Category Archives: Writing

I’m a horrible writer

Or I write horrible stories. Is there a difference?  I think there is.

It’s interesting. I’m usually writing stuff I come up with myself. I don’t ever run my prompts by anyone, and thus I write what’s in my brain. I’ve never said my brain was brilliant. It has some dark nooks and  crannies, and I love to explore feelings. If that is what makes my stories horrible, so be it. I’m far more worried if I’m a crappy writer as well. 


Anonymous – and not…

The funny thing about this blog, and frankly, almost everything I post online, is that I’m anonymous. Anonymous, I don’t advertise, I don’t make links between accounts, and I desperately want people to read what I write. But I don’t want anybody to know who I am.

This blog is by far my most successful outlet in terms of followers, replies etc., and that says something about my general reach.

My other writing spaces are so, so void of replies that I seriously wonder if I should stop writing altogether. I haven’t, and in my desperation, I invite people I know to read and review to me in person. And suddenly, I’m not anonymous anymore.

Even this blog is visited by people who know me, and thus, there are things I would really like to write about that I simply can’t.

And this is a totally stupid rant. I’m sorry. But not enough to leave it unposted.

I want people to read my stuff because they like what they read, not because I told them to read it.

Somehow, that seems more cockey to some than me advertising. I don’t get it. And I don’t advertise.

R.I.P. Neko

God, I don’t want to come home today.

I recieved a phone from a vet I don’t know, concerning my cat Neko.
Of course she was run over by a car.
And dead.
And I feel a bit dead inside.
And guilty for letting her stay outside.
And I’m afraid I’m going to see the spot they ran her over.

But the fact is, she was always a liability in the traffic, and not even a year old yet. This could have happened any other day. Tomorrow, or yesterday. Or maybe never. And I couldn’t have prevented it any more. Actually, she could have been waiting at the door like any other day when I came home. But she won’t. I’ll be taking her home in a box I’m not going to open, because they didn’t think I should see her in that state.

All I want to do is to cry over my little cat, and sniff her behind the ears again and let her wrestle my hands. And I can’t. Because she’s not here. And I hate it.

God, I hate this day!

Fanfiction 2

All is not well in the world of Once Upon a Time when the Emu publishes fanfiction.

Not at all!

What I need…

Sometimes, all you need it’s a double mocca with peppermint.
That’s easy to get, and tasty as well.


Other times, what you need is a bookshelf with a certain something. Preferably sold for a reasonable price. That proved hard to get.

Why it’s it so hard to find nice shelves with a nice finish?


She was trapped. The alleyway lead straight to the harbour, and the buildings made a perfect tunnel with two exits only. She heard the pursuers closing in on her. There was nowhere to hide, and she knew death waited for her in both ends. Desperate she tried to climb the wall – anything to escape.

Her heart raced, and the entire scene was black, orange and red, very much like a city on fire. There was one single crevice in the brick wall, just about big enough for her to fit in, and she dived in. But no matter how neatly she folded herself, she couldn’t get her legs in, and she screamed as somebody yanked them and dragged her out in the open.

‘Why the hell are you so stuck on living?!’ the assaulter spat. She stared at him, trying to keep a calm façade. His face was hidden in shadow, and more and more shadowy figures entered her field of vision.

‘There’s no reason for you to live’

‘Your existence itself is an unforgivable sin!’

Someone kicked her hard in the ribs, and more feet joined, kicking every part of her torso. She tried to scream, but her lungs seemed to have been emptied of air. There was a momentarily halt in the vicious kicks, and then the intense pain came from inside. The onlookers laughed manically as blood gushed out of her, and her lungs had finally been restored. She cried out a raw, guttural cry. Desperation and fear replaced the pain, and she sat up, screaming, trying to find what she dreaded most in the bloody mess between her legs.

And then it came. The demon. Covered in blood, and yet unmistakably blood red itself, with horns, fangs and everything. Still tied to her by the umbilical cord, she grabbed it and cradled it, crying, praying for it to live. But she knew it was futile. Her demon child was not alive, and would never have been allowed to live anyway.

Maybe it was best this way. It was like she was all alone in the alley, and the scene was getting gradually lighter, until there was nothing but her and the baby in a white space without boundaries.

The baby was no longer a demon, but a very premature human baby, and she was still sitting in a pool of blood, crying her heart out.

A guess

You might think you know
What’s going on
In the mind of a friend
But unless they confirm your assumptions
It’s nothing more than a guess
In the end

On dream catchers

It’s time to get my own dream catcher back.
I think I’ve charged the borrowed one enough the last three years or so :p
If that’s how dream catchers work, that is.

We swapped to see if we could gain new dream impulses. I really don’t know if it works or not.

I bought one for my friend’s horse to see if it would calm down. I don’t think the effect was noticeable.

I can’t say I’ve noticed any real impact on my own dreams either, but I’ve not been ridden by nightmares the last five years or so. Maybe it works after all.

Highly unscientific…

Test driving

How fast can a Virago 535 go?
I don’t know in general, but mine will not go over 120 km/h on its own accord. Sure, it will be faster downhill, but it’s not really comfortable anyway.

I’ve killed a sh**load of bugs on my helmet, and been testing breaking from 120 to 20. I’m not too comfortable with the breaks, but I think it’s more about my feelings than anything else, because the efficiency of the breaking is fairly acceptable, I think.

I still don’t want to go tomorrow.
I didn’t get lumbago from weeding dooryard docks.
I didn’t get thrown of my bicycle while skidding through curves on gravel roads.
And nothing at all happened during my test drive.

I might just keep singing “Raindrops keep falling on my head”.
‘Cause I’m never gonna stop the rain by complaining.
It’s true. Shit happens anyway, and it won’t go away if I whine or cry. I’m prone to whining… At the moment, that’s all I do.


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