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In the description of my fake Facebook account it says: Just trying to be a good man. That's what I'm doing. Sometimes failing, but always trying. I want to be someone you can trust. No matter what. I want to be someone who'll do anything to help the ones that are in trouble, not because there's something in it for me, but just because I can.

I'd like people to be like that when I'm in trouble. I woudn't want them to betray me or look away. Therefore I'm trying to follow that sense of morality myself. I want to be someone you can go to when all hope is lost and all other backs are turned.

I want to be a good man, but what about being a man? Well, I don't take it too seriously. I do want to be masculine, but just for the lulz. Just because I feel that that's the most natural way for me to be. Gender is biology, but at the same time biology is kind of stupid and funny. I think that the whole masculinity/femininity thing is too obscure to be taken completely seriously. People really should relax when it comes to genders. You may be masculine, but when it's stopping you from being more important things, like brave, honest, happy or compassionate, you should do the right thing and giggle at the whole masculinity dealio.

Today, I returned back from the small Norwegian coastal town I spent a couple days in. (I actually made it. I didn't give up. Fuck yeah.) At the moment I'm wasting time in Rovaniemi, waiting for my train. Last night I spent hours taking endless pictures of the Barents Sea; I hope at least some of them will be good enough to be included in the Ghost book. Why don't people put pictures in their novels? It's weird. Pictures are nice.

I haven't been as happy for a long long time as I was running under the Northern night sky, alone, making lines in the Northern heather, taking pictures with a self-timer, slipping and sliding on the dark wet rocks, knowing exactly want I wanted from life.

I look like a 13-year-old pre-puberty James Dean if James Dean's father had been a dirty goblin. My face is a mess and my hair looks like a disaster and I've worn these same jeans every day all summer. Every time there hasn't been a napkin around, I've just used my jeans. I know that I look and smell unpleasant. So it's weird that dogs and kids like me. Or maybe it's understandable that they like me, but it's weird that their parents and owners do.

I'm gonna miss Norway. At least that little town. In that town all the dawgs loved me. Every time I passed by a dog, they stopped and looked very excited to see me. Even a very shy young dog licked my fingers. Children liked me too. I'd been watching this little Indian-looking woman (Native American kind of Indian) walking by the shoreline with her little Indian-looking son. Then an hour or two later I stepped out of the hostel and the boy, maybe 2 or 3 years old, walked to me in the parking lot and gave me his little hand: "Hej hej. Hej hej hej." I smiled, shook his hand and said hej.

A night earlier I'd seen a black cat walk by my hotel room's window. I remember talking to my Mom on the phone and telling her that I was looking at a very sexy young cat. (I usually call cute animals 'sexy' or 'hot' and say that they 'turn me on' and that they have 'great asses'. It's some sort of joke, I guess. My sister does it too.) And then yesterday I saw these sad posters everywhere saying that a young black cat had run away and disappeared. I realized that I probably had to call the owner and tell them what I'd seen. That's what I'd like others to do if my cat was missing. If I had a cat. So I called the number, and the owner sounded grateful. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," he said. That felt good. I really hope he found his sexy little cat.

Last night, I spent 9 hours on a bus, and when I finally got here I realized that I didn't have my fucking phone. I didn't panic, but it was tiring and disastrous, but luckily this office guy in the railway station saved me. It feels good to be good, and it feels good when people are good to you. 

Suddenly, it's so easy to communicate.

When you just do it enough many times, you'll start to notice that actually people are pretty alright. That there's no reason to be afraid; that what you see on the Internet isn't how people work in the real world.

Usually,

but now everything's just so easy, and you find yourself speaking charming Morrissey English to strange Norwegian girls.


With love and exhaustion,