Redemption and to be forgiven

SVT1 aired a documentary/interview with Annika Östberg yesterday. Prior to this two other documentaries had shown her life, how she ended up where she did, but we didn't really get to hear her speak. She was asked if she had any regrets, and she said something down the lines of "of course, don't we all, but I'm more sad that my mistakes effected me in the ways they did, and effected other people the way they did". I found something in that, maybe not the obvious. The consequences are often what we're upset about. If the outcome is good we rarely concider it a mistake, it's a fortunate turn of events, a chance, a break.

The fact that she was locked up for as long as she was, 30 years or so also raised a few other trails of questioning in me. When are forgiven in a human perspective? I'll leave the divine to someone else that knows more about it than I do. I'm not interested in what she was convicted of in that sense either, but the crime involved was murder. She was present when two murders took place. (I'd like to add that she doesn't deny involvement, but she didn't pull the trigger). Either way it went down she was in a situation that cost two people their lives. Naturally the person the American authorities was more upset about was the police officer. But that's a whole other can of worms. So, basically, she spent 28 years in American prison and 2 years in Swedish prison and now she's in rehabilitation, a life rehab. I can't shake the feeling that there's no way to be forgiven. At the same time I know that locking me up with my own thoughts for 3 decades is more punishment than I could bear, especially if those thoughts are about my guilt for someone else's life. Is that humane? Or is the whole point that it's not supposed to be humane?

How do the families of the victims move on as long as the person that caused the dead of their loved ones is locked up, doesn't that create a neverending present? Losing family members and friends to death is something we'll all experiance, and yes sometimes it's lovely to have someone to blame. So I quickly jump onto the next lilly pad of, should we hold on to that pain forever? Maybe it's simple math. You're guilty and should beat yourself up for as long as the person whose life you took should be alive. Meaning that if you kill someone in their 60s your guilt is shorter than if you kill someone in their 20s. I'm not sure I like that equation though. Murder is the extreme of the harm people do to each other, isn't it? I'd like to think that he worst prison guard a person can have is oneself, but maybe that doesn't apply to everyone. I can only think that 30 years of your whole existance being the consequence of one fatal mistake is more harsh than a physical punishment. It is however possible that I think so only because I know what mind demons can do to a person. How to remain sane while having the worst representation of oneself being the entire you must be close to impossible.

Back to holding on to the greif. Of course I see the need to punish people for murder. But to what extent? What gives the families of these victims the right of the possibility to hold on it for so long? The period of grief after death is two years. I'm still within that period, technically. Would I like to be reminded of that death? No. Not at all. Would I like to be reminded of the death 11 years ago? No. The death 18 years ago? No. To hold on to all that anger for 30 years! That's impressive! How is that reminder helping the families. Perhaps I'll never fully understand it. I thought forgiving is divine. (Couldn't stay away from the divine, could I?) It brings yet another thing to mind; being the bigger person and accepting life as it happens.

What mistakes do, and the consequenses of them is that it seperates people into good and bad. Bad people are easy to identify. They're in prisons, they're homeless, they swear. Not quite. If it was that easy to seperate the good and the bad I would have had plenty more good nights than I can testify to. The sad bit in is that once you've been labeled as a bad person it's hard to get a chance to be a good one. You're forever stuck in the negative so to speak. You're going to be compensating for that bad thing you did. Simple example most of us have seen; the former drug addict going to schools telling the students how bad drugs are and all the things the drugs made him/her do. (Does anyone else recognize the line of "It started with a cigarette"?) Forever compensating for the bad with the good, and always being reminded of it. Just like a beggar is stuck compensating the money received with putting up with the disgusted looks from the givers.

By now it might seem that I think we should let all prison doors open and abolish all punishments, but that's not what I mean at all, I'm simply using crime as an example for things we all do. Every time you say "I'm sorry" you're compensating your bad.

Should we really be judged on our worst moments instead of our best ones? To me the answer is evident.

