Our insides can burn, too.

When it does, comes the dark scratches –

And a sky full of fire.

The world becomes

A quivering pool of

Blood.

- Wither

I think continually of those who were truly great,

Who, from the womb, remembered the soul’s history

Through corridors of light, where the hours are suns,

Endless and singing, Whose lovely ambition

Was that their lips, still touched with fire,

Should tell of the Spirit, clothed from head to foot in song.

And who hoarded the Spring branches

The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.

What is precious, is never to forget

The Essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs

Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.

Never to deny its pleasure in the morning simple light

Nor its grave evening demand of love.

Never allow gradually the traffic to smother

With noise and fog, the flowering of the spirit.

Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields,

See those names are fêted by the waving grass

And by the steamers of white cloud

And whispers of wind in the listening sky.

The names of those who in their lives fought for life,

Who wore at their hearts the fire’s centre.

Born of the sun, they travelled a short while toward the sun

And left the vivid air signed with their honour.

- Stephen Spender

While writhing and twisting on my bed, I felt terribly pissed off at Sverker. Why is he not here?

Hey! That's selfish! I know -

I miss my friend. In these darkened hours, when mere breathing becomes a fucking torture. Where do I keep this bloody agitation? And all these people around me - they don't give a shit. I do what I do best - I retreat quietly, smiling. The longing for my friend is wrapped around my heart - I pray for his happiness.

You were our night ferry

thudding in a big sea

the whole craft ringing

with an armourer's music

the course set wilfully across

the ungovernable and dangerous

- Elegy

On the matter of universe, the greatest mistake a human being can make is try to comprehend all of it. At that point, mother nature yields her wrath on those offending people, mostly she likes to keep her mysteries to herself . Such wrath is vengeful and merciless often, as it affects the innermost regions of our soul, the sanctity of our existence. The color from everything disappears suddenly - the welcoming sunshine, the cool evening breeze, rushing rapids of waterfalls, the warming smile of a beloved - everything - turns bitter, sour, irritating, poisonous to the taste.

All we can do is to stand fast and hard, weathering the storm. We have the power to hold our mothers down - mother nature, the universe itself - and comprehend the truth.

The fire inside us is dangerous, vicious even. Only choice is to live with it - take it in our hands and shape it to our destiny.

I come to ferry you hence across the tide

To endless night, fierce fires and shramming cold.

- Dante

Don't know what to write. Feeling kinda dumb, but who cares? Yesterday drew myself out from one of those drawn - out, messy, and bloody emotional entanglements we call relationships. After emerging bloody from that turmoil, I questioned - 'how the fuck this had happened to me -

I will survive. I will survive.

Creation, in its essence, is a lonely process. And a mad one too, but that shouldn't come as a surprise 'cause all loonies are loners, and all loners, by definition, are loonies.

And Something's odd - within -

That person that I was -

And this one - do not feel the same -

Could this be Madness - this?

(Emily Dickinson)