sound of the birds

“I have always been delighted at the prospect of a new day, a fresh try, one more start, with perhaps a bit of magic waiting somewhere behind the morning.” —J.B. Priestley

I’ve started running in the evenings, and taking “mini” nature hikes. Something i haven’t done for almost 6 years — since i lived in the UK. Sitting in the middle of the forest path alone with my mind, watching chipmunks and squirrels beating each other over the size of nuts and listening to the hawk flutter his span in the branches. Walking around the woods with no one but me, with my mane of hair hanging at my elbows, just like it always should be. Sometimes i swear i can hear my ancestors out there telling me to get my ass in gear and do what i was meant to.
Why, I can’t tell you how good its been for my soul.
The dangerous thing is its got me reflecting.

I’ve noticed that some of my blog posts come across a little blue or negative. The thing about me is that i’m not necessarily a sad person, but i am a wondering person. A ponderer. Often my writing gets misconstrued as the negative ramblings of a depressive soul — no. Whilst i’m prone to the emotion on a relatively consistent basis, thats not to say thats all i see. Having said that — let’s get in deeper.

Recently things haven’t been going the way i’d planned, at all — i would say things had gone completely to utter shit but i’m going to look at it as positively as i can. In itself — that for me is a struggle. That wasn’t my road, and i know what its like to walk in the wrong direction only to keep walking. This time i turned my ass 90 degrees and walked some place else. You see i lost my job not long ago… well “lost” and “lost.” Through no fault of my own the job is no more. A job i gave up two other jobs for and i basically got pissed on like some lame ass fire in a barrel, just as i was trying to warm the hands of the poor by my flame. I wont say it ruined my life, because i work to live — i don’t live to work.
But of course i was peeved.
Who wouldn’t be?
Hold up, wait a minute.
Shit happens.

Thanks to Jack, and his magical ways, he pulled me back.
“I fully support you to be creative, thats what makes you happy, you’re good at it — and thats what you should do.”
I swear, if i could “Bottle” his way of being — i’d uncork that bottle and get high on his train of thought.
He really is the dick to my balls.
kidding. 

Life has its challenges, and its not supposed to be easy. I should be thankful for the struggle, and i am — because it means my novels are as well fed as chubby milk cows. Oh my many many unfinished novels. Sometimes i find it so hard to face those hundreds of hours of neglected work. To see all those pages from my soul wasted on a hard drive somewhere waiting for me to finishing them, all stories from places that drain me and break me. But the novels are closure from pain, grief and regrets — i deserve that. Closure, but i don’t need it. Past is past and everything is what it is.
And today was a wonderful day, even though i pulled two ticks out of my leg. See positivity does wonders, no?

They say you should always look on the bright side of life, but thats not what i do. I live in the dark corners of every day. Where the lurkers sit and smoke together watching life roll by. We know what it is to hurt and we don’t play into those new movements everyones singing about, because we know what we do and we wont stop doing it. He or she this and that. Sometimes i think i’m physically incapable of thinking positively. Thats simply not how i’m wired and it makes for some of my best writing. I’m a depressive soul, a poet with a nosebleed and a writer with an anxiety complex. Sometimes i’m just a bastard for no reason, but as i said. It makes for honest work as raw as a bone.
And living with negativity the way i do means that when i see beauty, i see it hard and heavy.
It leaves me breathless like a hefty smack to the chops. And though it may be forgotten and replaced by a negative thought — i can be grateful that i got the chance to see it at all.
That being said. No matter how deeply i disappear into cruelty of my novels or negativity, i have Jack to make me laugh till i fart, and you know what?
Thats the best thing that happens to me all day.
I’m happy lucky to have him to bring me back to where i should be.
“Be creative.”

So a few nights ago i saw this beautiful and frankly, astounding documentary about André René Roussimoff, famously known as Andre The Giant.
And it caught me thinking.
A man with a soul such as his and all he wanted in the end was to live in peace. He started with nothing, and ended with everything — he worked for what he had, but in the end what did he truly want?
To drive around his ranch in North Carolina that reminded him of  his beautiful France over 3000 miles to the east, and be away from photographers, negative people and the pain of memories.
To be truly him.
I tried doing what others do — going out and working 9 to 5 jobs that don’t sit right with me, but you gotta work for your meals.
I’ve wiped asses, i’ve struggled till my knuckles bled and i’ve cried over the stupidity of the many terrible bosses/managers i’ve come across.
But now.
I’m in charge.
*que deep ambient – yet hardcore cinematic music*

Let’s all try to live a little more like André the giant wished he could have.
Savour every quiet moment, the sound of the birds and the walks other people don’t take.
Do what makes you absolutely happy to breathe every morning. Do what makes your chest pump 5 times harder. Do what makes you weep. No one is happy all the time and every feeling you get is an important one.
So i’m going to be creative. I’m going to finish those novels hiding on hard drives, i’m going to publish those poems, i’ll clown around like i was born to do and i’ll be damned — i’m gonna figure out how to bottle Jacks mind and sell it for profit if everything goes tits in a hand basket.

But i will leave you with this.

“Today could be my last night, tonight could be my last night, it doesnt matter. I just keep going..” André.

So what about you? What should you be doing?
Darling, go do it.


