This head is over full, and it is irritable. It seems impossible to make peace, with anyone and anything. There is no harmony. My homework makes me cry. We’re pulling apart poems, dissecting text, and there is still the nagging feeling that this only tells us more about ourselves than the people we are researching. I can believe what I want. I can see what I want. Create any picture in my mind. The power of words is not in the hands of the writer.

I have just opened a block of Mexican drinking chocolate and this mini kitchen has filled itself with the smell of raw sugar and cinnamon. I am eating breakfast in Oaxaca in a market full of roasting meat, pineapples and short round ladies selling toasted cicadas. There is chaos and it is beautiful.

It has been another satisfying day, despite having spent so much of it in front of the computer. Me and Karin Boye are fighting over pages but the essay is slowly growing. People are giving and my heart is full of love again. Imogen heap provides the soundtrack to a silent evening. She is fanciful and there is only me and my machine. We sit and watch tiny pricks of light float by.  A thousand people on their way. The motorway crosses my window and I can’t help but wonder what the rush is? Where are these peoples dreams? Each car is a chain of though, speeding into obscurity. Each one a word of worth, if only you can capture it.

There is no such thing as a rounded human being. We do not attain our skills as wines develop notes and flavours. Keeping us bottled up in a cool cellar for twenty five years does NOT improve the end product. On the contrary.  Human beings should be likened to cheese. We need to be stored carefully for a while, but it is introduction to foreign cultures which improves the product.

This weekend has been spent in an attempt to regain some control. Yesterday I was lucky enough to be described as a racing car  in the red.  And the red is a dangerous place to be. Perhaps it is true. Focus was lost in an attempt to please too many masters. When in reality the only master should be myself. Self however, is a troubling concept. Because self and ish keep sliding closer together and the predicted result of such a meeting would be shelf. The weight of  what is good for me, and of what is good for those around me (or even society as a whole) are figures I have yet to set on the scale. There is an incessant danger that one takes a step too far in either direction and renders oneself useless.

But how much should one really attempt to do? And for what purpose? And according to who’s rules? In all honesty I do not believe the battle against the ’system’ can be won. The system has become to abstract and widespread to destroy. So then the question is whether we should focus on the individuals or the society. The answer to that questions depends so entirely on a persons upbringing that there can be no right or wrong answer.

For friends who’s own lands are rife with clearer corruption and violence, it is perhaps easier to say ’society’. For those who have a sense of belonging (which does not necessarily mean nationalism, rather, national identity) then society seems like a natural choice. There it seems plausible that one can do something for the greater good. But for those with no genuine sense of belonging where should we direct our attention? The individual, the community and the society all need attention, however, without a goal, and without that sense of ‘home’ it is possible to give until breaking point without making any considerable difference.

I have made a choice, and this is to help the individual. It is possible, that by helping the individual it will be possible to help the masses. One focused mind can help others to bloom (or mouldy cheese if it helps to maintain the simile.) But to help the individual one must also know how to help ones self.

Advice is foolishly given if the advisor does not them self feel stable. Advice is foolishly taken if not considered as another cultured mould which could change life’s flavour.  However, advice is completely worthless without any action. We give, we receive, and we grow. In some direction. But in the light of all advice, from young and old and I can but say maturity is a misnomer. Because none are ever so softly rounded, ripe, ready and at our prime.

master of maturity!

April has been a month for playing cards. None except for in the metaphorical tense of course. We are gambling every day. There are only risks and chances. The opportunity to rejoice or regret. It seems so foolish not to face a fear. If life really is just here today, and all that we do with the opportunities, then we can have but memories. Memories which make or break us in the darkest nights.

I have played my cards. In every field. Today I walk out exposed. The ball is truly in the other court, and I am playing five or six games. I am scared, because in all senses I have relinquished control. Travel, work, education, lust. There are decisions to be made, but none of them are mine.

Waiting for fate?

I have just finished reading the above. A simple tale about everymans rush to grow up. The need to appear experienced, to become known by remaining anonymous, and above all, to crave physical contact. Quite honestly, it portrays a confusion and stubbornness that still seems guide most young men through Swedish culture today. Life is a battle to be settled alone while sex is one of the few gentle retreats of adulthood. In fact, the occurrence of lust, along with stubbornness and self sufficiency mark the end of childhood. Maybe it is so. But that leaves us with a lot of children!

Incredibly this is the third time this week I have seen the sun rise. A couple of late nights have lead to what I hope is a short lived bout of insomnia. I fell asleep at nine and was wide awake at three. Perhaps the never ending to-do list also has something to do with it?

Such a jam-packed, extra tight, super active fit week has left me feeling rather… well, I don’t know what. I believe it is time to start cooling down a little. Wednesday was a birthday like no other. The sun was shining and I cycled down town with a breeze in my hair and a snazzy pair of heels. My classmates sung, my workmates gave me free food, my ex-teacher spent two hours helping me complete my university application. We watched a film, trained armada (no more bruises today) and even enjoyed a hembakad birthday cake (so fresh from the oven that the candles melted in it.) I came home so sensationally exhausted that by ten thirty I was in bed!

