You Are At The Archives for July 2011

Sunday, July 31, 2011

100 Things About Me: #2

In 1944 fascist Spain, a girl, fascinated with fairy-tales, is sent along with her pregnant mother to live with her new stepfather, a ruthless captain of the Spanish army. During the night, she meets a fairy who takes her to an old faun in the center of the labyrinth. He tells her she's a princess, but must prove her royalty by surviving three gruesome tasks. If she fails, she will never prove herself to be the the true princess and will never see her real father, the king, again.

"Pan's Labyrinth" by Guillermo del Toro is my absolute favorite movie. I got it for my 14th birthday and fell completely in love with it's combination of darkness and innocence, and how every time I watch it I find something new; some detail that connects things together in a whole new way. I find relief in it, hope, an escape. It can be interpreted in many ways. I like to think that I still have a spark of that open-minded curiosity and imagination that a child has just naturally and not because they've been taught to be that way. I do know the world is cruel, so why let all of me give in to that?

The movie is one of the things that have kept me writing. It reminds me that there is more to life than just reality. In books, fairytales, movies, etc. everything is possible. I can have two heads if I want to. It's my call. I decide. No limits.

Dream it away.

Dream it away.

Drained, I stand beneath
The dry clouds, waiting for rain
A shower of debt.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

100 Things About Me: #1

I am a complete and utter Disney fanatic. Makes the world a bit brighter, you know? And man, I have so many memories attatched to those movies... <3 My favorite heroines are Lilo, Pocahontas and Esmeralda =3 Fave princess was and is definitely Ariel =P

I think they're all very strong and independent female characters =) I want those to be a role model for my kids (when I have them, not yet obviously) and not some damsel in distress...

And Ariel. Well, when I was around 4 years old I wanted to marry her.

Monday, July 25, 2011



She wasn’t a pretty girl. All the while, she had fought hard to be conceived as something close to eye-candy, the highness of her heels going from one inch to three on a daily basis, changeable, iridescent in the shuddering hours of darkness. Too many times had the triumphant grin scared her through the mirrors with rounded corners, encircling her with false comfort, the night soon fading out, leaving the world supremely unaware of her existence, the light in her eyes resembling the afterglow of a moth dying once reaching its flame.

I remember clearly the night we first met, down the east corridor of the abandoned church. Her eyes were bleeding by the corners again. I’d seen her before, begging for vitamin K tablets from one of the guards. You see, even though we can run as fast as eighty miles per hour and hold our breaths for tens of minutes at a time, our bodies can become ticking bombs a few times a year if our genetic code gets messed up enough, that is, if one of our parents is human. It tends to weaken the blood, I suppose. Originally, we were designed not to need any extra. Our bodies were safe havens for blood from unknown sources, hell, that’s why they made us. It’s easier to call up an almost-human vessel of blood transfusion than to beg people give some of their own.

That’s what it said in the brochure. A vessel. I am a fucking vessel. Makes me think of something metallic in the shape of an egg with feet, like a space ship gone wrong. Could’ve at least told us what that would mean. Claire here is what you could call the bastard child of mixed blood. Everyone falls for a teacher sometimes. Her Dad used to be a famous professor in biology, emphasis on the used to be. If he’d been smart enough to practice a bit of self-restraint and kept it in his pants, he would still be alive. Talk about a fuck to die for. Everyone seemed to be having a secret obsession with miss Laury Allen. I’d only been four or five years old when seeing her at the market one day. She’d looked like a fairy princess with her long black hair and slightly spiky ears.

I felt bad to be staring at Claire like that. Without the slight disability she could have saved many lives. Ironic, isn’t it? Our killing in order to save lives. We were only supposed to get just enough blood to leave them alive but, you know, it’s hard to stop once you’re in the zone. I’ve made it a habit of counting up to thirty seconds before making myself stop. It only works half the time.

“Go on,” she said, throwing her hands up. “I’m not taking up the whole hallway. Move.”

“We have a stash, you know,” I whispered, straightening my collar as I took slow steps as though passing her.

“What?” she said, arching her eyebrows at me. She’d wiped the blood off the sides of her face but her eyelashes were still rich in red. 

“It’ll help with the bleeding.” I smiled sadly, handing my pen to her. “There’s five pills in there. But be careful, there still might be some ink at the bottom,” I murmured, looking ahead. “Peter has the same problem.”

I glanced at her to find her mouth open, her tongue wagging in search of words. “I—“

“Just take it,” I said sternly as I took another step forward, tucking her fingers around the black ballpoint pen. 

"She wasn't a pretty girl."

