Dikt
~ av Aasa


du har ord jeg ikke kan gullmale
de bare dirrer i luften
som svevende spurver og øyenstikkere
med florlette vinger

de glimrer i tanken på alt
som førte til dem
og jeg smiler mens jeg legger
dem ned en etter en
etter en etter en
rundt min hodepute
og sovner inn
omringet
av deg

for en gang skyld er virkeligheten bedre
enn min egen fantasi


....


jeg hører ordene hun sier under bokstavene
de klinger hardt og spisst og vil stå øverst på hylla
mine er tomme
jeg slipper dem og lar dem falle
rundt meg som bokstavkjeks i en bunnløs suppe
uten tanke på hvorfor og hva
til de mister form og betydning
og jeg bare er


....................................
....................................


I:


sjelen min er ensomme hurtigtog som
drønner inn i veggene og jeg
sitter og ser på dem har
hoppet av og tatt et godt tak
i stueveggen men de sliter
sin enorme fart for å kantre mot
deg og dine ord
det henger lengsel i lyngen og
alt rundt oss er fullt av dugg
ordene dine er langsomme og mine
også mens jeg fortsatt setter
fri togene på
supersoniske smellturer
jeg er ikke med jeg har hoppet
av
jeg står her
rolig
og smiler til deg
og holder
ut
all denne virkeligheten
hvem av oss vil først knekke
sammen?

..............

II:

jeg leser brev som
kommer fra
going4u og superlover
svømmende seler bakser med finnene
rundt meg
i elskovssyke grynt
mot havets salthet
jeg må jo bare smile
mens jeg venter
et par dager til
jeg ønsker
å knekke alle ordene dine sammen til små kjekssmuler og løse dem opp i mine varme hender

jeg øver meg på å vente


----

III:

jeg, du og stillheten sier du
og jeg blir dobbeltsjarmert
du dytter mugger fulle av saft ned i øynene mine jeg nyter hvert tak
det dukker opp
som svalende kampsport mellom
oss vi sitter stille og betrakter
ordene
det er en kjærlighetsløgn
for jeg kjenner deg
ikke
men jeg kan allikvel
ikke sove lenger

....

IV:

flommer av lyst
til å ta et sugerør
og slurpe i meg hele deg pent og stille
med en vennlig borgerfruemine
men med intens kraft
fra mine lunger
eksplosivt innadgående åndedrett
som en kannibalsk hyllest til den ukjente kjærligheten

.....

V:

du bruker mange
utropstegn
jeg plukker dem opp
som små hemmelige gester
og gjemmer dem i lommene
sakte
mens jeg ser farts-stripene etter mine
gamle hurtigtog suse forbi
jeg er ikke lenger
passasjer
jeg sitter kun i ordløse svar på
mitt soveroms perrong
og nyter den spennende stillheten mellom oss
mens jeg smiler
forsiktig
i veggen

....

VI:

det øynene dine skjuler
taler et språk kun
synet mitt forstår
det synger
varmt og svalt
det spraker av hemmelghetene dine
der inne
jeg liker å se på det i øynene dine
som jeg ikke skjønner

....................................
....................................


et sammenflettet, hardt nøste
så mange timer
alene
men minnet om perlende latter
denne lille
som sovnet inn mens hun sang
bløte, redde, sterke, ømme hender
mor


....


du legger kampesteiner i
synet mitt tvinger bøyer vil ta tak og
klemme til jeg ikke har mine ord til
dine hender former
trærne som omgir verden vil bite til
meg at jeg skal se vil
mure brønn der så jeg
synes synd snakke til
meg stumt bak fastlåste
metaforer for din
egen tomhet for at
du
skal eksistere vil strekke meg
lengre
til jeg er en tom landevei
slik dengang da jeg var uten ord
bare for deg

....


