MISSING:
paper plane. colour: white. size: L. slightly sandy and damaged
after crash close to sea. last seen: Incheon International Airport.
I think this is the same rain
that fell on our skin last night
when we had found magic
by the percussion trees
and swinged it over our lives
…
this rain and all the people in the streets
this rain and all the smells
of my third hometown
percussion spells over it all
…
meet me at the border of the tide
just by the shadow of that cloud
meet me at the border of the tide
just by the shadow of that cloud
by the shadow
of that cloud
…
I had delayed reactions
and you a bike to the world
so take this rain
and our percussion spells
while riding your bike alone the sea
…
meet me at the other side of the world
by the border of the tide
meet me at the other side of the world
by the border of the tide
just next to that cloud
by the shadow of the tide
at the border of that cloud
evening spring on the mountain. a kite stuck in the trees. I look at it again and thinking: it’s not stuck, it’s forever flying.
my sister’s birthday, we are always close, no matter time zones. and we are still wild.
watch her small birthday present:
grattis cici 2010.04.14 from IDA on Vimeo.
And the busyness is everywhere, swallowing our lives, making days, weeks, months, pass without us really noticing them. They just float away as if they never really happened. The busyness keeps us in the grey, keeps us from feeling, keeps us from breathing deep breaths that makes us feel alive.
What would happen if we all just skipped that busyness, and started to live, started to live by the gift of creating?
Tonight I want to dream about running with the
wind in my face
Tonight I want to dream about flying over the forest
where I was born
Tonight I want to dream about walking through all those cities
where I’ve lived
IDA:Poetry of life&time zones-let’s live life like it was poetry running through our vains,with our own secret postal service connecting us
8:54 AM Jan 30th from web Anna Siitam
the sleeping experiment
things that happen when we sleep
come closer, come closer
we dreamed the same dreams,
so in the morning there is nothing left to hide
we breath so similar now
things that happen when we loose a night
come closer, come closer
the morning, the colours, the thoughts,
suddenly so much clearer
the happiness, the pain,
so much more intense
there is nothing in between
come closer, come closer
poetry of time zones: version Linnea Cecilia Maria Grändås
“gör en snöängel där du är, så lägger jag mej i dina spår här”
we are not done yet, our lines are not yet redrawn, our inbetween not yet coloured
so I hug and scream and
kiss and cry
with colours and fires in our lives
we’ll never be complete
i’ve been standing by the river
catching snowflakes
thinking together
we’ll light up the culture of gray
I bring those snowflakes
and hide them in the corners of the house on the hill
the commitments to light
the attempts to fight the gray
and I’m not lonely here
the light is trickling out from the corners of this house
so I whisper to myself
don’t don’t don’t be afraid of the dark
the commitments to light
the attempts to fight the gray
(if we see a light will we follow it)
(no time zones too distant)
across the world, there is a city where the concrete sometimes is broken by uneven sidewalks, feeling like you just suddenly were in the forest. in that city, you can find a few houses where no window looks the same, with trees growing from the roof, and the walls so colourful that you feel like you bumped into the rainbow.
in that city lives a snowflake. just as other snowflakes, this one has a special ability. just as other beings in this world, snowflakes are full of the natural insanity. but while other beings spend their time on earth trying to fight this natural insanity, snowflakes lives it out. sometimes it is a very hard thing to do. sometimes they loose some strength of their belief, but they never stop trying.
one day in late november, this particular snowflake was listening to music, it was a special kind of music, because just recently, the snowflake had gotten a chance to live some natural insanity out to just that music, but at that time, its belief was weak and the greyness too strong, so it didn’t do it. but right at this moment, the music started floating into the snowflake, filling every vein, every cell and slowly taking over the whole body of the snowflake. that’s when the snowflake realized that it had to do something for its natural insanity, it needed to, once again, do an attempt to fight the grey.
the snowflake took a bow-tie, all coloured grey, and started sewing in it with green string. soon, the snowflake started to feel better, as if the greyness already started to scatter. so the snowflake made one more. then the snoflake slowly packed one of the bow-ties in a brown envelope, write a letter in green and went to the post office to send the bow-tie across the world.
the commitment to light, the attempts to break the grey
how simple is the recipe for happiness,
only one thing included:
love
but the recipe can never be learned by heart.
it needs to be rediscovered every day, every moment,
in every face
“This one makes me want to turn it on the loudest volume. Lie on the floor. And sleep,” she writes.