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Sunday Scribblings #2: Distant

What do you think of when I say distant?  Distant lands? Distant loved one? Distant look? Distant can be spacial or emotional or just about anything you like. What do you make of it?

headed to outer space
head-first into a rocket, I float
subconciously afraid.

even though far away,
I know it is where I'm going;
a heavy metal death 
glaring at me from the distance

maybe between the beginning
and the slow-paced end,
I will find a way to turn around.

maybe then,
I can stare into space,
stars covering my eyes,
my heart a lost balloon. 

Monday, July 18, 2011

Sunday Scribblings #1: Captivate

What do you think of captivate?

Living in captivity,
I dream of three walls.

A way of slipping away
Into the dark, lanquid sea

Fluffy clouds of light
Cry upon me with red tears
And leave on me a pattern
As they seep through the chains,

I am held captive
By the mutated wings
Growing out of my back.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Somebody cut my head off.

 Somebody cut my head off

Don't be fooled by
the disciplined afterglow,

The shockwaves still roam,
Growing out of my heart
Like slime,

A carrier cell, planted 
Deep inside the tendrils of my memory,
Organs made of insects,

The little devils.

They won't even talk to me anymore,
Mad at me, cursing in tongues,
Speaking of weapons, 
Making me jealous.

And I cannot cry.
I cannot fucking cry,
My mind is a whirlpool,
Spinning yet calm,
Colorless, dull---


It hurts, too many of them
Too many creatures skipping through my veins
Playing fucking hopscotch.

Let it be fiction.
Fiction coursing through me,
Not a memory or a recognition but something fake,

Artificial coloring on an artificial moment,
Frogs, castles, ponies, but no 
Not the pliers,
Not the razor,
Not the pills,
Not the towel,
Not the annoying ambulance driver.

Not her.
Definitely not her.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Falling off the edge of the world.

Falling off the edge of the world.

The morning light shuffles in through my half-closed lids. I call it morning, but it might be night. I can still feel his limbs curled around mine like flames licking wood, moving and yet still, heaving from his intake of breath. He is silent but I know he’s awake, his grip on my body growing weaker.

“Are they gone yet?” I whisper, my voice ragged from sleep.

He crosses his forearms over my chest, pressing the tip of his nose to my neck. “No,” he speaks slowly, his fingers digging into my skin. “I can still see the flashlights.”

“But you’re not even looking—“

“They’re still there. I know it.”

I sigh, forcing my eyes open. I find myself gazing into emptiness, a vast hole of white filling the ground. “Where are we?” I try to get up in panic, my body still numb and helpless from the cold.

“Shhh,” he murmurs into my neck, “Calm down. We’re okay. We’re safe.”

I turn my head around to see better, forcing his hands off me as I notice it. The woods we were hiding in are gone; in their place is the white coldness, ready to swallow us. I watch the tiny specks of dust float about the air, spiraling upward like falling, unfledged birds. The sky is nowhere to be seen, eaten by its peers it seems, a big, humid cloud feeding on its own. 

I gasp as I feel his cold fingers on my neck. 

“Remember when you said you would stay with me even if we were falling off the edge of the world? That you wouldn’t need anything as long as you had me? Well, here we are,” he presses his fingertips to my vertebrates, turning my head from left to right, “and you want to leave.”

I turn around to face him, noticing the tears scrambling out of his eyes. 

“What do you mean?” 

He looks into my eyes, smiling sadly. “Look at your hands.”

“But Will—“

He leans in, whispering slowly. “Look at your hands.”

I hold my breath as I glance down, a painful cry crawling out of my mouth as I feel the last bits of the earth crumble beneath me. I see him waving at me as I disappear; the specks of dust piercing through me like hooks and needles.

It is dark now.

"Falling off the edge of the world"

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Wordless Wednesday #1

Come away with me.

 Come away with me

She was looking at her book, her eyes still in full squint from the uproar of the sun. I lay down on my side, my head resting on my elbow, the sound of the waves a muffled echo. So close and still so very far she kept on reading, holding her left hand to her left cheek, the fingernail of her little finger pressed to her lower lip as though in confusion.
“Anna, darling, you’re dying here.”
She lifted her head, licking a finger before turning the page.
“Talk to me, Anna,” I said, resting my hand on the open book.
She laughed, turning her head around. “I have a family, Dan. Family and responsibilities, two words that your vocabulary seems to lack. I can’t just fly off with you and leave them with him. He’d just get in touch with my mother and you know how—“
“Listen,” I demurred, snapping her book closed.
I felt my lungs flip over as she sighed heavily, holding her head to her hands.
“I’m going to leave for Paris in three weeks. You have until then to decide. I have two tickets—“
“Let me say it!” I ran my hand through my hair, tucking at my sleeves. “I love you.”
She burst out laughing, shaking her head. “No you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No, Daniel.”
“Come away with me,” I pleaded, taking a hold of her hands. “Please. Let me save you.”
“Well someone’s acting like a bloody hero.”
“I’m serious.”
“As am I when I tell you not to break my family apart!” she said, holding her hand to her lips when noticing she’d raised her voice. “Just leave it, okay?” She looked away, her face suddenly lighting up. I turned my head to see her four-year-old son stumbling toward us with a bucketful of water in his arms, something shiny peeking from the side.