Der sitter du
ca ti centimeter til venstre
blå jakke
svart genser
blondt hår
det er en reise som kan ta evigheter
og som jeg ikke ønsker
å legge ut på
lengre
jeg vil la deg bli sittende der
mens jeg reiser meg opp og går
ut av vinduet
opp stigen
bort og bakenfor
sjulet
vedhuset
under trappen
alle stedene vi lekte gjemsel
da vi var små
og du ba oss komme inn til middag

....


du sitter der som tyngende våt sand vil ete
meg opp med sugende drøvel puster
og slynger luften din i støt
rundt halsen min som en slimete
frosketunge

pusten din peide å eie tankene mine

Jeg putter timeglasset ned i sprekkene
på badet ditt så det knaser i margen og sand tyter
ut innimellom så pakker jeg kofferten med mine
innvoller
som fugemasse for sjelen

om jeg løper raskt nok kan jeg nok komme dit
hvor pusten din ikke høres lenger


.........................................................


det er en sjanse jeg må ta det
er stille mens jeg venter
fortsatt på ham gir ham det
frivillig i hans hender ligger nå steinen
det skal en mann til for å ta den opp

....


Jeg smuldrer sakte foran
deg kyssene dine sier det
usagte du smiler rekker ut
hender muntre ord som aldri
leter ønsker du ikke mer?

Snart er det for sent
å finne for det å vente krever
for mye
Derfor forsvinner jeg foran
deg derfor er jeg langt borte
Når jeg er nær


....


det er ordølse mord som skjer
med gjerningsløse mordere uten offer

jeg forbanner min egen intensitet
mens jeg brutalt
og målbevisst spikker bort øynene dine
som har satt seg fast
i halsgropen min

vi peser i gresset jakter med blikket etter
noen i den andre
enden som kan forløse oss fra vår
egen ubetydelighet i mengden la et
par øyne et
øyeblikk si
Du er til

....


hun bøyer seg ned
børster vekk huden
varsomt
ser tilbake inn i øynene
vet at denne gangen heller ikke

og alltid dette
lete etter svaret som ikke finnes

Presenting Åsa the lamb

Åsa the lamb, named after yours truly.
Born 8 nov. 2007
Isnt she beautiful?
Åsa the lamb is described by her caretaker as stubborn, hungry, talkative(baaa ba ba baaaa), a bit of an attentionwhore, and sweet as a lamb. And I think she has the cutest ears ever!














And she is obviously quite the fighter. When she was born her mother was was sick and couldn´t feed her. And later, when she got better again, the mother continued to kick her away. But Åsa didn´t give up, and kept her struggle, where most lambs (according to her caretaker) would just have given in a sulked away!
A girl with guts - Yay for her!

Eternity

The following passage is from Smilla's sense of Snow, a 1992 novel by Danish author Peter Høeg. A strange mystery that involves a child's murder and an eerie trip to Greenland. The book is also made into a film, casting Julia Ormond

"Do you know what the foundation of mathematics is? ...
The foundation of mathematics is numbers. If anyone asked me what makes me truly happy, I would say: numbers. Snow and ice and numbers. And do you know why?
Because the number system is like human life. First you have the natural numbers. The ones that are whole and positive. The numbers of a small child. But human consciousness expands. The child discovers a sense of longing, and do you know what the mathematical expression is for longing?

The negative numbers. The formalization of the feeling that you are missing something. And human consciousness expands and grows even more, and the child discovers the in-between spaces. Between stones, between pieces of moss on the stones, between people. And between numbers. And do you know what that leads to? It leads to fractions. Whole numbers plus fractions produce rational numbers. And human consciousness doesn't stop there. It wants to go beyond reason. It adds an operation as absurd as the extraction of roots. And produces irrational numbers.

It's a form of madness. Because the irrational numbers are infinite. They can't be written down. They force human consciousness out beyond the limits. And by adding irrational numbers to rational numbers, you get real numbers.

Because now, on the spot, we expand the real numbers with imaginary square roots of negative numbers. These are the numbers we can't picture, numbers that normal human consciousness cannot comprehend. And when we add the imaginary numbers to the real numbers, we have the complex number system. The first number system in which it's possible to explain satisfactorily the crystal formation of ice. It's like a vast, open landscape. The horizons. You head towards them and they keep receding."

