It's 5.30 AM and I can't see anything

I lie on my bed and I stare at the ceiling and I have no hope and I have no future. But then the music starts playing, and suddenly I know: I can do it.


This fucking madness, madness to write here and there and everywhere is idiotic. Every word written is a risk taken. I'm just waiting for my first mistake. Maybe it's already been made. I could fall tomorrow.


Robert Henry Roiha. Jeanne Milka Kostamo. Olli Arttur Brander. Get it? Get it? Get it? If you get it, let me know.

I know how it should be. I know how it should feel, how it should smell. I'm just not sure if I can carry it out.

It must breathe, breathe, breathe.

Blarrgh.




Why does it have to be 2013? Why can't it be, let's say, 1998?

Idiots are getting stronger, getting stronger and spreading year after year, year after year, and today, ladies and gentlemen, the Kingdom of Sweden is dead. I don't know if Agnes is still there somewhere, hiding, but I sure as hell know that the country is full of Elins emotionally and intellectually handicapped friends without hearts or souls. RIP Agnes. RIP Elin.

Oh Sweden, why are you letting me down?




Beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone