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Posts tagged ‘pain’

Hurry


.

run, my child, run
run through the desert -never give up?
feel on your tongue the taste of many oasis
tell them you are coming with a prolonged and shrill howl
they will open their wombs to your charm
until you find the greenest
or the thirstiest

.

licking wounds with happy pills

After you have been at war, no matter if you have won or lost, you will be hit by some kind of depression, or better said, by a feeling of guilt and despair, of uneasiness. For many reasons, you will wonder about what caused this war in the first place; you will wonder about who you were before and after this battle, and even more how this battle affected the people you have around.

Take for example the king Dutugamunu, who did not shoot a single shot in the war, but went in to a depressive type of reaction soon after the Wijithapura battle; he got really fucked in the head for some time, but the king’s emotional worries were soon after healed by a monk. Read more

now

You are drowning.

The last thing your eyes see is her, down on her knees, palms against the bubble, crying -her lips mocking a constant

“NOOOO…
…NOOOO!!!”

You are drowning.

Read more

do something

The stench coming out of the monsters mouth is not nearly as strong as the fear petrifying your body. His breath is so repulsive that could knock you unconscious, but you are so scared to move, that you rather embrace the grossness of it before even blinking. You feel him behind you, breathing the stunge right next to you ear, salivating disgusting fluids, scratching your shoulders with his yellow teeth. When his paws approach your neck, you feel his nails cutting through the flesh of your throat before even touching you, the blood flowing down your chest before even cutting you.

You are terrified to death. Read more

dog days

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Plantasjen special: Hortensia 149 kr

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Beautiful Sunday morning in Plantasjen.

“Er du?…” She says, wondering.
“Ja!” l answer, eyes wide open.

Rush. Blood pumping fast.

There is an unspokable recognition between us. Beyond the smiles we are giving each other. She has seen plenty of women like me. I have seen just a handfull like her. She doesnt remember my name – l dont remember hers neither, but l do remember she is Turkish.

And l do remember she was the one stiching the hole on my head when l came to the womens shelter.

“We should take you to the E.R.” she had a worried look on her face “just in case of concusion”.

“No fucking way” l said out of fear.

Fear.

Fear will do serious shit to you. Fear can either paralize you, or can awaken your senses and make your reality cristal clear – clearer than pure iceberg water.

She is holding the weekly special on both hands – a beautiful hortensia – then she puts it down and walks one step closer to me. She wants to give me her full atention when she hugs me. She knows women like me understand the language og hugs in a very special way.

I welcome her and l feel my eyes begin to moist.

“Hvordan går det med deg, vennen?” She says with that harsh but sweet accent. “Du ser fantastisk ut. Og barna… Herregud er det… babyen?”

I nod.

She keeps staring at me with her hands on my shoulders. I update her briefly. She sees that baby is not baby anymore and that l am on top of the game again. I can see surprise on her eyes. Is not that all women that go through the shit l did, that manage to make it. Is not easy to leave the beautiful house, the boat, the fancy cars, the handsome husband, the travelling. Not easy to live in fear when fear paralyzes you.

I am one of the few ones that their fear eventually changed shift. The day l saw fear, not in my eyes, but in my children’s eyes. The day the blow was hard enough to crack my head against the closet. The day l discovered the animal part of me, the part that made me realize l was capable of killing.

I chose to run, instead, and l run to the krisesenteret.

My breast milk stopped for four days.
My hair felt off nearly all over.
My doctors continued treating my cancer.
My friends gave us shelter when we basically lived on the streets out of a suitcase and a pack of diapers for seven weeks.

I had no job, no home, no money, and no family… Just my children.

She recognized once the lioness on me. She did it then, and she does now. She knows they were my children the ones that made my fear change shift. She looks at them. She looks at me. She is proud – l am too.

Now are her eyes, the ones that are moist.

I have learnt to count my blessings every single day – l am, have been, and probably will always be, a deep spiritual person. So l count my blessings every day.

I realize my – our – life(s) has changed dramatically. This is not the first time l have gone through shit, and probably wont be the last one. The difference, now, lies in these two little people; on the strength they give me.

Seeing her made a rush of emotions, feelings, and thoughts to come afloat. I thought to pinch my arm in case l was dreaming.

Instead, l called Arthur.

“Tell me…”
“Æ ælske dæ”
“Say it again…”
“Æ ælske dæ, silvia”

And we hang up. That was it. Nothing more added.

There is this thing, with him, with us; like we don’t need to… inquire each other. There is this trust… He knows l may be up to something, but he doesn’t push. Neither do l. He knows l need him, but without questions, he gives me his full support, just with a sweet mms.

I love him. God l love him.

I count my blessings every day. For me, for my children.

Today?

Today l count them for all those women in fear. So one day, they are able to count them too.

“Er du?…”
“Ja!, JEG ER”.

Death in Venice (a can of worms story)

“silvia…” she hears again, “silvia…” she knows she shouldnt do this, she knows that. that is opening a can of worms. and despite, she rolls up her sleeves and sticks her hand on the water and palps the floor of the ocean and finds it.

she learnt in the big country that “l love you” and “l hate it” were two things people are not very discriminating about. they use it nonsensly. therfore, whenever she uses those words, she measures the situation and procures.

she hates this.

a can of worms. she is gonna open a can of worms and she hates it. an instant of doubt sinks in as fast as it disappears. 20 something years after all happened and there she is, again. “silvia…” she hears. and she doesnt want to hear it, but she can´t resist the temptation. she never did before, actually. she contemplates the can and salivates as much for emotions as for pain. she examines it… and remembers…

she hates to remember.

she remembers that she was pretty new at it, she still had that new-car smell on her skin. he initiated her on all the maters of the heart and the lust. he was Aschenbach in the lido island and she was the little boy he obsessed with while Mahler blasted in the air. he told her about other worlds, real and non real ones, through his books, his stories. he sweep her feet away and made her discover that part of herself that would determine her reality  forever.

but reality was poluted. and she didnt know. but he did. he was contaminated. he did know… something comes with the ignorance of a young age; but something comes with the evil of mature age too… he did know…

she stares at the can, imagines the worms inside, allowing them to make her feel. pain sinks in..t he feelings, the thoughts, the words, the touch of his fingers on her skin, the warmth of his lips on her tights, the bites on the back of her neck… but also the dissapontment, the excrutiating pain, the maddnes, the lies…

“silvia…” she hears…

as she stands up, she stares at the can and she wonders… what would it happen? what would happen if right now, a quater of a life-time after that happened, he came into her life, he just showed up again, in another form of live, and he lift his hand, surround her with his blue eyes and he said… “come”

“silvia…” she hears…

would she drop her bags, sink her shoulders, reach to him, hold his hand and jump off the ground one more time?…would she allow herself to be feel what he (and only him) made her feel? again? …would she?

“silvia…” she hears…

or.. would she look at him, take a deep breath, turn her back away and throw the can in the ocean as far away as it was nearly impossible to reach again?

….

she will allways know where the can is, anyway…