~ Taken from "Miss Smilla's Feeling for Snow" by Peter Høeg
Click here for a film clip of the mathematics scene.

Images:
1: Ouroboros- ancient symbol for eternity / cyclicality m.m
2: The infinity symbol introduced in 1655 by John Wallis (1616-1703).
3: Celtic symbol for the cycles of man - Birth, Death, Eternity.

Words I like:
English:
Lush, adore, melancholy, highway, lover, dust, tender, moist, sweet, mystery, forest, deeper, grass, ocean, fields, dream, dew, skin, soft, ambiguous, freedom, sizzeling, fever, burning.
Spanish:
Libelula, Alama, sensuál, mañana, fragilidad, paloma, la luna, sentido, silenzioso, passión, amor, cielo.
Norwegian:
Hemmelighet, naken, dyp, bølger, myk, himmel, vann, lidenskap, nær, varme, erotisk, hud, slør, tåke, dugg, skimre, lengsel.

My heritage

My grandmother

My mother in front of the sign of the place of our roots - Bergem

"To learn is to find out what you already know.
To act is to show that you know it.
To teach is to let others know, that they know these things just as well as you do"

Life is some good shit ;-)
~Aasa

“Most schools teach children to be unimaginative…Many teachers think of children as immature adults. It might lead to better teaching if we thought of adults as atrophied children. Many ‘well-adjusted’ adults are bitter, uncreative, frightened, unimaginative, rather hostile people (anyone you know fit this description?). Instead of assuming they were born that way, or that that’s what being an adult entails, we might consider them as people damaged by their education and upbringing.”
-Keith Johnstone

Dieing to see them

Norwegian poetry II

I have to apologice to the english speaking readers.
This is a norwegian poet, that really hit me hard with some of his poetry.
So I really want to share it here in my blog with those of you who can read it. I feel these tree verses are a beautiful, raw verbal expression of deeper love.

Fra samlingen "Hit skulle det ha kommet noen flere"
~ av Aksel Selmer

Igjen treffer mørket oss med limousinfart
igjen blir vi sittende i et hjørne
med en blek mynt i lommen festen er over
min kjære og du ser på meg som om
noen har pisset i din sjels cabriolet
men det er nå vi må holde fast ved
vår lille plasterlapp vi har kun vår
rike melankoli vår blå meditasjon
kom la oss slå opp vårt telt i stillheten

kom la oss slå opp vårt telt i stillheten
og stå hverandre til tjeneste
som to dråper vann på et sølvfat
vi hadde selve holdepunktet i hånden
da vi innstiftet vår lidenskap
i skyggen av sommerfuglens ruiner
nå er mørket her igjen med sin duft
av risiko og salt kom min elskede
det er nå vi må utarte vår kjærelighet

det er nå vi må utarte vår kjærlighet
la våre kropper forsones i en genital kubisme
og gjøre oss tilgjengelige
for de mest krevende solstikk
det er nå jeg vil ha deg på tungen
selv om dine øyne er bakbundet
av kaos og dine fingre er innstilt
på flukt kan vi når som helst
innta vår spacecamp kom kjære
la oss kaste vår bleke mynt i brønnen

Å gjøre tam

a beautiful passage from "The little prince" worth a read


This is from one of my favourite books, "The Little Prince" by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry Hope you´ll enjoy the read, I recommend it warmheartedly
~ Aasa

Chapter 20:
...

But it happened that after walking for a long time through sand, and rocks, and snow, the little prince at last came upon a road. And all roads lead to the abodes of men.

"Good morning," he said.

He was standing before a garden, all a-bloom with roses.

"Good morning," said the roses.

The little prince gazed at them. They all looked like his flower.

"Who are you?" he demanded, thunderstruck.

"We are roses," the roses said.

And he was overcome with sadness. His flower had told him that she was the only one of her kind in all the universe. And here were five thousand of them, all alike, in one single garden!