Ha, yes

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Quick question

Why do the summer hits always feature a ukulele? We all remember "I'm yours" by Jason Mraz, and now it seems if I may use the Spotify top list as a source that "Soul sister" by Train is heading in the same direction. Too similar to not be a plan.

Birthdays and holidays

We all know about astrology and numberology, but what about holidayology? To associate a person with the holiday closest to them. Not only on some kind of cosmic level, but a psychological one. One could stretch as far as to saying that the two are connected. But frankly, I don't want to.

To use myself as an example. I'm born in February and that makes Valentine's day the closest holiday, so I according to this value love and caring. See how it works? If you're born by Easter, you're sacrificial, Midsummer, well, you probably like drinking and socializing, Christmas could go two ways, you're wither giving or you hate family life. We all know both of them occur around Christmas. Hard break, because New Years is so close, but then you probably like starting new projects and people look to you for inspiration. It's all rather basic and such, I'm still working on it.

Is there any truth in this? Probably not. It'd be nice if it was like that. It's all depending on cultural context. Every country, every area, every family has own traditions, so it doesn't apply outside of that. I'd still like to think I'm a loving and lovable person though.

Pictures I wish I had taken, part two

What a wonderful world this could be,,,

...that is, if more things were the way I want them, or at least in close to a way I want them. There are a few things in this world that I find annoying. I'm presenting some to you, you know, just to be annoying.
- Bloggers who are passive aggressive and tries to provoke a reaction in someone else by tossing around their "point of view" and commonly ending it with "you know who you are".
- Self pitying blogposts. Boohoo, poor little you. I don't want to read about your misery. I have my own. Boohoo, poor little me.
- Bloggers that consistently use abbreviations of names of the people in their lives, such as being married to "K", having a best friend called "P" and two children named "R" and "T". You're probably on to something there, if you don't want to write their full names, due to respect, or privacy or whatever, you probably shouldn't be writing about them at all. Hm, can we agree on that? K, thanks.
- Blogs with musical backgrounds. How bloody annoying is that? My goodness. I much prefer to choose my own music and not have my ears blasted out by some jingle that really belongs on a cellphone from 1998.
- Pictures-of-yourself-blogs. Heh, sorry, I don't really want to see pictures of you doing all kinds of things that shouldn't be shown in public. Will someome please think of the children?! Even worse in this category is pictures of the plates of food before dinner. Why even blog about what you eat? Or wear for that matter. I should print some "Oh dear, I don't care" stickers and hand out.
- The fact that I read these blogs annoys me.
- The add on favors. You know what they are. You agree to pick something up at the store, or give someone a lift, and it turns into, a "oh while you're at it, would you please paint my house, massage my back, kiss my ass, make me dinner, solve all of life's mysteries, dye your hair so you're more attractive, take the dogs out and fill my car up with gas?"
- The fact that I let people add favors on to favors I'm already doing them.
- The fact that I add favors myself.
- 80's and 90's sitcoms and sitcoms with a middle aged men with narcessistic complex issues as the main character. It's simply not funny. Not funny. Well, it's kind of funny when they fall down and/or get kicked in the balls, I just wish they weren't faking it.
- Timing. It annoys me how I always manage to be either too early or too late, never just on time. Like right now. I started writing this because it was just a bit too long before I had to get going so I decided to start a post. Now I've spent way too much time looking up that picture up there that doesn't fully illustrate my point anyway, and typing random stuff that won't improve anyone's life at all, but I have to finish, so I'll be late. Seriously, it really is annoying.
- All my friends going places and I'm stuck doing the same thing.
- When people generalize.
- When I generalize.
- Pointless status updates on Facebook. Same goes there as for the blogs. I don't really care about what you ate for dinner, or will eat for dinner, or that you need to tinkle.
- The endless Farmville and Zoopark or whatever updates on Facebook in my status scroll.
- The amount of documentaries I manage to catch on TV every week.

Due to that whole being late stuff, I have to stop. It also annoys me that I have to go, I had so much more to complain about!

