The Observer

as a photographer you can disappear, you can blend in, you can capture almost anything 'cause no-one has to notice you. as a reporter on the other hand you're the visible bastard who asks the annoying questions and...well...you're the one that's there, always switched on. is it impossible to blend in as a journalist? without going undercover and doing the whole wallraffing-thing, I mean.

Colours and Shapes

On Fear

the idea is there. the emotion and drive is there. the protagonist is almost there. but then there's the fear of picking up the bloody phone and actually finding out if it's all a possibility. we're talking nothing but stupid, evil, gratuitous fear. I guess there's not much to do than get over it. still it's intimidating calling someone you've never met, someone you don't know how will react to your request, someone who is just living his life as normal ignorant of the nervous caller-to-be on the other end. I don't even know what I'm scared of, 'cause I guess the worst answer one can get is 'no'. still it's weird, it's not natural calling a stranger asking him if you can invade his privacy. I don't know, maybe he'll be flattered, I guess I would've been. I'll just do it, 'cause the worst thing he could say is 'no', isn't it? I'll call, but I'll wait 'till tomorrow. today I need to calm my nerves and have a cup of tea.

Fire, Shadow and Bubbles

Fire - the voice in your head at any important time. the drive that makes life worth living and people worth meeting.
Shadow - the darkness that follows you everywhere you go. the reminiscence of what has been and what has made you grow and be you.
Bubbles - the tingly unique feeling inside once you sense something that makes you laugh, love, cry, fall apart. it's the feeling of not being in control.

extreme lack in the picture-taking-department, but still.

don't know if you've ever noticed, but when you're happy it's amazingly difficult to write anything that'll last. still, there's one thing I'd like to share: I think I disagree with Forest Gump (!) 'cause to me life isn't like a box of chocolate at all - it's like a glass of whisky. you need to drink it slowly and take time to taste and remember all the different flavours, smells and emotions you experience along the way.

certain things you'll only taste once. that's when it matters the most to get caught up in the moment and just fly away. if it's making a wish to a shooting star 'cause you think that's what your supposed to do when you see a shooting star or talking all night to a friend/lover 'till you both discover the sun interrupting your privacy between the mountains. it doesn't matter, as long as you recognize the moment as unique. a unique moment can freeze time and maybe make goodbyes unnecessary. in your mind at least, so that souls never part and hearts never leave.

A short walk in the sun

as I left the blue door behind the wind slapped my face gently and almost forced me to run back inside. but as I turned the sun-beams read my mind and dragged me out of the alley. and although the sloppy snow reached my knees, the sun was in quite the superior mood. she kicked the mushy white devil way into next week. so I left the alley smiling stupidly and I do believe the proud sun planted one on its own glowing face as well.

Something Special

Lu, Dyr and the band.
'This is a book about what writing is, about how you do it so it works, and how you do it so it lasts.'
'Original. Smooth and mellow.'

Red

bus-sheds, fruit trees and sidekick-journalism

let me hide behind a camera, a bus-shed, a brick wall, something. but don't put me in front of a camera, a bus-shed, a brick wall, anything. no matter how present I may be, I'm not there. let them worry about the future, what they love and want to do. I have no idea of what the what, what the substance, of life will be. only who the whos, who the subjects, are - always. if you tell them your lost, they probably wont believe you, and I'm not lost. I'm just finding my way and the way is quite the royal pain in the arse. I wish I could find the way to blue on my own, in my own manner. options are basically the bastard in the chaos we call freedom when all a poor soul wants is to capture and provide people with the beautiful and brittle nature of the world. but maybe that's not enough in the cynical business of journalism. maybe there just isn't room for the naive, openminded and kindhearted. the future is coming and maybe it's all right that I don't know what it'll bring. but I don't know if Louis Theroux's sidekick-journalism is for me. he's so there, in the moment and straight forward. I'm not there, I'm not even here. being invisible, that would be an amazing ability for any reporter to have. why can't I act invisible and avoid all the pay-offs to my obvious set-ups? I don't want them to respond to me as a journalist, I want them to respond naturally, to another person. 'cause in all simplicity that's all we all are, we're people trying to understand eachother. I want to know what you love, what you need, what you do and not least why you love, why you need and why you do something - anything.

time is of the essense I hear, but time is all we've got. what is journalism, what is reporting. it's displaying reality and I want the simplicity, purity and honesty of relations and people to return to the reporting. utopian? maybe. still, it's a suggestion, a hope, my way to blue.

On saying goodbye

When you look back on the year that's passed, when you concentrate to remember where, when and why and all you can recall are the little things that made it amazing and hard to ever forget. the light reflected on their faces, walking home those cold autumn-nights that didn't seem cold at all, their smiles, popcorn flying through the air, her goodheartedness, his sarcastic remarks. everything has been fun and simple, yet so detailed, intricate and brittle. but now, let the snow fall, let the memories fade. they'll never disappear and goodbye isn't always goodbye. but when you get back, can i have a ham sandwich....with a pickle?

Laugh.Love.Live

there's life and beauty everywhere you turn, as long as you remember to look, listen, smell and feel for it. smiles that make you smile, eyes that break your heart, crows nesting, water freezing. there should be beauty in most things, unless most things have forgotten how to be beautiful.