Unforgiven

Been on a journey, explored old and new, met people never met before, met friends dear to me. Has returned home, to a challenges new and old.

After having been to London and Bergen for a couple of weeks, in London alone, and returned home alone, I again feel the importance of friends. I travelled to Bergen to see my friend defend his doctoral thesis with the highest of praise, I salute him for his remarkable achievement. To be with friends again was truly a joy, and is the one thing I miss since moving here. Hopefully I will see them soon.

Now summer is over autumn is here, and work will recommence.


Unforgiven 2
Lay beside me, tell me what they've done
Speak the words I wanna hear, to make my demons run
The door is locked now, but it's opened if you're true
If you can understand the me, then I can understand the you

Lay beside me, under wicked sky
Black of day, dark of night, we share this pair of lives
The door cracks open, but there's no sun shining through
Black heart scarring darker still, but there's no sun shining through
No, there's no sun shining through
No, there's no sun shining

What I've felt, what I've known
Turn the pages, turn to stone
Behind the door, should I open it for you?

Yeah
What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there, 'cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven too?

Come lay beside me, this won't hurt I swear
She loves me not, she loves me still, but she'll never love again
She lay beside me, but she'll be there when I'm gone
Black heart scarring darker still, yes she'll be there when I'm gone
Yes she'll be there when I'm gone
Dead sure she'll be there

What I've felt, what I've known
Turn the pages, turn to stone
Behind the door, should I open it for you?

What I've felt, what I've known
Sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there, cause I'm the one who waits for you
Or are you unforgiven too?

Lay beside me, tell me what I've done
The door is closed, so are your eyes
But now I see the sun, now I see the sun
Yes, now I see it

What I've felt, what I've known
Turn the pages, turn to stone
Behind the door, should I open it for you

What I've felt, what I've known
So sick and tired, I stand alone
Could you be there, cause I'm the one who waits
The one who waits for you


Oh, what I've felt, what I've known
Turn the pages, just turn to stone
Behind the door, should I open it for you

So I dub thee Unforgiven.

Oh, what I've felt
Oh, what I've known

I take this key (never free)
And I bury it (never me) in you
Because you're unforgiven too!

Never free
Never me
Because you're unforgiven too..

London never fading

For the past week I have walked the streets of London, in multitudes of crowds, filled to the brim tube fares, lines upon lines of travelling tourists longing for an almost never-ending dream of a city soaked in music, colours, ancient history of kings long since gone, cask of whatever ale guesting the local pub at the moment and endless rows of performances of every kind. The performances of this city are as many faced as the galleries which inhabit it. From the man who plays his drum on the street corner, the Agatha Christie mystery which renews itself night after night never to be fully solved, to streets that never completely empties, just like the pint glasses of the old man in the local pub who also seems to never leave completely. Where ever you wander a show is always in progress, the steps of old St. Paul's invites to a play of old, how often have not a stranger put on his merry face to ask for a two-pence?

I have walked the streets of London many times before, and the show that I see is always new, always ancient, always the same. The ancient stones, the old faces, the familiar sounds and smells, but never fully the same. There is always a new road to take, a street corner never before seen, or a pub never before visited, this is what creates the show that never ends, the London of all time. I have been to many a bookstore in London before, but I always find a book I never read, I have entered many a friendly pub, but I always find a beer never tasted.

To walk the halls of knowledge, art and history I find myself amazed at every turn. I never get bored of either Turner, Shakespeare or the marble halls of the British museum. When entering these great halls, I feel just like the kid I once was, and well, never grew out of, that for ever hungers for more of that abundance of knowledge.

I have, as oftentimes before, walked the streets of London, but these streets are for me not quite the same, not quite new, though, I know not what I will see.