Someone's fallen and can't get up

I have a favorite joke, one I was first told when I was very young and it goes "once upon a time there were two tomatoes out for a walk. Then they came to a big road and decided to cross it, while they were in the middle of the street a giant truck comes and runs over one of the tomatoes. Then the other tomato says 'come on ketchup let's go'". It can seem like a rather crass thing to say when your friend is laying there, crushed on the pavement, but in reality, well as real as a silly childhood joke can get the tomato that's still a ripe full tomato is doing it's ketchupy friend a favor. It's saying "You're not a tomato anymore, but you're something else, and you're still my friend and I still want you to come along." It's also acknowleding that something has happened, that it's friend has changed.

Often in times of major changes it's easy for friends, relatives, co-workers, employers and such to try to overlook it because of their own unwillingness to deal with the subject, and whoever is having a crisis is expected to come out of it exactly the way they went into it. That's not how it goes. Life happens to all of us and it changes us. The one that remains exactly the same throughout life is doing something seriously wrong. It doesn't mean that you become someone completely different, just that you're a more evolved version of yourself.

So, when our friends fall down and life slaps them in the face, it's not all about saying "it's ok", it's also about saying "my goodness, you're ketchup now and you're needed and loved just as much for what you've become as you were for what you were before". Ignoring the fall is close to lying. You can't tell ketchup that it's a plumb cherry tomato with spring in it's step.

Confession and acceptance

Sacrificing yourself and confessing your sins is a much cleaner version than cleansing yourself in blood, a more civilized way of being filthy. It really comes down to what God is, and how that God sees us as. Does he love us as a parent or does he love us as prodigies, something that needs to be improved to live up to a certain standard to be accpetable. Basically, is life a long audition to get into heaven or do we already have the part as one of God's children?

For being someone that doesn't really belive in God I do spend an awful lot of time thinking about religion. I read, I listen, I ponder, yet I don't seem to be any wiser as to what God really is. Just like a couple with trouble might need an outside therapist to look at their issues objectivly I've started to lean against seeing myself as a counselor between those who believe but don't seem to have a clear picture of what God is. Don't worry, I don't have hybris, I just like discussing.

My head is getting sore just thinking about what God is, because most of the time he does come off as quite schitzo, punishing and forgiving, everywhere and nowhere, a father and a son. But I suppose that is what happens when you try to fuse together all the previous beliefs into one semipersonlified creature. This complexity also presents another issue; God isn't the same to everyone. I can't help but wonder, if something is real, shouldn't there be a clear picture of what that is? By saying "that is what God is to me" aren't we ourselves presenting ourselves as God by default?

Either way, back to go sins and making a deal with God, when you're trying to negotiate with God aren't you really just reasoning with yourself? You present something you want and you're offering a sacrifice in return, your own wellbehaved being. In being good you will get good, that's the idea. Then, if life isn't an audition and we're all accepted because we're God's children, what's the point? Perhaps God just serves as a conscience when we're unable to give ourselves credit or maybe we're just not willing to grow up and accept the consequences of life fully. When things are hard we are being punished for something, and when it's good we're rewarded. Another point in this is the love. I hope the love is constant, the way a parent's love for a child should be.

It's possible as a child to break your parent's heart, over and over, but I hope it's not possible to take away from the love flow. When you do as your parents want they reward you with acceptance, when you don't, they punish you. Is God as simple as the love from a parent?

Forgive me Father, I am a sin.

The Knit and his white fluffy ball

Once upon a time there was a tiny kitten called Snowball. His human simply called him The kitten, which turned intoKnittnen, and then The Knit was the next logical step (to the extent that humans use logic), which is how he's usually called upon these days. Or Knitbutt on informal occations.

Early in his days, days that started in summer of 2003 he got a white fluffy ball to play with. He loved it so dearly, wholeheartedly, it was always his favorite toy. Time passed, he continued playing, with all sorts of things. Twist ties, milk caps, strings, sticks, an occational sock, all while he was so utterly adored he got to follow to another country.