Thursday continued in a similar vein, with litterateur, revision and a new book case (complete with blue hyacinth) before a friday never to forget. We started with book reading på biblan and then took the final Skandinavistik muntlig exam. So strange to sit it that little darkened room with Per, Magnus, Sijing and a tape recorder knowing there will be no replay. We discussed Maria Wine and the ‘nutters’ in the closed wards. They are people just like you and me. Admittedly our research covered only those with Bi-polar and similar, but the boundary between inside and out is a hard one not to cross at some point.

A slight high before a relaxed Kåren lunch of the truly international variety. Down town to check out a new piece before escaping to the calm of home. It is good to be alone sometimes. Spent a couple of hours sorting KAOS arrangements before dressing up.

I am fading! It must be the light! Friday night, oh Friday night. The mafia party, leather, cigarettes and handcuffs. I danced the night away in four inch heels and waved goodbye to Fidel Castro and his chair-fucking with my gun at 4 am. Quite a difference from last years Burlesque extravaganza, but equally fun. I can never quite believe that there are so many people around. I can never quite believe that so many are so kind!

Woke after three hours with an sms tip about summer jobs. Made the call, and dropper by with my cv. Then it was breakfast with Mahgol, Constance and Jackie. Talk of Iran and good cheese. Breakfast with firends can be ever so pleasant! Then a galloping chariot accros town, some clean trousers, some make-up removed and a boot full of paintings. We hung a whole exhibition before 4pm. It is Official. Things are happening at 25!

I found a broken hyacinth on my way home. Scented magenta. This little apartment smells like spring. It is time for some order!

hos ABF, på andravåningen, CuLTUREN, Västerås

tack till Natta för bilden!

“Hej! Och välkomna till min första ensamma utställning tack vare KAOSgruppen och ABF.

Jag ser på min konst som ett tillfälle att ordna mina tänker. Att rita, måla eller skriva är en avslappnings process och jag tror att det är väldigt terapeutiskt. Trotts att jag är mycket förtjust i naive folk motiv och glada färger är jag fascinerad av människa och de flesta mina målningar är porträtt.

På utställningen bjuder jag er att se på ansiktena i mitt liv. De är vänner, familj, främlingar och tolkningar av mig själv. Jag skulle vilja höra era tänker och gärna tar kontakt med de som vill kommentera eller är intresserad av att arbeta med mig i framtiden.

Utställningen sitter kvar tills vecka 22 och jag ska försöka vara där minst en gång i veckan. Jag kommer att meddela om specifika tider.

Förresten tycker jag om:

senap
strumpor
och
skratt

//Clover

www.clovergiles.com
www.vscribbling.blogspot.com
www.kaosgruppen.blogspot.com
www.culturen.nu”

Someone keeps sneaking slices out of my time cake.

Somehow weeks are dissolving like sugar cubes in the bottom of very strong up of life flavoured tea. It seems like an eternity of five minutes since I received my new keys. The apartment is well and truly mine, even if lacking book arrangements. I’ve decided to hold fire with permanent lighting and enjoy a summer or candle burning chandeliers. Sometimes I go home and cry because things are just so damn good!

It is true that there is a certain element of stress involved in day to day life (at least these days to days). Flicking back through my diary it has been several weeks since there was a day without a list of stroked through ‘to do’s. Red on blue on black on green. In some respects if feels like certain areas have been neglected. I am craving to creative but rarely have the energy…. they say that as we get older we turn into our parents. It seems more convincing that we turn first into our older siblings. I have begun to understand why Dais rarely managed to do any sewing. I have the greatest respect for that girl!

The last seven days have been something of a random add on activity week as well. A succession of visits to the tattooed on in his hospital bed. How a healthy (questionable?) young soul such as himself can have contracted an brain inflaming virus is still up to debate, but the actuality is, one of the nicest people I know suffered a swollen head and it takes it’s toll. Never seen someone I care so much about looking more ghostlike. There was of course first the aftermath of Tomas’ birthday… embarrassingly I had to be walked home by Constance as I had collapsed in a rather unbecoming heap on the common room sofa. However, the following day was filled with fabulousness (mostly of the food variety) concluded by a trip to the cinema. Alice is a feast, though perilously close to the edge of slipping into the ‘Disney’s bitch’ category.

Yes yes, then there has been scribbling with chocolate cakes and bottle cap giraffes. And barbeque’s for birthday girls in four degrees and rain. A written exam about euthanasia… ho hum… because forming concrete arguments about so sensitive a question are not exactly hard in your mother tongue! Developed an outstanding bruise as a result of half concentrated capoeira and ahh, yes, of course. It is finally spring and that equates to CLEANING:

Städdag på Kåren… turned into a 24 hour affair. Hardcore scrubbing followed by free food and drastically subsidised beer. Funny how that leads to playing Twister with virtual strangers before discussing the Matrix and moose meat until five in the morning… shit happens, usually before the sunrise. But sometimes the timing is a little late.

KAOS is moving. Saturday is hanging day for the first solo Clover Giles exhibition. Hopefully someone will be around with a shape retaining helmet in case my head starts to get to big.

Journey, drive, go side by side.

Now it is time to sink into Karin Boye in motion and do a little psychoanalysis.