Ok, we're gonna give this Day Log thing a shot then: What is this phenomenon of all downvotes that people give in here? I don't get it, saying someone's thoughts are bad or unqualified? Anyways...

Here I have a test slam poem that I wrote for Theory of Knowledge class. Please be kind, this is my first day log and my first slam exprience, heh. If there are any slam experts out there, could you please give me some feedback? I perform Friday, November 8, so send a message and here it goes:

Just try and imagine my voice inflections and tempo changes to your heart's desire:

Welcome to another issue of Life in the Swedish Army, the bi-weekly dump of entries from my diary, being written as I go through national service in the armed forces of Sweden. See my wu in this node if this is the first of the LitSA rants you've seen. It contains some background info which will be expanded later when I get to writing a proper LitSA metanode.

As some may have noticed already, it's actually been three weeks since I posted last. Sorry about that, I was kind of busy last weekend - watching anime, mostly. That, and I haven't been writing a lot in my diary, partly because I ran out of pages in my notebook and it took me a bit to find a new one, which I reinforced with duct tape to keep it from meeting a similar destiny to my first one, which was starting to look like it'd spent three months in hell, rather than in my pants pocket. Though I suppose, the environmental conditions are the same anyway ...

Anyway, these weeks have been rather interesting, though we've been doing pretty much the same every day: Driving and messing around with the internals of our trucks; I drive a TGB30, (TGB meaning Terrängbil, or All-Terrain Automobile) a 14 ton hunk of steel with lots of ground clearance, lots of horsepower, and the esthetic appeal of a beautifully camoflague painted brick. Top speed: 85 kph, though we're limited to 70 kph for safety reasons. They can be made to go much faster than 85 kph, by the way, but don't tell anyone I told you that. Anyway, they're great fun to drive.

October 17, 2002 - 11:55
It's started snowing. The warm season is clearly over, leaving us with only cold and darkness to come. Today it's snowing (which I've already mentioned), but it's not very windy so being outdoors a lot isn't a problem. This week we've started driving our TGB30's - they're a kind of all-terrain motortruck which will be serving as our primary means of transportation during the remainder of national service. We've spent this week studing them and learning to drive them, and we'll be spending the next two weeks doing that exact same thing.

October 30, 2002 - 12:52
Long since I last wrote something here. Three weeks of TGB30 training are coming to an end, and we're almost ready for new adventures, having now nearly mastered the skills required to handle and repair our trucks. Tomorrow is the final driving examination, and then the rear compartments of our trucks will be loaded full of telecommunications equipment. Expensive stuff, I might add. After that, we'll be going on a field exercise to test everything out! Fun, fun, fun, I'm looking forward to it. Right now we're returning from a town called Gävle, where we've slept after spending yesterday testing our inner-city driving skills.

Need I mention that I passed the driving exam? Nah :)

<-- day 99-112 | day 134-147 (not yet noded) -->
UPDATE (20/6 2003): Don't hold your breath waiting for me to node the last 164 days of my national service. I stopped keeping the diary shortly after I stopped experiencing interesting things to write about. Thanks to all who read the first 133 days :)

Last year, I systematically destroyed every song I had ever written or recorded, lyrics and music. I thought it was a catharsis; I thought I needed to do that. Boy, was I wrong! I salvaged what I could weeks later... unfortunately it's only a poorly recorded techno song (my first creation) and a drum loop that I made. Most of those songs are now gone forever; most of those songs will never be heard by anyone; most of those songs... were never heard by anyone at all. They were a part of me, and now they are gone. Today I wrote a poem to reflect on that loss.

destruction of self
by means of hypocrisy
division of property
and erasure of original works

the beat might go on
but only for a while
for I put it on trial
it was sentenced to death

I killed a little piece of me
every time I pressed "delete"
calling it a catharsis
now I'm back with a vengeance

A song called "untitled"
completely unreplacable
though I've written dozens more

dealing with the linearity of life
through ignorance of strife
and carefully hidden pain

coping with emptiness
means losing myself
by emulating pieces
of a meaningless world.

Thanks for reading this. At some point, you just need to share it with the world, y'know?

Side note: this poem used to have another stanza on the end of it. It sucked. I took it out on December 27, 2002.

Yeah, I remember her saying
I'm already dead...
I'm already dead...
You're gonna get up and scream...
You're gonna get up and burn an X in your head...

