I am changing to Blogspot, because I have no money to pay for this account and I hate these adds, and I think Blogspot might feel more available to people that doesn't own a Livejournal.

I do draw, but I still don't have a scanner, and I don't know when I'll have money to buy one, but I might post some words from time to time. I will also repost some of my old posts on my new blog, because I might delete this account eventually.

Visit me here;

Also, if you'd like, you are welcome to visit my flickr;

And my tumblr;

See you there!


hollowed out mountain

brooding under the wool, oh, show me not
an autumn of new, on rooftops
i see the water
trying to dress for the day, while i
am restlessly trying to find those things
i longed for once, now unsure of
what use they can do,
but i knew when molded
into my body they once built an
old way of breathing
that now must stop and make me
out of breath, and my body is less
like snow than i remember
from when i was small, oh show me not
how my arms have turned into tools
for holding wool, then
they must fall,

lifting my head from a pillow,
this is what we do,
walking on roads i never knew existed,
now they are but the lack
of green, oh green, i walk so fast
and slow, i lay down
in my head, and i want to stand
by the sea, want to rest from
climbing mountains i did
never wish was here,
where did they come from?
these dancing mountains
that ripped my quiet
so cruelly apart,

empty was never a word that held
a stubborn thing,
now it is these mountains, and i
do not want to talk, all people,
all of us fall, for
without the sea i am
less than snow,
without the sea i walk
in circles that rest on water rooftops,
oh, i do not want
to be a building!
i do not want to be
a heavy room!
i do not want to be a lock
or a keyhole or a friend,
i wish to be plants
that grow in silence, and
explode and cry in bloom,
to mock the rooftops.
oh, show me not
this autumn of new,
but carry me to a winter where i can
gladly brood under wool, and wool
can make me new,
come here, old age,

dress the days in snow, and not
in rain, make me change and
change again, to snow and to
become small and become old
and become the same, again and
again in every new way
there is, oh show me not,
what i forgot, but build the new
in ways less cruel,
come here,
old age!


tomorrow i will be moving away from my childhood house and to a big city eight hours away. i won't take my horrible scanner with me, so i might be quiet here for a while. but i will be working on secret projects to show later. here is a sneak peak of one (a tiny book):



i keep them in coffins and play for them at night.


all my troubles. (oh, my scanner must really hate me.)
i need to run away from my childhood house, it's like a burning mitten on my hand.


across the sea, we we we
(poem to a friend)

we keep collecting molded rocks
to make the simple pockets grow,
like insects grown inside a tooth do,
we too know there has been sold dew
lifting from small hand,
breathe cold piece of lava,
eating the sun oh,
the sea is brave that way,
staring into northern waves you
find inside my dream
a reindeer, cut open and inside
we sit and blow out the candles
on all our birthday cakes
from the past, you blow them fast
i throw them off,
you keep your hands
i do not keep mine,
they float in the space
between us like the songs
from our letters, long long letters,
running across earth,
collecting dust and sea and dirt,
my hands are brave that way,
they sway like lonely feathers
without sorrow in the air,
they sway like heather
i will tuck into your hair
in another tomorrow.

uncalled for.


a different quiet is sometimes better,
even if it's still a quiet
and i can hear the bird on my head moving it's wings.

loosely based on wish events.



practicing drawing comics and practicing drawing without making sketches first,
because i'd like to make comics that are spontaneous.
this comic is loosely based on actual events,
or not really, but i'm the main character anyway.
to be continued!

the kiwi


while eating a kiwi
a question formed in her
mind, like a knife
she saw the question
cut her day in two,
and just like a small kiwi
she ate the day,
the small seeds,
the furry skin,
soft and green
she chewed
and swallowed, but
the question was stubborn
and lazy, like a knife
it came to life
in her stomach too

who am i?