We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

For years I’ve known that the ambition driving me has been, and continues to be, fairly destructive. However, I’ve not seen any easy way out; this really is the only way I know of to be me. I’ve dreamt of getting to a point in life where I could stop, just sit down for as long as it takes until I’ve found a new way, a new contract with myself.

But now it seems the choice has been forced upon me.

So what to do?

I’ll start here. There’s three things I need to put down, objectives to aim for the next 6 month, goals to keep in sight for the long run, and a set of aphorisms to steer by. These lists will probably be updated and updated as I go on, but that’s the point.

Objectives

• Sleep more.
• Get fit.
• Sing more.

Goals

• Get well (duh).
• A new contract. I must be able to have ambitions and dreams without paying this kind of price. It would be nice to be content with what I am, instead of what I do, or even worse, what I could do.

Aphorisms

• Change “must” for “want to” or “would like to”.
• Don’t be afraid to fail, or to appear weak; it’s only human.
• Never delay tasks that take less than a minute to do (you do have the time).
• Do stop and smell the flowers.

And I leave you tonight with a poem, in Swedish I’m afraid, that I remember from long time ago. This poem echoed in my soul once, to the point where I printed it on my first website. Perhaps it is time for me to see if I can find that young man, so desperate to sing, again.’Til next time, good night.

Jag har drömt… (Dan Andersson)
Jag har drömt jag skulle sjunga vad jag känner,
hur jag hatar, hur jag älskar, hur jag bannar, hur jag ber,
hur i vanvett jag flyr från mina vänner,
och i mörkret till den okände ber.

Jag har drömt att jag en visa skulle sjunga,
om alla själarnas fasor, alla himlarnas ljus,
om när all världen jag ser dansa och gunga
och darra i dåraktigt rus.

Jag har drömt, att när alla stjärnor skina,
över vildmark som viskar, vad i ensamheten hänt,
att alla vindar som kring tjärnlanden vina,
skulle lära mig att kväda vad jag känt.

Jag har drömt att en liten, liten kvinna,
skulle söva mig med visor, skulle smeka mig med skratt,
och när allt som jag byggt måste brinna,
skulle följa mig i elddopets natt.

Jag har tänkt att alla jagande åren,
som ha dödat det jag älskat, som ha stulit vad jag fått
skulle lära mig en visa om våren,
som har bott hos mig och bländat mig och gått.

Jag har trott att alla stormarna som rasat,
i min själ skulle blandas till en vansinnig sång.
Att där jag snavat över helvetet och fasat,
jag skulle lära mig dess visor en gång.

Men se mitt solur mot middagen skrider,
och aldrig har jag sjungit vad mitt hjärta har bett!
Skall jag sjunga först i dödsskuggans tider,
när det ändlösa mörkret jag har sett?

Skall jag leva tills jag lärt mig att smida
alla rosor, alla fasor till en levande ked,
som skall skälva som en rusig och glida
som en stråkton i dödsmörkret ned?

“I know a charm that can cure pain and sickness, and lift the grief from the heart of the grieving.”I know a charm that will heal with a touch.”I know a charm turn aside the weapon of any enemy.”I know another charm to free myself from all bonds and locks.”A fifth charm: I can catch an arrow in flight and take no harm from it.”A sixth: spells sent to hurt me will only hurt the sender.”A seventh charm I know: I can quench a fire simply by looking at it.”An eight: if any man hates me, I can win his frindship.”A ninth: I can sing the wind to sleep and calm a storm for long enough to bring a ship to shore.”These were the first nine charms I learned. Nine night I hung on the base tree, my side pierced with a spear’s point. I swayed and blew in the cold winds and the hot winds, without food, without water, a sacrifice of myself to myself, and the worlds opened before me.”For a tenth charm, I learned to dispel witches. to spin them around in the skies so that they will never find their way back to their own door again.”An eleventh: if I sing it when a battle rages it can take the warriors through the tumult unscathed and unhurt, and bring them safely back to their hearths and their homes.”A twelfth charm I know: if I see a hanged man I can bring him down from the gallows to whisper to us all he remembers.”A thirteenth: if I sprinkle water on a childs head, that child will not fall in battle.”A fourteenth. I know the names of all the gods. Every damned one of them.”A fifteenth: I have a dream of power, of glory, and of wisdom, and I can make people believe my dreams.”A sixteenth charm I know: if I need love I can turn the mind and heart of any woman.”A seventeenth, that no woman I want will ever want another.”And I know an eighteenth charm, and that charm is the greatest of all, and that charm I can tell to no man, for a secret that no one knows but you is the most powerful secret there can ever be.”

Kill for gain or shoot to maimBut we don’t need a reasonTo Golden Goose is on the looseAnd never out of seasonSome blackened pride still burns insideThis shell of bloody treasonHere’s my gun for a barrel of funFor the love of living deathThe killer’s breed or the Demon’s seed,The glamour, the fortune, the pain,Go to war again, blood is freedom’s stainBut don’t you pray for my soul anymore.2 minutes to midnight,The hands that treaten doom.2 minutes to midnight,To kill the unborn in the womb.The blind men shout “Let the creatures outWe’ll show the unbeliverers.”The napalm screams of human flamesOf a prime time Belsen feast … yeah!As the reasons for the carnage cut their meat and lick the gravyWe oil the jaws of the war machine and feed it with our babies.The killer’s breed or the Demon’s seed,The glamour, the fortune, the pain,Go to war again, blood is freedom’s stainBut don’t you pray for my soul anymore.2 minutes to midnight,The hands that treaten doom.2 minutes to midnight,To kill the unborn in the womb.The body bags and little rags of children torn in twoAnd the jellied brains of those who remain to put the finger right on youAs the madmen play on words and make us all dance to their songTo the tune of starving millions to make a better kind of gun.The killer’s breed or the Demon’s seed,The glamour, the fortune, the pain,Go to war again, blood is freedom’s stainBut don’t you pray for my soul anymore.2 minutes to midnight,The hands that treaten doom.2 minutes to midnight,To kill the unborn in the womb.MidnightMidnightMidnightIt’s all nightMidnightMidnightMidnightIt’s all night