Anonymous Me

I just read a nice post on a blog who belongs to a friend of a friend. This girl, who I just met once, is a journalist. She’s very smart, terribly funny, and discusses important stuff.

Seems like everyone has a blog these days. And why shouldn’t we? It’s a great medium, and one can reach people all over the world.

The difference between my blog and this girls blog is that she signs with her own name. I don’t. I wouldn’t. The mere idea of it freaks me out. I don’t want my friends to know about it. I don’t want people I know reading about how I really feel.

I don’t discuss politics and high art. I’m not trying to save the world. But the stuff I write about is important to me, and I believe it’s important to everyone who wants to be an artist. To create is easy to some people, but there are people who struggle with insecurities all their lives.

I’ve heard a lot of people diss women of fifty who change their lives completely to become artists. I don’t se why. Can nothing of value be made by people who have already lived through half their lives? I think I may become one of those women of fifty, who feels like something is missing in their lives, who feels like they haven’t lived their lives to the fullest and used all their potential. I also think that most of these women haven’t dared to be creative earlier in their lives because of fear.

Fear is my middle name. I was afraid of continuing my academic career. I became afraid to sing in front of people. I’m afraid to write. I’m afraid of so many things, I could go on with my list for weeks. Most of all I’m afraid of being rediculous. I’m afraid of pouring my heart out, and having people laugh in my face and tell me what I’m saying is stupid and uninteresting.

That’s why I choose to be anonymous. I don’t have the confidence of this friend of a friend, who has an interesting job and write in a street wise manner about important stuff. I’m just me. All I have is this passion for art, and this very strong need to create. I want to share this, and I hope someone is listening out there.


Rimbaud’s Fork

Look at this great piece on Patti Smith and her photos:

I love how she obsesses over certain artists and writers. She’s like “OMG, Rimbaud actually had this spoon in his mouth, so it must be important”. No, I’m kidding. But I absolutely understand why she photographs these things. It is very logical to me why someone would want a picture of Virginia Woolf’s bed. I would want a picture of Virginia Woolf’s bed. I would hang it on the wall, and find it soothing to watch. I would find it inspiring, and feel like she was there with me, like her aura was still attached to the bed.

Makes me remember the Kafka shrine I used to have beside my bed when I was fifteen. For years I fell asleep looking at his face.


There you have it, now I feel bad for being so negative. I must therefore share something beautiful with you.

I have been going through Sheila Davis’ The Songwriters Idea Book this summer, and I’ve found it to be a great help getting ideas flowing! Not everything is interesting, but you pick what you feel you can use, and rush through the rest.
She has thought me to READ song lyrics. Never done that before, but I understand why it’s important to do. It’s useful looking at structure and rhyme without listening to the music at the same time. Anyway…
While working myself though it, this is one of the most beautiful lyrics I read – so simple, so elegant:


Pennies in a stream
Falling leaves, a sycamore
Moonlight in Vermont

I see fingers wave
Ski trails down a mountain side
Sowlight in Vermont

Telegraph cables, they sing down the highway
And travel each bend in the road
People meet, in this romantic setting
Are so hypnotized by the lovely…

Evening summer breeze
Warblings of a medowlark
Moonlight in Vermont
You and I and Moonlight in Vermont


Good night!

Will I Ever Feel That Hunger Again?

Sleeping until noon. No job. No money. No writing, because I suck. No singing because I suck. Worried about buying that piano, because I don’t want to stay in this country, and if I go what do I do? So not playing the piano. No songwriting, because I suck. Art seems dum and pretentious. It’s all shit basically. I’m really really tired all the time, and if that wasn’t enough, WINTER is coming. Winter in Paris is the worst. It’s really cold and depressing, and you don”t even get any snow. Thank God we’ll be in Scandinavia for Christmas…

I know it’ll get better, it just doesn’t feel like it ever will right now. It’s not all that bad obviously, but it drives me insane not earning any money, and not DOING anything. I’m completely paralyzed – can’t move. I’m in this continuum of endless procrastination, because whatever I do it won’t work, it won’t lead anywhere.  If something doesn’t turn up soon, I’ll have to turn to waitressing again. God…. Sorry about the downer post. If I complain I get so ashamed that I’ll just have to do something nice to even out the negative vibes.

Hey you out there! You who are working in a super market, or selling pens, or doing telemarketing! You who spend your nights playing the guitar or writing or painting although you can’t really afford the paint. There are others out there!

Excuse me while I go take a look at that Steve Jobs video again…

*Stay hungy! Stay Foolish!*

Joanna Newsom!

Heard her in concert in Paris last year (I think it was last year), and it was one of the most amazing concerts I’ve been to. People were absolutely mesmerized. Never seen anything like it.

When I listen to her music, I like to have the lyrics in front of me. I think that’s because there is so much text, and the texts are often kind of poetic and cryptic. Don’t know why, but often this puts me in a state where I’m able to write myself. It’s like the music and lyrics of others ignite a spark in me, and I’m able to let the words flow. Joanna is immensly inspiring, and I just found this interview on youtube. It’s nice, because she talks about her own writing process: