This is not today this is ages ago
Would have said so before but the days they aren't slow
They move on the flow way too fast they move past
Try to catch up I really try I really try to catch

The day but my bad my mistake seems it's clad
In an armor a force field that cannot be distorted
Or force fled the war sped up a notch like my adored Scotch
Meanwhile you sit still like life's a box

I know what I'm talking about, cause I talk about me
I know what I might hear and what I might see
I know what I might scream when I'm nineteen
I know what I might say and what I might mean

Things aren't always quite as delighting
As you make them seem when you try, to live a lie

Alla har problem
Och alla är dom olika
Alla har problem
Inga problem är roliga

När du själv har dem
Är det kanske en mardröm

I don't want to be nobody it's true
I just want to live with all of my buddies
I don't want to leave my freedom for you

I want to breath fresh air every morning
I want to see green fields want to wade in them
Want to wave out to all the saviors
But I can't see them with all these goddamn

Helicopters flying in the sky!
Flying over us passing us by
All these helicopters they are everywhere
Why should I bother why should I
Care

Another rainy day in Överkalix! So rainy that we had to crawl the roads to get here, window wipers helplessly attempting to keep the torment of rain that stalled us at bay. After the neccesary bouts of shopping, recycling and trashing around I have but a few minutes remaining, with which I shall try to best summarize the recent two weeks past.

Since last visit I've painted another three exterior walls, and a little more indoors, packed the woodshed further; barred down trees for next year; plenty else. My nephew left at the start of the week; my sister's leaving again tomorrow, exactly seven days later.

We've spent all surplus time gardening; with a variety of sports and bike-rides, or at times comfortably slouched on upper-stair bed's and sofa's with the rain melodically pattering the tin roof, reading books like 'A Dance With Dragons', fifth part of the Song of Fire & Ice (AKA Game of Thrones) quintology... or however many parts may yet be written.

I jumped into the series midstride (had no idea the TV series I had not yet watched but heard so much about was based upon literary work) and have at the moment plowed just halfways through, 520/1100 pages in this one segment alone. It's a massive work; as elaborate in detail as it is in length, complex but captivating; may also explain why my style of writing seems to be, for the moment at least, inexplicably alterned; unnescesarily complex... and probably riddled with typos since I have no spellcheck here even whilst writing out these diversive words.

In other notice: berries seem to be ripining later than usual this year, cloudberries in maybe a week or two, blueberries around the same time; I hope I'll be able to pick some lingonberries as well before I leave (the trip back South is now booked for the 26th of August).

We've been savoring home-grown radishes every day the past week; sallad too, the rest of the evegetable variety's taking longer than usual thanks to unhumbly cold and humid weather, though next week should be summer again! We hope.

Time's ticking away, and so, though I'd like to be more thorough I'll have to leave yall with this vague recollection: it's been another eventful two weeks up here in the cool, great cradle of Northerly greatness. Here's the last post.

I've been stuck in this thing called life, keeps on moving every day. Man I try to keep up but I should just stay away I'm stuck in the vibe I'm choking the flow a monkey on my back telling me to let go or GO! GO! GO! depending on the siltation. Life could have been worse, still there is shit I'm facing. Shit so much like a mountain of feces for weeks I've been feeling weak I don't speak I just eat shit. My future work truly reeks bliss.