His people bought him a house where tiny things like a white fluffy ball is easily lost, so occationally he lost it. At other times it was stolen away from him, cleaned and left to dry on a radiator. "No, Knit, it's so nasty, let me clean it" she used to say, that person that insists on picking him up and kiss him until he can't breathe and he has to fight his way out of her grip.

Somewhere down the line he also got a baby brother. A Milo. The Milo is a messy cat and plays even more than the Knit. They wrestle and tumble and share all sorts of things, including that white fluffy ball. If the Knit could have had it fully his way he wouldn't have shared it at all, but the Milo can be so sickly cute and tricks the Knit into sharing his toys. Plus the praise he gets for sharing is wonderful. The cat's human is big on things being fair, even if she doesn't have to share much herself, just the bed, the floor, the bathtub, the tables, the counter and chairs. Oh, the food as well. The Knit's reasoning is that she shares this with humans anyway, so sharing with a cat is no chore at all.

The Knit didn't care how dirty his little white fluffy ball was, it was always so great to rub all over his black shiny face. He still doesn't care. It's on days like today when the white fluffy ball has resurfaced after a while lost he remembers why it's his favorite toy and why it's so great to have a baby brother Milo to admire him in his playful lovetossing of a white fluffy ball from his own baby days.

What the heck

Another example of the same soundmat.

Those were the days

Some songs are themesongs. This is one of those and I claim it as mine. You can share it if you really must, but please don't. There are certain things I respond to, the bass being one, and this song, cupcakes, has one of the soundmats I base a lot of my other favorites on. Doesn't matter if you don't use the term "soundmat" the way I do. I still know what I mean.

On the topic of love, for Molly

The other week my professor going on about the different ways to comparatively relate to the I in the text and the rest. It goes something like "The I and the world", "The I and the I", "The I and the language" and the "I and ideals". I can't quite remember because I didn't fully agree, a bad tendency I have is to not always listen when I don't agree. But either way they can be applied to other arenas as well. Today for instance, this post is "The I and the I and the you". But more honestly "The I and the I", because what I feel is something that I hold myself, and can't really be shared. That doesn't necessarily mean that noone understands. There's always someone that understands, like I've said a thousand times, the worst things you can do is assume that you're that special that noone can relate to you. Neither am I. However, right this very second I'm just plain me, stripped down and emptied. Not because of lack, no no, but because I have nowhere to put it. The voids in me aren't the adequate containers, so I must turn the heat down and just simmer for a while. So rational, darling Molly, do you drown yourself in rationality when you let go of all other things you could possibly hold on to? Yes, indeed I do. Simply because I know what's on the other side I attatch myself to the rational part like an overcooked noodle to hair. Now be quiet so I can continue being rational.

Love is when happy things make you cry, when a tickle makes you so angry you want to throw up. Love is when you know that sometimes love is not enough. Love is accepting that you can't be the air that someone breathes, the only thought, the understanding that you can't be everything to someone else. Because surely, you're not enough even for yourself, are you? Love is when you pout because you ruined your own suprise, just because you know someone well enough to know when they're planning a surprise. Love is being able to pout, but also being able to give something up for someone else. Love doesn't complete you, it doesn't make you whole, it's simply the water when you're thirsty, but once that desire is satisfied it's due to come back. What might have seemed like a wind up doll gets worn out and you must try harder, and the harder you try the bigger your perspective gets, and those details aren't only details but the essence of the life you built. Together.

Later, you'll find that for some reason the building blocks started to crack, way down there in the foundation, while you were piddling on top so you must dive down, deep under the sea to see to them. In doing that, someone must stay at the surface to make sure the whole building doesn't collapse. No more sorting the very top then. Even if not in the same place the same goal is at sight, even when it might not feel like it when you have your head buried in the sand.

