Innlegg

Heim

Bilde
Image source Additional source Ho e aleina. Ho står der, ved stranda, mens bølgan vaske og slår; speide gjennom et mørke som e så tett, at det held ho fast. Men ho speide likevel. E det lys, det der ute? En flekk av ubrukelig håp i høstnatta? E det draugen, som e kommet førr å lure ho fra land; førr å trekke håpet under vann; begrave det i tareskogen, med bære en handfull albueskjell tel minnesmerke? Det lukta salt. Det lukta kaldt. Det lukta råtten jord og våt stein og tang. Ho frys. Men ho frys bære inni sæ. Nu hør ho draugen der han skratta, en buldrandes latter som rulla inn og ut mellom vindrossen; som erta og lokka og pirra. Ho myse, men ho ser han ikkje. Jo; der! En skygge utførbi skjæran. Et glimt i gule øya. Opp av havet kjæm han; ryggen bua, med tagga oppå; høg og sint mot skybankan. Så skjær han ned i en bølgedal, og blir borte. Men ho hør han fortsatt flire. Ser fortsatt blenkan fra øyan, innimella. Så blir det stilt, og ho lure på om han h

Capulus Immortalem

Bilde
Stemmesurret fløt gjennom hodet mitt mens jeg lot filla gli over disken i store, bedagelige sirkler. Lytta til Foy Vance som sang lavt over anlegget; til latteren, småpratet, livet. Snuste inn lukta av folk på farta; av oppvaskmiddel, lakkert tre og kaffebønner. Et seigt smil bredte seg på leppene mine. Jeg gløtta opp på veggen, som jeg ofte gjorde. På svart-hvitt bilder av kaianlegg som for lengst var revet eller bygd ut; av biler med kromfelger; damer med hansker og menn med kasjett. Av servitør-team gjennom tidene. Av den gamle kaffekverna til farfar, og farfar som smilende holdt i sveiva. Seksti år med byens beste kaffe. Tjue av dem med meg bak disken. Grunnlagt av farfar i 1958. Først overtatt av fattern da farfar ble sjuk. Deretter av meg da fattern ble sjuk. Det begynte som en kuriositet, og forvandla seg kjapt til et monument. Bare for fem år sida vedtok bystyret byens eldste kaffebar som verneverdig. Det sies at ting tar etter navnene man gir dem. Capulus Immortal

On being a little lost, and finding your way back

Bilde
©️Sylvilel It's been a long time since I felt as run-down as I do now, so it's actually a little hard to admit that I'm not doing so well at the moment. But I choose to view it as a symptom of a forward-moving process. Considering all the mental changes I've been through over a very short period, it would be ridiculous to think that my body woulnd't eventually catch up with the mental exhaustion. So now it's evidently time to take a step back and let things run their course for while; let all the hard work process, and see what becomes of it. Since I'm not at all a perfectionist/idealist (read: sarcasm), it's difficult to let go. I am really  bad at letting go. But some wise idiot apparently said that you should fake it 'til you make it. Also, in nine days time I'm having another surgery on the arm that I broke last August, which isn't exactly mood-lifting. But that too is part of a growing-process (pun intended), and I'

North

Bilde
Sylvilel As I fly Between light and stars, The vastness in my heart; Home.

Review: "Djevelhogget" by Tuva Tovslid

Bilde
©️Sylvilel «Ada has lead around her ankles. That’s how it feels when she drags herself through the days. Had she only known where she was headed, where she wanted to go. Then she finds the book about Djevelhogget. A hard trip, both mentally and physically, lies ahead of her.» A few months back, I recieved a request from author Tuva Tovslid about doing a reader review of her debut novel, "Djevelhogget," which I (the little attention-addict that I am) of course said yes to. Now. It needs to be said that I am often and almost always very sceptical about reading Norwegian debuts, for reasons I won't go into right now (we don't have all night.) But: The last time I remember falling in love with a book after page two, was at the age of twelve, when I opened "Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone" for the first time. Wich in itself is a kind of magic that is hard to find, in my opinion. That is what happened with "Djevelhogget

Remnants Of Black Minds: Excerpt

Bilde
©️Sylvilel Sometimes I wonder if she ever really had any faith at all. Or if she just clung to what she professed to be her faith, because she wanted so badly for something to believe in. I think it’s a default in all of us, to need something to anchor ourselves with; be it religion or people, a job, a cause. It all comes back to the clawing need to believe in something outside ourselves. * She sat in her huge, moss green plush chair, eyes glassy and distant. Her pale old-person-skin looked almost smooth under the rays of the afternoon sun. A faint reek of soap, urin and dust filled the room. I watched her chest rise and fall every three seconds, slow and rasping. She could have been sleeping. She could have been dead. But no; she was ever so much alive just yet. We sat in silence; me listening to the waning rythm of her life; she staring blankly into nothing. It was a comforting silence, and a sad one. «I’m going soon,» she said. «You know that.» Her voice sounded

Tidbits #3

Bilde
Currently reading:   Because WHAT is January without my good, longterm-friend, Skulduggery The Dead Skeleton Detective? Recently finished reading:  " I n this lush fantasy, Lei is a member of the Paper caste, the lowest and most oppressed class in Ikhara. She lives in a remote village with her father, where the decade-old trauma of watching her mother snatched by royal guards still haunts her. Now, the guards are back, and this time it's Lei they're after--the girl whose golden eyes have piqued the king's interest. Over weeks of training in the opulent but stifling palace, Lei and eight other girls learn the skills and charm that befit being a king's consort. But Lei isn't content to watch her fate consume her. Instead, she does the unthinkable--she falls in love. Her forbidden romance becomes enmeshed with an explosive plot that threatens the very foundation of Ikhara, and Lei, still the wide-eyed country girl at