"She would be very much annoyed," he said to himself, "if she should see that . . . She would cough most dreadfully, and she would pretend that she was dying, to avoid being laughed at. And I should be obliged to pretend that I was nursing her back to life--for if I did not do that, to humble myself also, she would really allow herself to die. . ."

Then he went on with his reflections: "I thought that I was rich, with a flower that was unique in all the world; and all I had was a common rose. A common rose, and three volcanoes that come up to my knees--and one of them perhaps extinct forever . . . That doesn't make me a very great prince . . ."

And he lay down in the grass and cried.

It was then that the fox appeared.
"Good morning," said the fox. "Good morning," the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing. "I am right here," the voice said, "under the apple tree."

"Who are you?" asked the little prince, and added, "You are very pretty to look at."
"I am a fox," the fox said.
"Come and play with me," proposed the little prince. "I am so unhappy."
"I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."
"Ah! Please excuse me," said the little prince.
But, after some thought, he added: "What does that mean--'tame'?"
"You do not live here," said the fox. "What is it that you are looking for?"
"I am looking for men," said the little prince. "What does that mean--'tame'?"
"Men," said the fox. "They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?"
"No," said the little prince. "I am looking for friends. What does that mean--'tame'?"
"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. It means to establish ties."
"'To establish ties'?"
"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . ."
"I am beginning to understand," said the little prince. "There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me . . ."
"It is possible," said the fox. "On the Earth one sees all sorts of things."
"Oh, but this is not on the Earth!" said the little prince.
The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious.
"On another planet?"
"Yes."
"Are there hunters on that planet?"
"No."
"Ah, that is interesting! Are there chickens?"
"No."
"Nothing is perfect," sighed the fox.
But he came back to his idea.
"My life is very monotonous," the fox said. "I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . ."

The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.

"Please--tame me!" he said.
"I want to, very much," the little prince replied. "But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand."
"One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox. "Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . ."
"What must I do, to tame you?" asked the little prince.
"You must be very patient," replied the fox. "First you will sit down at a little distance from me--like that--in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . ."

The next day the little prince came back.

"It would have been better to come back at the same hour," said the fox. "If, for example, you come at four o'clock in the afternoon, then at three o'clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o'clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites . . ."

"What is a rite?" asked the little prince.

"Those also are actions too often neglected," said the fox. "They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours. There is a rite, for example, among my hunters. Every Thursday they dance with the village girls. So Thursday is a wonderful day for me! I can take a walk as far as the vineyards. But if the hunters danced at just any time, every day would be like every other day, and I should never have any vacation at all."

So the little prince tamed the fox. And when the hour of his departure drew near--

"Ah," said the fox, "I shall cry."
"It is your own fault," said the little prince. "I never wished you any sort of harm; but you wanted me to tame you . .
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"But now you are going to cry!" said the little prince.
"Yes, that is so," said the fox.
"Then it has done you no good at all!"
"It has done me good," said the fox, "because of the color of the wheat fields." And then he added:
"Go and look again at the roses. You will understand now that yours is unique in all the world. Then come back to say goodbye to me, and I will make you a present of a secret."

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."

And the roses were very much embarassed.

"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or ever sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.

And he went back to meet the fox.

"Goodbye," he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . ."
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.

Read more in "The Little Prince"

Haiku

Shiki, Masaoka

After killing
a spider, how lonely I feel
in the cold of night!

Night; and once again,
the while I wait for you, cold wind
turns into rain

Basho, Matsuo

No one travels
Along this way but I,
This autumn evening

Takahama, Kyoshi:

He says a word,
and I say a word - autumn
is deepening

A gold bug -
I hurl into the darkness
and feel the depth of night

Etsujin

Covered with the flowers,
Instantly I'd like to die
In this dream of ours!

Issa

A giant firefly:
that way, this way, that way, this -
and it passes by

~ Unknown

Early morning sun.
heartbeat against
my shoulder

Quote

"It's a Jewish parable that a friend of mine told me.
These two friends are condemned to death. But the king, he liked them and he didn't want to kill them. So, instead, he tied a thin rope across this abyss. And he told them both to walk over the rope. Whoever made it to the other side would be allowed to live.
So the first one walked over the rope and he makes it safely to the other side. And after he made it, his friend yells out to him, "How did you do it?" And the other guy answered,
"I have no idea. All I know is that whenever my weight pulled me to one side, I leaned to the other."

