash machines

By all means, spend at will
The money’s in your hands
But don’t pretend that you don’t choose
how hard supply should fuck demand

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Snowflakes

That day, like every day before
you counted on that schoolyard eight
wooden bull’s eyes, nailed

Yet, they froze you in their sight
In their palms, a million snowflakes
Melted and then crystallized

into snowballs to be hurled
at those too easily defined
and spotted on the white background

Quickly turning, taking steps
too long for little feet to take
you fell, and felt how snowflakes can

like ignorance, lie quietly
Its arguments too light, too weak
too easily silenced to be heard

Or as you have learned
it is the hands and not the voice
that gets to hurl the final word

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090404
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Not you

So, what are you, then? You’re not what you were or what you’ll be. You’re not what you know. You’re not your face, your skin, your sex. You’re definitely not your country. You’re not your parents, nor your friends, nor the places that you’ve been. The books you’ve read and words you’ve said mean nothing,

hopefully. You’re nothing 
less than present, here. 
Asking, hopefully.

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090304
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On music

Her voice slips underneath your clothes
Glides like dulcet waves
Across your chest, a sea awoken
As they break against the shore

Tone by tone, the mellow timbre
Of her soothing voice
Seeps into the sand and wraps
Her melody around your soul

There she drowns the solitude
Amplifies the magnitude
Of your feelings, as they grow
Becoming waves on their own

And when you feel your ocean move
When you can’t deny
That because it’s just a song
It cannot make you cry

It resonates, again
In each wave through which it flows
How music is the closest thing
To touching without being close

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090303
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090222
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090221
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Trying to reach you.
Trying to reach you.

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090218
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[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]

Under Byen - Mathilde (Valsch Med Mig)

Because I still quite like this one.

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090209
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Waiting in line.
Waiting in line.

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