"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
Monterey Bay Aquarium
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
h
tannertan36
dirt enthusiast
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Not today Justin
cherry valley forever
ellievsbear
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
祝日 / Permanent Vacation
noise dept.
$LAYYYTER
Kiana Khansmith
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
will byers stan first human second
i don't do bad sauce passes
PR's Tumblrdome
Keni
seen from Singapore
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seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Singapore
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seen from United States
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seen from Norway
seen from India
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@nekirmum
I realize I've been MIA for a moment or ten. I've been out of commission, much to my own dismay, if not to yours. I hope that you'll accept this rambling recollection of the past as an apology.
I guess I'm like that friend who falls of the map and then turns up again as if no time has passed, picking up right were you left off. Jeez, I really am a bit like ol' Mumrik aren't I? I see it now.
Anyway, here's me picking up where we left off.
Missed opportunity to call my Axel Rates the Cars of Randos shtick Under the Furface 🙀
How do you decide which cats to rate? Is there criteria or just cats?
I will rate just about any cat you want to send my way. All I require is a photo and some brief info about them to go off of.
Eleven Years
Eleven years and not a day goes by that I don't think of you though I no longer cry. I still daydream what could, what should have been Imagine how you would have looked at this age The guilt comes and goes The pain ebbs and flows But I've learned to let go of the rage I still long to speak to you Still think about how you would like some random thing that I see You've infiltrated my soul over time You're gone but not far for you dwell within me.
Just a subpar poem I wrote to mark the day. We'll listen to punk music and toss petals on the water together this year, me, Kåre, Helena and your dear little namesake. He doesn't understand why we do it but he knows it means something to his pappa.
Thanks to Kåre for helping me with the graphic.
After quite the dry spell, I'm back to rate your cats, and today it's a double-feature! Ladies and men and nonbinary friends, meet Sofus Sofokles and Tulli the Trash Queen, two foster cats submitted by Camilla.
According to Camilla, Sofus has quite severe social anxiety. Simultaneously, Sofus hates being alone. Now, I don't know Sofus' backstory, but I can speculate. Perhaps Sofus was once an extravert but following years of public scrutiny, has understandably withdrawn from humanity? Thankfully, Sofus has found a companion in Tulli and loves to cuddle up. Sometimes that one special soul can break through that nervous shell and when you find that, well... you best cherish it, Sofus. However, with a name like that, I'm sure Sofus Sofokles is a deep thinker and doesn't need my advice!
We do have a bit of backstory on Tulli the Trash Queen. Rescued from a trash heap and equally reclusive, Tulli here nevertheless would like you all to acknowledge her status as an absolute QUEEN. Doesn't matter if it's queen of the dumpster, Tulli is ROYALTY! As such, Tulli does not associate with just anyone.
Being well acquainted with the concept of being a (drama)queen surviving in a dumpster(fire), I can tell you that Tulli deserves a bit of respect for moving on up and out of that situation and into a more healthy environment. That said, Tulli still enjoys a romp with bit of trash from time to time, surely just to remind Tulli of how far they've come.
Rating: 10/10 Good kitties! Would 100% adopt were I not living the life of a constantly traveling musician.
Who's next?
Just a suggestion
Word to the wise: wait until all your friends and lovers are dead to pen your autobiography, provided you survive them (which I probably won't). Micke was not here to read what I wrote about him. Kåre, however, is very much alive and probably wants me dead at this point.
He still built the chapter page, thankfully, and says it should be ready for release in a week's time. That's Saturday, the 15th, for accuracy's sake. Here's a very short teaser:
From Past to Present Tense
Recently, I've been putting some serious thought into my writing style and I thought, 'why not put those thoughts out on my blog?' Indeed why not? Here we go:
I prefer first person present tense to past tense. Past tense is distancing. Considering the trauma I've endured, it could be said that there would be a value in distancing myself. But there is something rawer, more challenging and powerful about placing yourself back into shoes you've since outgrown. It can be deeply uncomfortable, indeed, it blisters the feet from time to time.
Kierkegaard once said that 'Life can only be understood backwards, but must be lived forward'. That's one of the true challenges, not inserting what you now know into the passages. People tend to insert their current awareness and experiences when telling a story in past tense, and in a way, it's cheating the reader out of the experience you're trying so hard to convey. To force yourself to recall the immediacy, the lack of awareness of what you now know, but then could only agonize over, speculate or dream about takes guts. It's an active re-immersion. For better or for worse.
Some might ask if doing this to myself is productive. Reliving my darkest 48-hours while creating Under the Surface (the memoir, not the album) put me right back there in many regards. Goodbye Susto is probably... different? It was, after all, a time of awakening, of growth and renewal that I so desperately need to reconnect with right now.