~From the series "In treatment"

Photographers for inspiration
Suggestions for other photograhpers to add? Don´t hesitate to comment!
Some of these links are broken. I am sorry, I will fix it very soon.

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Diane Arbus
Accepting and warm view into the world of the different ones

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Miguel Rio Branco
Master of color

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David Lachapelle

Popculture with a critical selfview

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Mario Giacomelli
Graphic estetics

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Salvador DalíSurrealism at its best
(Didn´t find a good example link here, tell me if you do)
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W Eugene Smith
Master of analogue manipulation

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Jose ortiz Echagüe
A visit to the past

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Catala Roca
Light, perfectionism and realism

¨¨°º©©º°°º©©º°¨¨¨¨°º©©º°°º©©º°¨¨¨¨°º©©º°°º©©º°¨¨¨¨°º©©º°°º©©º°¨¨

Not a pretty girl

An other song...
with very simple lyrics...but still I adore it.
~ by the beloved Ani Difranco.

I am not a pretty girl
that is not what I do
I ain't no damsel in distress
and I don't need to be rescued
so put me down punk
maybe you'd prefer a maiden fair
isn't there a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere

I am not an angry girl
but it seems like I've got everyone fooled
every time I say something they find hard to hear
they chalk it up to my anger
and never to their own fear
and imagine you're a girl
just trying to finally come clean
knowing full well they'd prefer you
were dirty and smiling

and I am sorry
I am not a maiden fair
and I am not a kitten stuck up a tree somewhere

and what if there are no damsels in distress
what if I knew that and I called your bluff?
don't you think every kitten figures out how to get down
whether or not you ever show up

I am not a pretty girl
I don't want to be a pretty girl
no I want to be more than a pretty girl

~ Ani DiFranco

Download this song

Download other songs by Ani DiFranco

"Lengsel når stillheten kommer"
(The longing that comes with silence)
Comments about the photos are welcome
~ Aasa

et sammenflettet, hardt nøste
så mange timer
alene
men minnet om perlende latter
denne lille
som sovnet inn mens hun sang
bløte, redde, sterke, ømme hender
mor





















"Mother"
Comments about the photos (or lyrics) are welcome
~ Aasa

Midnight landscape

~ by Aasa Bergem

Twin Peaks quote:

COOPER
Roger, I know the move I'm supposed to make. And I
know the board.
HARDY
So ...
COOPER
I've done a lot of thinking. And I've started to focus out
beyond the end of the board. On a bigger game.
HARDY
What 'game'?

COOPER
The sound wind makes through the pines. The sentience
of animals. The last thought of a homeless man before he
takes a night's sleep. What we fear in the dark. And
what's beyond the dark.
HARDY
What the hell are you talking about?
COOPER
I'm talking about seeing beyond fear, Roger. About
looking at the world with love.
HARDY
Cooper, you're liable to be extradited for murder and
drug trafficking -
COOPER
That's something I can't control

You
Your voice comes through the cellphone
there is almost no coverage
the metallic sound of your voice
broken up into little parts
"It doesnt carry through" - I shout into the phone
"I cannot hear you!
I cannot hear you!"

Edith Piaf

NON, JE NE REGRETTE RIEN
Paroles: Michel Vaucaire, musique: Charles Dumont, enr. 10 novembre 1960

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, ni le mal
Tout ça m'est bien égal
Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
C'est payé, balayé, oublié
Je me fous du passé

Avec mes souvenirs
J'ai allumé le feu
Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs
Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux
Balayés mes amours
Avec leurs trémolos
Balayés pour toujours
Je repars à zéro

Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait, ni le mal
Tout ça m'est bien égal
Non, rien de rien
Non, je ne regrette rien
Car ma vie
Car mes joies
Aujourd'hui
Ça commence avec toi...