Mother

 

Dear Diary,

 

 

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I walk alone…

 

                                                                      8th August 2016

    Dear Diary,

I walk alone into a romantic garden where once lovers met, where once someone cried, where once writers wrote meaningful poems to their nymphs and muses… I walk alone into a garden to discover that all of the beautiful things are fragile and soon, to be dead: to become a gentle dust that settles peacefully.

In this garden, everything seems so acoustic and similar to an Andrei Tarkovsky’s movie. Everything reverberates nostalgia and poetry. I walk alone because there is nobody besides me. I walk alone to become one, to find myself in the fragility of this dual world.

Someone once asked me: “Where do you find contentment when everything fails? I answered: In nature, in all the elevated forms of art and in spirituality.”

Dear Diary

 

 

                                                                                                                      1st of August 2016

Dear Diary,

I’ve been sleeping as much as I can to avoid the reality. Lately, I avoid too many things: food, baths, clothes… everything weighs to much on me … It’s hard to walk in peace, my thoughts and feelings are in a turmoil. The simple act of breathing exhaust me so deeply. Is this another metamorphosis? Am I in a state of larvae to later become a butterfly? And why it must hurt so much? Is life an endless metamorphosis?

I want to believe that life has secretly kept a small amount of happiness for me, so I keep praying… Blessed are those who live in contentment and dammed are those who live in disquiet.

The Allure of Flowers

 

 

The Allure of flowers in victorian era: I made a brief video to illustrate these gone days.

Soon, I will be talking about the secret universe and language of flowers in Victorian Era, on Flanêur. I hope to spend a nice day surrounded by others who share the same admiration for the curiosities of this period.

Happiness

I’ve been worrying about so many things lately and than I stumble across this Epictetus’ quote:
“There is only one way to happiness and that is to cease worrying about things which are beyond the power of our will.”

P.s – In these photos are things that I treasure: books, my butterfly mug, a bird from my dear Vibeke and nature.

 

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Too Unfit

I am trapped in a era that I hardly recognize as mine… Sometimes I am too nostalgic, too romantic, too much of a dreamer, too unfit, too silent for the purposes of this society. I long for a place that no longer exists. I am a witness in this life.

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