December 2006

So I wrote the above, posted, said to myself what an idiot and went home. As I was driving home, I thought about why is it that I’m angry at myself for writing what I write? For talking about the things that do not exist, for making up things out of nothing, when all it […]

It is a nice view outside my office window. Usually. A view of a car park, but framed into the autumn colourful things…few trees here and there, and a perspective to the nearby hill, covered in the wild woods… But as days getting shorter, evenings come earlier, it is darkness already and I’m still in

So kill me for I wanted to talk. I wanted to talk and there was no one to listen…so I talked…strange how sometimes our words become stuck inside for long time, like for ever. And then suddenly they burst through the silence and we are having difficulties to shut up…and it doesn’t even have to