Good Hours

It's that time of the year again, there is something in the air, something white and cold, and something rather strange; this time it's actually a snowy white Christmas, and the time when everything, eventually, slows down. These last few months have been for me rather strange and life overturning, but in the end this fasted paced struggle, though there where a often the feeling of nothing at all would move, entered the Peterson Night Train and came to an end. And I decided that it was now time for a break.

All my shopping has come to an end, the tree is lit and the peace has reached even me. I left my solitude in the south and took the Christmas night train to my parents and the busy life of shopping spirit in the city. There is a special feeling one gets from just strolling around in a hectic last minute celebration of this wonderful time of get-toghethers in shopping malls. Though, I also see coffee shops packed with people having a very good time, which is nice since good coffee should be appreciated.

This Christmas is for me a rather nice one, since I for the first time can afford giving those who have been there for me something in return.

As mentioned, peace has reached me at last, and on this Christmasy evening, I am having a splendid time. I have poured myself a most wonderful winter stout, I am listening to old jazz records and taking life with utmost ease.

I wish all my friends a very merry Christmas.

Good Hours

I had for my winter evening walk—
No one at all with whom to talk,
But I had the cottages in a row
Up to their shining eyes in snow.

And I thought I had the folk within:
I had the sound of a violin;
I had a glimpse through curtain laces
Of youthful forms and youthful faces.

I had such company outward bound.

I went till there were no cottages found.
I turned and repented, but coming back
I saw no window but that was black.

Over the snow my creaking feet
Disturbed the slumbering village street

Like profanation, by your leave,
At ten o’clock of a winter eve.

R. Frost

Blow, Blow thou Winter Wind

BLOW, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember'd not.
Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then heigh ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

W. Shakespeare

To Tom Waits

Have a glass or ten of whisky in honour of Tom Waits' 60th birthday. The man with the voice of days gone bye, which was once described by Daniel Durchholz "like it was soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months, and then taken outside and run over with a car." His songs take me back to some of my best memories of dark and smoky pubs, sittin alone at the bar drinking dark beer and smoking hand-rolled ciggarettes and just being on your own. He also reminds me of long evening when my writing was suffering from not being written and I had to force words unto the page with the help from a bottle of Scotch and ol' Tom, thanks for that. I raise my whisky filled glass and say "Happy Birthday Tom".


"We are all mad here"

You can hang me in a bottle like a cat
Let the crows pick me clean but for my hat
Where the wailing of a baby
Meets the footsteps of the dead
We're all mad here

As the devil sticks his flag into the mud
Mrs Carol has run off with Reverend Judd
Hell is such a lonely place
And your big expensive face will never last

And you'll die with the rose still on your lips
And in time the heart-shaped bone that was your hips
And the worms, they will climb the rugged ladder of your spine
We're all mad here

And my eyeballs roll this terrible terrain
And we're all inside a decomposing train
And your eyes will die like fish
And the shore of your face will turn to bone.

"Lullaby"

Sun is red; moon is cracked
Daddy's never coming back
Nothing's ever yours to keep
Close your eyes, go to sleep
If I die before you wake
Don't you cry, don't you weep

Nothing's ever as it seems
Climb the ladder to you dreams
If I die before you wake
Don't you cry, don't you weep
Nothing's ever yours to keep
Close your eyes; go to sleep.

New Era and Winter Wonderland

Finally, I am all settled inn! These last few months have been very strange and hectic, but I managed to back up all my books and my entire life into a set of boxes. After much stress and heavy lifting we was on our way, I got help from my friends to pack and drive the lot south. Though, when I arrived, my supervisor was in Rome and nobody knew of my arrival, so no office, no keys, I was a non-entity. Last week, late last week, all was on its place and my new life could begin.

This is my new neighbourhood:

Since this is very much like a new beginning to my studies I thought it appropriate to quote W. Whitman's "Beginning My Studies":

BEGINNING my studies the first step pleas'd me so much,

The mere fact consciousness, these forms, the power of motion,

The least insect or animal, the senses, eyesight, love,

The first step I say awed me and pleas'd me so much,

I have hardly gone and hardly wish'd to go any farther,

But stop and loiter all the time to sing it in ecstatic songs.

Last week, winter came, and the landskape transformed into pure beauty. So when was heading to work I took some lovely pictures of my daily walk through the forrest:

Christmas is on the doorstep and a song that for me is truly Christmasy is "Walking in the Air" from the childrens' book "The Snowman" by Howard Blake:

Walking in the air, floating the sky...
Floating in the air...

We're walking in the air
We're floating in the moonlit sky
The people far below are sleeping as we fly

We're holding very tight
I'm riding in the midnight blue
I'm finding I can fly so high above with you

Far across the world
The villages go by like dreams
The rivers and the hills
The forest and the streams

Children gaze open mouthed
Taken by surprise
Nobody down below believes their eyes

We're surfing in the air
We're swimming in the frozen sky
We're drifting over icy
mountains floating by

Suddenly swooping low on an ocean deep
Arousing of a mighty monster from its sleep

We're walking in the air
We're dancing in the midnight sky
And everyone who sees us greets us as we fly.