Even though it's hard to, you're able to, you have to as failure is not an option. I don't fail. I fall down and break bones, but only because it's part of the game. And while I see other constallations just starting, others thriving, some treading carefully, some one sided, some including lies, I avoid looking at myself and just what it is that I have. Or had. Or will have. That is something I do in fact have at the moment, past tense, present and futurum. Basically life and love are grammatical errors about timing and chances.

It's all texts and textures, interchangeable but irreplacable. So maybe later, one day you'll help me change the textiles, I can't quite reach myself, and I know you don't like me climbing on stuff, you know, due to my tendency to fall down.

Happy Easter!

I wish all of you a happy easter. And remember what came first, the egg way before the chicken. Dinosaurs laid eggs after all. Plus the chicken crossed the road because it felt like it.

This holiday will be spent doing nothing productive. I'll watch too many cartoons and kiss the cats too much. The perfect pasttime.

Dumbo

It wasn't that long ago I realized just how old the movie Dumbo is. The marketing department of Disney is doing great work, as it wasn't long after that realization it was rereleased on dvd, and ever since I heard that I've been having a whiny little voice in me wanting to get it. What my little whiny voice tells me usually leaks whininess out of my mouth so here I am, fresh from watching it. I do understand whole heartedly why it made me cry when I was a child, it still does. The scene where he happily walks up to the children that are mocking him, simply because he doesn't understand it breaks my heart. It never fails.

Isn't that the perfect example of what we all fear in the emotional retardedness in the world? To walk into it, unguarded and unexpectedly being the one laughed at, the one excluded and the joke told. Or maybe not all of us fear it at all, perhaps some never think like that and deem me weird for shattering when I sense a repulsive atmosphere of mockery. When I interrupt a topic even when I've been quiet because I feel that brick wall approaching or how my stomach turns when I see a child walking with its head bent in front of a group of other kids. Only those ones that have been in that position knows it's always worse to walk in front than after. Walking behind you know what they're doing and if they're looking at you, if you walk in front you don't have that luxury, nor do you know if you can turn around and see if they're still there.

My claws come out and I growl from voids I don't like exposing when I can do something about it. I make it a point to speak to those who aren't spoken to and stand in the way if I can to take the heat. It's at those times when I know that an "it's ok, it's not your fault" would be too much, and a "hello" would be too little I want to tear my hair out.

I've read too much on bullying and I don't care about the argument of that it's the offender that's the real victim, and that they learn that behaviour from home. It's sad yes, but being treated badly is never an excuse for doing the same thing to someone else. The classic idea of two wrongs don't make a right. Some lack the depth of understanding how others feel. If you don't like something done to you, why on earth would you want to put someone else through that? Is it the whole misery loves company bit? And oh yes, I wish I could say it's "just" children, we all know it's not true. It happens everywhere, at universities, workplaces, online communities and sports clubs. There are times where I doubt that mankind is capable of in fact being kind.

Being sweet will never get you half as far in life as being mean, but I much rather be able to live with myself and up to my own ideals, I just can't ignore that stabbing feeling or faces turned around, a person trying to turn the other cheek even if the cheeks are vastly outnumbered by the amount of slaps handed out by those who just couldn't care less. There are many ways to break someone's spirit and that's a crime I hope I never commit. If I've done it to you, I apologize and I'm truly sorry.

Sometimes, yeah

What on earth happened to YouTube?

Peek a boo - you scared the living daylight out of me

So, let me get this right; it's April. Again. I suppose it's time to put the turtlenecks and coats away. The suede shoes and scarves and hats, my mittens and the knitted socks. Open up the blinds and tilt my head so that they rays of the sun can catch my ill-looking white skin. I'll get a facial, a wax and a new dress. I'll walk on my tippy toes skipping by the puddles swinging my bag. Put everything else aside and feel the weight of my earrings when I flip my flowing hair over my shoulder.

Does anyone believe me? Good. Wouldn't want you to be suckers.

Why change myself when the season does? Is it September yet? I wish you a happy April fools day.