Azra, my dear friend. I click on the link, put on my head phones, and let the music fill my soul. And I feel it too, loudest volume, lie on the floor. I look around. Helsinki airport is busy on this Sunday afternoon, people drinking beer, reading books, waiting, waiting, waiting. So I write her back:
“Then that’s the only thing to do. I’m gonna do it, too, right here on the floor of the airport. Sleep with this wonderful music turned up loud.”
Kanske det händer om femhundra år
Farid Ahmad Rashid Aftab (2003)
När jag var liten och bodde i mitt hemland så brukade jag fantisera om hur jag skulle kunna stoppa krigen i världen. Varje kväll när jag skulle sova fantiserade jag om hur jag skulle lyckas. Jag blundade och fantiserade om att ett ufo landade på vår gård. Jag gick in i ufot och träffade utomjordingarna. De satte mig på en speciell stol som hade många konstiga knappar. Efter ett tag kände jag mig annorlunda, inte som förut i all fall. Jag kunde plötsligt många olika språk, även utomjordingarnas språk. Jag kunde plötsligt all vetenskap som hade funnits, som fanns och som skulle finnas i världen. Vi började prata med varandra. Jag frågade dem:
- Hur ska jag rädda världen från krig, konflikter och orättvisor?
- Vi kom hit precis därför. Vi valde dig av människorna att börja samarbeta med. Tillsammans ska vi göra världen lite bättre. Nu har du alla möjligheter och vi är dina soldater, svarade de.
Vi flög och kom fram till en speciell stad som de byggde under jorden under de högsta bergen som bara de kan se vägen till. Staden var som tagen ur framtiden. Där fanns saker som man inte kan tro att de existerar i vår värld.
- Hur kunde ni göra denna fantastiska stad, frågade jag.
- Vi sattsar ingen tid och inga pengar på att producera vapen och onödiga saker. Vi sattsar istället på utbildning och att utveckla levnadsstandarden. Det är därför vi ligger flera hundra år före er, annars har vi samma förutsättningar.
Nästa dag bestämde vi att vi skulle skicka ett meddelande till alla länder i världen. Med det meddelandet ville vi föreslå för ledarna att alla skulle träffas under ett fredligt möte. Där ska de diskutera problemen som människor själva har skapat. Med de flesta ledarna sa:
- Vilka fan är ni som råder oss och hotar oss? Vi gör som vi vill och folken måste acceptera det, det är de som har makten som bestämmer.
Vi försökte övertala dem, men de lyssnade inte. Så vi började använda vår moderna teknik för att kontakta folken. Vi berättade våra idéer för välden, snabbt förstod folken verkligheten. De elaka ledarna som såg att de förlorade sin makt, samlade sina soldater och all sin kraft för att göra slut på oss. Men när de tänkte på kriget blev det en stor revolution i hela världen. Det blev ett blixtkrig mellan goda och onda. Naturligtvis segrade de goda. När de onda försvan blev världen fin som paradiset.
these days when the sky has fallen down over us, does it mean that we are closer to the enlightenment, does it mean we can create more miracles, like if we could absorb the energy from heaven straight into our veins?
the flashlight in my hand and the snow in my breath. when everything around me is dark, there is nothing measuring speed or time
with some people, it doesn’t matter that time passes. we sit close, it doesn’t matter that I almost fall asleep, because we have known each other through so many moments that everything is okay. so I just let go, I just am, and I love the moment.
there is a house just by the lake, surrounded by trees. it’s small and the grass in the garden is covered by leaves. sometimes they are cleaned away, but they are always brought back by the wind. in that house, there is no time as people know it, there is just a free flow of being
darkness. maybe that’s where to find the light. I close my eyes, trees are rushing by outside the window of the car, the reflections of cars and street lights in my dad’s glasses. and I see, I feel, I got through all those things that happened, like flashes, like beams, how I found the light in the dark, but how it cut a deep wound that my mum says will always stay
I’ve been standing by the river, catching snowflakes. together we’ll fight that culture of greyness eating the people I love. and there will be colours, so many colours.
the words I used to write. I am still fighting the same fights. maybe I will keep on fighting the same fights as long as I am alive. but I will do it with a smile.
boarding completed. then that vacuum of time, like a no-mans-land between the known and what’s going to come. people start looking through all the in-flight magazines, read their newspapers in detail, stare at the screen in front of them, not yet showing anything. I’m watching the peoples faces, unknown now, but once we leave our seats in Helsinki, we will feel somehow connected, like we shared something just by being in the same space for 10 hours. If we happen to end up at the same connecting flight, we will smile to each other, maybe even say hello. These faces, like the first day in a new class.