As things fall apart and chaos seems to rise I enter into a phase of painful personal pleasure. It is hard to understand and hard to explain. There is no way to spear me as I swim upstream and invite the slings and arrows to come my way. I cannot be anyone other than who I am. I cannot change from the path I have chosen. There is no other way. Having read the blueprints I know when things must change and I know when they will change badly. I know ahead of time. I am always all too prepared. "This is the hardest thing you will ever do..."

Cold ass motherfucker
I am.
Can't be wounded
Can't be killed
As they told me when they cut through the wire
The whirlpool is a blur
The blue flame still burns
I know what it means
I know too much
I blur it all together
They still know how to strike me down
Cold ass motherfucker
I am.

Today is your birthday as much as it is mine. I don't remember the day I was born. I only remember the day that I died. Whales piss in the gulf stream right up the coast of Florida and up to Norway. They tell me it is too cold up there. I can't help you. I have no power here. I can't fly straight anymore but it only appears I don't know the directions. Burning down all four sides of the old barn. Rock on ancient queen. Live in the fire. Let it burn you. Look into the mirror of your own fears and stare them down. It is part of the way. Part of the only way...

We march.
I'm watching things disintegrate.
This is familiar territory.
I'd be at a loss
If I needed to know how to make things last.
I'm rolling with the waves inside me.
Cold ass motherfucker.
I am.

Another year older and another year further away from the life I used to know. I have to relive it in order to find out where I stumbled. Writing is my heroin. I need my fix. The point at which the map begins charting is still unknown. I measure everything and try it all on for size. There is more to a glass of water than just the water and the glass. This is more true that the love we abandon and recall incorrectly. Feel the sharp spike through your heart and twist the sword. You are beginning to feel it. You can't wander through life with a sense of vague dissatisfation when you reach this point. You know the source. You know the pain. I'm moving too fast and I'm mostly standing still. Too many left behind and my arms aren't long enough to reach you. I watch you burn. I've accepted this. I know that I am mad. I've accepted this as well but not in the way you think I have.

It has been too long
Since I felt the rapture
Riding west on dragon wings.
I have to ride.
I have to fly.
They are ready to cash out again.
I take the money and smile.
Cold ass motherfucker.
I am.

Today she told me she was leaving. Wonderful things always happen on the day I was born. I gave up that life long ago. It isn't my birthday anymore. Happy birthday to me. I spent it writing three chapters of my novel while she started packing her things without saying a word. She has nowhere to go. No one ever expects me to call their bluff. I'm running the bluff on both sides of the mirror. I've got about thirteen years left to live. I'm going to make the most of them. Still, I can't feel things the way you do. I'm always looking at them from the outside. Even when they are inside of me I'm on the outside looking in. I can heal you. I can help you. You'll run. You'll hide. It isn't what you think it is. It never was.

Cold ass
I am.
Rock on.

Yes. I did steal the intro. Thanks.

Martha had a party on the day of the marathon. I felt a little bad since this was not my year to run—(next year is!) but after seeing those runners... hundreds of them pass by her window I was inspired. I’ve gotten back on my regimen. I’m not just running for the magic glory of the endorphins (I am a drug addict, I fear) but I am running to train as well. I want to be in the top third. Nothing less will do. So I’ll run hard-- and come this time next year I will be exhausted because a good marathon ought to stay with you, I think-- I mean if you really run it. That’s what I mean to do.

R and I are having money trouble. I think we’ll be OK, but he wants to get a job very badly and I fear he’s thinking of the money too much. As long as we both have rent health care and food (and time!) what else is there to want? It makes me feel bad because I fear he mistakes me for a greedy woman—(!) and though I am greedy (in my way) I need nothing more from him than what he gives to me freely as a lover and husband.

Though thinking on it now, I think he is thinking of travel. He keeps mentioning this chef in Tokyo that he’d like to study with... and my god... to learn about eastern theatre... I’d be in heaven. Perhaps I won’t discourage him from hunting for money. Heh. Guess I’m greedy after all!

I had dinner last night with my brother at Harvard club. The place is so cute. I told him that while I do not approve of the great class divide those who went to school there have given us-- I do admire Harvard as a not for profit organization. Even their "old boys" clubhouse space has an air about it that allows one to connect to a real history-- That is a good thing (and rare). So much of the history we encounter is fabricated. Like those TGIF restaurants with random "artifacts" on the wall-- it’s a poor substation for a real bar with real artifacts with a real history.

My legs hurt! I ran hard this night. And I must go to the bella luna to meet my robert and, I think, some of the other chefs.

What a day. So uneventful, but somehow ... full.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.