"French photographer Henri Cartier Bresson once said, “In photography, the smallest thing can be a great subject. The little, human detail can become a Leitmotiv.” Google Image Search “Henri Cartier Bresson” and choose the first photo from the left in the second row. Write a fiction or non-fiction piece *inspired by* or *about* that photo. Your life or the life in the photo, your choice, just write what it inspires."



I don't need to see
The scars. Leave me alone here
Bareback on the floor.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011


I've been born and raised in Finland, so even though some American and British shows made their way into our televisions and so a part of my childhood, it is some sort of Finnish tradition that the Moomins were a major part of mine. I still watch them, and want my little brother (soon two years old) to start watching them because it is such a big part of our culture.

The Moomin Family
"The Moomins (Swedish: Mumintroll, Finnish: Muumi) are the central characters in a series of books and a comic strip by Swedish-Finn illustrator and writer Tove Jansson, originally published in Swedish by Schildts[2] in Finland. They are a family of trolls who are white and roundish, with large snouts that make them resemble hippopotamuses. The carefree and adventurous family live in their house in Moominvalley, in the forests of Finland, though in the past their temporary residences have included a lighthouse and a theatre. They have many adventures along with their various friends.
In all, nine books were released in the series, with five picture books and a comic strip being released between 1945 and 1993.
The Moomins have since been the basis for numerous television series, films and even a theme park called Moomin World in Naantali, Finland." ----- READ MORE HERE

 I think the biggest impact that came from watching the show and reading the books and the comic strips was that it taught me how very different people are and that even though they are, they're just as special. The franchise has actually been banned in some countries because of the rather unorthodox family combo.

The show is full of music and lovely voice actors, it teaches things to everyone watching it, doesn't matter if you're a child or an adult, even though when you get older you see it differently and see into the actual, realistic values and problems it portrays. I still know most songs and melodies by heart and watching episodes from the show brings back so many great memories it just makes me tear up. And it doesn't get old. Even though the books were written tens of years ago, it's portrayal of issues (from family issues to social and political if we look close) still remains recent and thought-provoking.

I remember laying on a blanket with my little sister when I was around five years old, eating cold spaghetti from a tupperware box (don't ask, we loved that...) while watching the Moomins. We would always argue who could be which character and why. My sister was really easily tricked so I usually got my way and got to be the character I wanted to be.

My favorite was Little My.

"Little My (Swedish: Lilla My - literally: "little mu") is a character in the Moomin series of books by Tove Jansson. She first appears in the fourth book, The Exploits of Moominpappa (1950). She is a small, determined and fiercely independent Mymble. When she wants something done, she does it straight away. She is very aggressive, mischievous to a fault and totally disrespectful, but can be a good friend when she wants to. She has a brash personality. She is the Mymble's Daughter's younger sister. She is eventually adopted by the Moomin family.
The name Little My originated from the twelfth letter of the Greek alphabet: μ (Mu) - transliterated as my and pronounced [my] in Swedish. In the metric system, lowercase mu μ, meaning "one-millionth", represents the prefix "micro-", from the Greek μικρός (mikrós), meaning "small".
The popularity of the character has led to the personal name My being borne by more than 3000 women and girls in Sweden."

I suppose it was thanks to Little My that I didn't want to be just one of the abiding, doll-playing girls, even though I had my girly phases and still do. I wanted to be vicious and strong and smart like her.


"TV is something that people either watch a lot of or have definite feelings about. This week, we want you to think about tv show from your past. Maybe you watched it, maybe you didn't and it was just something that everyone else talked about.

What feelings does the show evoke? What memories does it trigger?

Keep it to 600 words and come back to link up on Tuesday, July 5th."

Monday, July 4, 2011

Melt pt. 11

Read more »

Saturday, July 2, 2011

Six word saturday #1

I was born this way, baby

Going to Helsinki Pride 2011 today <3

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