Perennial flowers go through a yearly process of emerging from the soil, returning to their roots, growing them stronger, deeper, reemerging time and time again.
That's what I hope to accomplish with this. The seeds planted in those days became rooted. But like the perennial, those roots go dormant in a long, harsh winter.
Now that the sun has returned, what I want above all else is to rebloom.
The premier of the first song from the far too long-awaited Goodbye Susto album is set for this coming Saturday at 8 PM CET. Come hang out for a few minutes with us in the chat. This is kind of a big deal for me.
Goodbye, Susto
It's difficult to describe the pain of pouring your heart into an artistic endeavor that never realizes its full potential or sees the light of day. Although it will never compare to the loss of Micke, it results in a kind of grieving process all its own. My albums are like children to me, made from my essence and experiences, the emotional equivalent of DNA and epigenetics, I imagine. Even today, it's depressing to think about. So I think about it as little as possible. Move on, make new things. However, revisiting the situations those songs detailed, if only in prose format, has brought the ache of failure and loss back to the foreground.
I do not have the masters for Goodbye Susto at my disposal. That hardly matters; I never was fond of the direction it took once control over it was stripped from me. All I have is a set of digitally mangled demo tracks to piece back together. Still, these recordings were indicative of a particular time in my life and, although I could theoretically re-record it all, it wouldn't quite capture the essence of what it was back then.
Today, I sat down and literally faced the music, so to speak. I've begun with the first song I managed to write as I emerged from a vast creative desert.
I couldn't have imagined I would feel this empowered.
Roller coaster
:) of the day:
:( of the day:
We finally found it. The hard drive that I used to transfer the files from Onni's old studio computer. This hard drive bore many of the files associated with Goodbye Susto's demos.
My file keeping is notoriously messy, my data management skills non-existent. So, when Kåre erupted in a frustrated sigh, whispering "Oh my God," to himself upon plugging in the device, my immediate reply was "Sorry if it's a mess."
Kåre, the eternal nerd responded: "It's worse than that, he's dead, Jim."
After trying many things to no avail, he wants to send it off to some expensive data retrieval company. I'm not sure it's worth it.
I've already let go of it long ago. At least I thought I did. But this was a bit of a gut-punch.
Life in a lock box
Something about this online life as a public confessional thing has never felt right to me. Previously, celebrities were those who revealed everything for the public. But that was part of the job, part of ‘generating interest’ in you as an artist. Nowadays everyone seems to share everything, almost as if it were an obligation. For the sake of visibility, because visibility for certain causes is good, right?
Axel never used to mind being open about his joys and struggles, although he grew increasingly reserved as he slowly retreated from the spotlight.
I didn’t see any reason for my life to be examined like his. But once we were dating, my business became everyone’s business. I can understand now how Micke had it. But Micke was an open book, much like Axel.
As for myself, I’m more like a locked diary enclosed in a safe, stored in a bank vault.
I understand Axel is frustrated that I have censored parts of his story, but he respects my wishes. Revealing my private life and past has always been based on a deep trust between myself and those I choose to share it with. And I have no trust at all in the general public.
In due time, I believe you’ll understand why.
To be honest, I'm over it. No offense intended, but I have more pressing things to worry about than someone's intimacy issues. There are far more serious matters to convey, matters that have deeper repercussions than being on the receiving end of even the most intense death glare.
That said, I'm still eagerly awaiting the next cat to review.
Behold! The latest in my recreations of my BFF's teenage goth prose.
Text in the image description for those who require it.
Draft One of Chapter Two as returned by the 'editor'.
Our discussion that followed, roughly translated:
"Hey, just remove that section. Nobody cares about U.S. customs."
"Everything? And the discussion we had while trimming the tree?"
"Let it be. Not everything needs to be presented exactly as it was."
Perhaps he's right. My problem is precisely that I don't self-censor.
Hard Luck 1921
If I've learned nothing else from Buster, it's to laugh at the irony that I just keep going, despite my own best efforts.
Hej då, Oslo! Back to Stockholm to celebrate in-between days with M and hopefully write a bit more, if such things are allowed. The in-between days (mellandagarna) are the days between second Christmas and New Years. I prefer the Norwegian word for it, though (romjul), because literally translated it's Space Christmas. On the other hand, I like the Swedish name because... well, The Cure.
PS. I'm going to need another cat to rate soon.
Train trip to Lillehammer on 'little Christmas Eve' never disappoints with the stunning views.
Today, in the next installment of Kåre's teenage goth poetry, we have this message of yuletide cheer and the winter-adversity faced by hardcore goths (with text in image description for vision impaired folks).
