I was feeling homesick for the event while it was happening.

Cult of Aloneness: The need for autonomy at all costs, usually at the expence of long-term relationships. Often brought about by overly high expectations of others.

Maybe we were all promised heaven in our lifetimes, and what we ended up with can't help but suffer in comparison.

Now Denial: To tell oneslf that he only time worth living is the past and that the only time that may ever be interesting again is the future.

I've always had this feeling that nothing particularly importaint or exciting is going to happen to me, I've always known. That nothing will ever really be as good as imagining how good things could be.

Her life seems little and ordinary. It seems to always be Monday morning, she is always tired. Lately, she finds it hard to be enthusiastic about anything.

Life's to short. People say it all the time. It's not short; it's damn long. Especially if you don't have someone to talk to. And it makes you tired.

Now, he sees love as something not made for him, some abstract thing like the shape of something at the top of a farway hill, lovely but never to be fully grasped.

She likes knowing about other people's lives, why they made certain choices. It makes her feel she might one day be more in charge of herself, that she might live a larger life. She wants someone to show her exactly how to live, to take her dercisions from her hands and sort everything out for her in a matter of fact kind of way.

Everywhere she looks, she has the feeling people are enjoying themselves more than her.

Remembering the past only serves to make the present even more unbearable.

I can feel my childhood slipping away from me like the sand on the beach.

My future feels trapped by the decisions I made in my past, when I was too young and immature to realise their importance.

standpunkt 1

en av vaterlandsalkiene vi loka med sa en gang, livets skole er ikke veien å gå, stryker du her stryker du med

byner på p og slutter på d

og noen ting sier man ikke til noen selv om kanskje man burde
så istedet de vokser seg til svære tikkende bomber og ayla en gang sa det er traumer det du kaller for minner

vann helt ned i lungene

det ække stadier lenger, det er bølger
bedre og verre, bedre og verre
det ække stadier lenger, sa bup, det er bølger
jeg tenkte, du sikkert leste det i bra bok, men glem bølger
jeg bare drukner

el chapo

vi skulle bli 2pac og zlatan og jordan og tyson og elden og banksy og gründer som musk så det var ikke drømmer vi mangla men håp og derfor vi er her i dag og blir chapo

i barnehagen pappa var gullsmed, soldat, astronaut og pirat, eller egenlig han bare var borte, men pirat var kulere

boom

hva er verst, når sakte de dør som vakreste blomsten som visna, eller brått uten advarsel som bombe som sprang og gjorde verden til forvirra kaos av støv glasskår og ringing i øra

nydalen T (banen)

noen ting sier man ikke til noen, som at noen ganger når du står på stasjonen og hører det dundre i tunnelen, så tar du et skritt tilbake, spenner kroppen og holder pusten, og når banen er forbi og du fortsatt står stille, lurer du på om du noen gang kommer til å tørre å fly