🌱

the discouragement of being

So i’ve spent hours writing a blog post for today that ended up just not being quite right or what i wanted, so it’ll have to wait for another day when the sun shines a little brighter and my mind is in the right place. I think the issue is that recently i’ve felt uncommonly discouraged. I don’t know what i want and maybe i don’t have to. It feels like everything is a little tougher even though nothing has gone wrong but nothing has been right either.

It’s the January blues in April.

I’ve spent almost my entire day writing, as i should be spending everyday, maybe not on the projects that needed it  but a start is a start. I’ll take it. I’m hoping i can finish reading my current book Rhino Ranch too — if you want to write you have to read, because what other way to learn & improve is there? Jack is constantly encouraging me to try the “Stephen King” method of writing for 4 hours and reading for 4 hours. I’m going to give it a bash, and if i dont have the time i’ll do my damnedest to make time.

Today was not successful because i’ve been writing for about 3 hours and only some of it was on my novel, the rest i’ve been messing about with social media but im close to giving up on that front. I’m shit at it. Can’t figure it. Can’t make it work.
Writing is hard because my mind feels like ” i should be doing something more/with faster results (if you please)” but how can you finish a book without writing it? You can’t. And i for one have a very complicated way inspiring myself and feeling what i’m writing (this will be a blogpost soon so till then).

So thats what i do. When i’m not out on an adventure or travelling i’m usually sat here. Writing. Or watching terrible paranormal programs because not everyday can be a day of happening. Thats something i have to realise. Not every day can be seized the way you had planned, and its ok. Behind the social media facade is someone working hard. Hustling day by day and dreaming up new ideas every night.

I carry notebooks with me everywhere just as i carry my camera(s) wherever i go. Often i see it as a burden because you’re never off. You don’t stop. If theres a great shot you’ll want to take it. And thus nice day out to the local harbour can suddenly become a job, but such is the life of a creative. That need to create never stops and thats the the beauty of it. You will never stop seeing the things you see that make you special, and the fact that you’re willing to share such a thing. Is poetic.

You do what you do in hopes of sharing a vision, a sound or something else with people who otherwise just live without art day to day. Almost as if you want them to see the world as you do. Though they may never, you wont stop trying. Because if we stop trying, then what do we have?

A bunch of dead dreamers.

the discouragement of being

a loose spark

I’ve always put Denmark on an imaginary pedestal. It was my goal when i grew up to move home and stay there forever. I wanted to be like all the other Danish kids. But alas, it was not to be — thankfully. England was not to be either. I thought maybe i could spend the rest of my life there but the older i got the more that sounded like a life sentence of grief. I have a relatively intense love/hate relationship with England, where i lived for 16 years of my somewhat short life. Lots of people have been envious of me living in the UK and growing up there, it had its upsides for sure. Like i had a great education with great teachers (most of whom i am grateful for to this day), i learnt to sail, and i left with some incredible experiences but for the most part living in England was definitely not for me. It was not entirely good to me, and i in turn grew to have a very bleak out look on life which strangely enough i’m very grateful for.

So i guess i can thank England for that too.

“Go back to your own country!”
“We speak english here.”
I remember hearing those words every day of my life for the longest time. As child i was very aware that i was different. The other children were always a little weary of me, some frightened of me and others were mean to me, thats fine but the older i got the more xenophobia i witnessed. I got through that mostly by thinking “this would never happen in Denmark.” When i got a little older i tried moving home to Denmark a few times and each without success.
I thought Denmark was to be my safe haven. My place. My country. My home. However, when i moved there i was met with the same, “go back to England”  “this is denmark — you don’t belong here.”

My poor hoping soul.

“So here you are,
too foreign for home,
too foreign for here.
Never enough for both.”
Disapora Blues

One of the shittiest things i’ve had to face, and it made me a little meaner.

That was when i realised that i didn’t have a home anymore.
Its a hard realisation that a place you dreamed of was never to be, and i think at a young age i already knew it but i pretended along anyways.

What did i have left?
I had freedom.
Freedom to find a new place.
Another life.
A new world.

Don’t fret. The door i wanted opened was locked, but a door i was supposed to walk through blew off its hinges and i rode through guns blazing — like a regular Calamity Jane with a shot almost as good as Annie Oakley, just not as consistent. Yet.

Home to me is where the coyote yells outside my window at 3am, where the June-bugs endlessly piss me off in May and where i get second degree burns from a seat belt. Its where i got married. I never wanted to get married but ya know — its Texas, and Texas boys are seriously dishy. Texas is the first place where i wasn’t chased through town with pitchforks and told to go back to where i came from.

I found my home by being “homeless,” and a lot of people never experience that.
I’m ready to move back to Texas.
And i can’t wait.
I also can’t wait to complain about it, because i know that heat is going to kick my ass and i’m gonna love every minute of it.
(Please don’t quote me on that) 

I learned that i’m more Danish than most. I made like the vikings and travelled around the world; by sea, by roads, on horseback and by plane. And thanks to England i have been blessed with the ability to realise that i can dream, and more importantly that i can and definitely should chase them.
I have both places to thank for who i was.
And Texas to thank for who i am.
And for cowboy boots because they’re comfy as shit.

So darling, don’t cry about closed doors, be open to those that let you in.
Trust me.