A boarding card falls out from my in-flight magazine. ECONOMY CLASS. VINHANTO/TANELI MR. FROM: BANKOK. TO: HELSINKI. FLIGHT: AY090. DATE 01NOV. GATE E8. BOARDING 08:40. SEAT 48G.
Yesterday this person, this Taneli, was sitting just right here, next to me. His skin sunburned, still the smell of salt in his hair. Maybe he was returning with joy, glad to go home to his life. Maybe he was closing his eyes, wishing he could stay in the warmth of the sun. Maybe he actually loves the cold November weather in Helsinki.
His seat is empty now. If we both close our eyes, can we talk?
äppelskruttexperimentet
when I grew up, my mum had a necklace shaped like the core of an eaten apple. I was always amazed how well it was shaped, how it so closely could resemple a real one. in our garden, we had apple trees. every fall, we filled up the food cellar with apples from those trees. the name of those specific apples was Ingrid Marie almost the same as my mums middle names, Inger Maria. my mum could never eat apples. she always got a stomach ache, but she used to call me “skrutt” meaning just that core of an eaten apple. maybe to compensate her, I developed an addiction to apples. I love the way the peel feels in my hands, how I shape my hands after the shape of the apple. I love to eat the apple until there is almost nothing left. I love watching the leftovers dry and start looking just like my mothers necklace. I love gathering those cores, and line them up in different shapes.
A fearless heart?
i was thinking why this expression sounds so beautiful to me. It gives me a certaing image
of a something that cannot be stopped
it is not like ” even if you are afraid, your heart drives you to do something “
no
its different
this heart doesnt recognize fear
a fearless heart is like a pure heart, very “child-like”, impulsive and soft
Maybe thats why someone who lets it be is someone who does insane things and seems as a loonatic
Maybe thats why it feels so good to do all those crazy things
written by Azra Husanović
to rock the world with love
start from within. that’s the only thing you can truly change
take care of your health. if you don’t have your health, you don’t have anything
keep the balance. you need both harmony and passion to do good work
work with people, not alone. you need others
remember you were born to question and to think differently
do it step by step, but never loose your dream
train your body so that it can follow your mind, because the mind is the strongest part of your body. the mind will keep your body from failing and turn what seem impossible into possible
there is no waste of time. only experiences to use
fear is only a test of your belief, and it will make you believe even stronger
listen to signs and follow them
when something confuses you, listen to your core. and when your mind is telling you what is about to happen, give it space to talk to you
choose your fights, fight the fights of love, and do it with a smile
love is the biggest power in the world
believe in it, believe in your core, believe in beauty
and laugh, laugh, laugh
turn every day into a miracle
with smiles
written Oct 2008
lek [le:k ] leken lekar subst.
sysselsättning för nöjes skull
if you translate the Swedish world into English, the closest word to use is “play.” but in Swedish, the word is not used for sports, but only for things you imaginary come up with, like the way kids play. the word is included in the word “kärlek” meaning “love.”
Happicles:
happicle – happicle, n. (happy + diminutive suffix -icle, like in “particle”, ”icicle”) – a particle of happiness, the smallest unit of happiness; a single occurrence or momentary feeling of happiness.
e.g., Happicles make life worth living, even in the absence of stable happiness. / There is no happiness in this world, but there are happicles. Sometimes we can catch them, fleeting and unpredictable as they are. / Like photons, happicles have zero mass at rest — the inertial mass that we identify with happiness. Happicles just flash and go out in passing. They may be as transitory as a fragrance of air, or a yellow falling leaf, or a glance of a passerby on the street.
Mikhail Epstein
the beauty doesn’t run out. the more beauty we share, use, live, the more beauty grows. the sunset doesn’t loose it’s colours just because we watch it every day. we just learn to see more colours.
vi har stoppat tiden
version Riga 2006
a memory I forgotten comes back to me in a photo. it was spring 2006, the air still cold from the winter. at this specific day, I had left my family for meeting a friend. we walked the streets you’d never find if you didn’t live in the city. and that’s when I saw it. someone had stopped the time.
we arrive late night. we stay up drinking, talking, playing all night. and sometime before Peter falls asleep, Peter says: “I think you will be very happy in the morning.”
I wake up early and as if that sentence was the only thing in my mind, I get up right away and look out through the window. and out there are mountains. only mountains and sky.
2 hours later I come back to the house. my trousers dirty from climbing and running in the mountains. the sound of my guitar is reaching me already out on the road. kimberly is awake, playing. I get him out in the fresh air, and suddenly we are making a song.
one by one, people wake up, take an instrument and join us. a trumpet, an accordion, a piano, a medicine can.
the same night we play the song. with us is a cello player that just happened to stop by during the day.
the song is called “namu.” listen to it on myspace.
the time zone experiment
version vi har stoppat tiden
martin_malmö
sara_karlstad
azra_wien
the chestnut experiment
he had a favorite table. every morning he sat down by that table to write and drink coffee.
one day when he came to that table, there was a green enveloped placed on it. when he came closer, he saw that it had his name written in black letters on it. he looked around, then placed his bag on one of the chairs and sat down on an other. he looked at the envelop for a while, then took it in his hands. the envelop was made out of thick paper, and since the corners were not perfect, he could see that it was made by hand. he turned the envelop, let his fingers feel every part of the texture. finally he opened the envelop and pulled out a white sheet of paper. there was a map on the white paper, drawn with the same black pen as used for his name. he needed to take a subway somewhere, then a bus, and then find a small path in the forest to follow, under trees. he couldn’t go right away. there was a day waiting for him. meetings. things to be finished. he looked at the map again, then folded the white paper, put it back in the green envelop and then put it all into his bag.
when dawn came, he was finally ready to follow the map. so he took the subway, changed to the bus and got off at the stop that was written on that white paper. it was like coming to the sky. he was high up over the city, and next to the road, the earth seemed to disappear. the sky was burning over the mountains, the high raise buildings and the river. he found himself just standing at the same spot where he stepped of the bus, suddenly realizing he wanted to move on. he turned around, crossed the street, and right there was where the trees started. he walked through a small play ground and behind a small wooden house he found a the path he was supposed to follow.
the path went uphill under the trees. he had to stop and catch his breath several times. but somehow the air was fresher up here. soon he started to feel stronger and could walk faster. the path went down valleys, crossed small creeks over wooden bridges and stepping stones, winding into the forest. and then he saw the place the map wanted him to go to. just right by the path was a stone.
the stone was quite big, so he placed his bag on the ground and climbed up the stone. When he got up, he sat down. it was calm. he looked up, and he could see the tree tops close together, almost leaving no space for the sky. then he looked around the place where he sat. there was something on the highest point of the stone. he reached after it and took it in his hand. it was a chestnut. it’s surface smooth and shiny. he turned it over. the back was painted white, and in black it said: “희망”
the pocket experiment
banja luka brewery. serbian basketball club. entrance fee 3 KM.
toilet paper. pepper. salt. flour. garlic. toothpaste. toothbrush. snacks. lemon pepper. vegetables. fruits.
like memories I forgot I had, they appear with the first wind of the autumn. a ticket to a game I cannot remember. a shopping list to a new home. the colours, the handwriting, the lost smells of the papers. a life five years ago. just like now, I was far away from what people like to call my home, figuring other words to speak, other ways to live.
I don’t write shopping lists anymore. I don’t go to basketball games. I have changed time zone.
another country. another language. other people.
but I am still
just as alive.
the time zone experiment
version may 2009
”I let go,” he said, ”I have to.”
with his eyes focused on the darkness out there, he turned silent. the waves swept up on the shore, almost reaching his feet where he sat in the sand.
moments passed. maybe only few, maybe many, but then, suddenly, he spoke again.
”but I never forget,” he said.
the letting go experiment
version Z
I’m collecting the left over of us, a small group of things hanging out in a corner of my room. this is what we used to be. things, habits,
it’s in the details you’ll always stay.
but the brutal honesty is simple. I loved you, but I never fell in love.
the me experiment
version seoul september 2009
02 FEB 1984. the snow fell that day. it kept falling for days, slowly covering more and more of the nowheres some like to call my home. for years, the snow hadn’t gotten that deep.
maybe that was the day the experiments of me started. but the exact time is not what matters. what matters is that once they’ve started, they’ll never stop.
dig in the deep snow, dig in my thoughts, explore me, but never, never find answers.
me: an experiment of being alive
