My landlord Greg B.

My landlord really wants to be part of this blog so I wanna tell you he is the most execellent landlord in Ireland and even in other places. The first day I came here he said: Everything is yours. Its because he is an aristocrat, he is so polite and generous. Anyway, he always forces me to watch Texas play every saturday, but I am slowly beginning to enjoy it and taking all the space in the sofa.

Greg B. is a writer and I am just waiting for him to be rich and famous writer and very soon he will because somebody that has this name Greg B. sure will.

But leaving the joke behind he is a warmhearted, intelligent and humours characther.

Yesterday I could use his judgement when I went to AAmeeting instead of thinking for hours.

There is though one thing Greg B. (he is also goodlooking) will be responsible for, and that is my novel: A good advice of the locksmith, - he has, - notice this, lended me his computer day after day to finish my novel. Without his help my
novel would never be publish this winter.

And the thing is I am still torturing myself, should I publish it, should I not, - but with the computer I am only torturing my story. Time will show if it was the right move, - to publish, and that time comes from Greg B.

So Greg B. is the timekeeper.

He also says that if there comes any men after me, he is going to talk to them as my father would do. Yebb. Greg B. is actually allover my life.

I only have to breath and thats nice.

He even cook me a food, and I still havent cook him anything, he is a great in everything, I call him The Great Greg.

This was only a little about The Great Greg B. my american landlord in Ireland.

Say hello to Greg B.

The signs

taknin. utaf bokinni.

draumurinn um walter thegar hann sagdi ad sagan vaeri buin.
thegar gudmundur kom i heimsokn og sagdi mona lisa vaeri ekki tilbuin.
tvaer kongulaer saman a troppunum.
ameriski fotboltaleikurinn i sjonvarpinu.
ord naomi ad eg vaeri hraedd.
pudinn i kirkjunni.
thegar konan taladi a fundinum i kvold, ad eg aetti reyndar ekki ad gefa hana ut.
thegar hjartahlidid opnadist.
draumurinn med gusta og hlidid sem lokadist.
lykillinn a ranargotunni, splittid.
steinninn sem var einsog orvaroddur a solvallagotunni.

man ekki fleira i bili.

for ad skaela utaf thessu adan. thad kannski hjalpar. ekkert ha ha ha.

ps. en thetta er allt i farvegi.

Islenskt rofl

Thad fer kannski i taugarnar a einhverjum eg blogga a ensku, en eg er ad aefa mig i ensku ef einhver vill fa ad vita thad, og svo tholi eg ekki allt thetta th og o og d. Eg var ad leida AAfund her i kvold, gekk rosalega vel, yndislegt.
Ja. Her er mikid af blomum utum allt og thad er vordur i naestum hverri einustu bud herna, mig minnir thetta hafi ekki verid svona hja Jokli og Kristinu i Ameriku en her eru allstadar verdir, verdir, verdir og flottir bilir, irar eru ordnir svo rikir en thad eru mest innflytjendur sem eg hef sed. og einn saetan mann. sem var orugglega murari eda eitthvad svoleidis, hann var svo hlyr, eg kunni ad meta thad, en eg sa hann bara i smastund, hann hefdi getad verid brodir Roy Keene, kannski var hann thad. Menn eru med skodanir a Roy Keene herna, straight from his mouth, straight talking, yeah he says what he means, og hvad er fleira a Irlandi, miljon pobbar, kuldi, blom, leikhus, labba, labba, labba, laera a allar velarnar, i kvold voknadi mer um augun utaf ollum breytingunum sem eg hef gengid i gegnum herna, jamm alein hulk hulk. og alltaf thessi enska, enska, enska. og blom. eg er buin ad grennast mikid, gullhringurinn rett hangir a fingrinum, mig langar ad hringja i Stephen Rea.

Thad er samt eitt sem er eg buin ad fatta herna a Irlandi og thad er situation. Thad verdur ad vera situation.

Semsagt thegar eg skrifa leiktexta verdur ad sitution. jamm. Og svo er einn kennari ad tala um thad sama og mamma hefur verid ad segja i thusund ar:

Make space for the reader.


Og svo er eg enn ad veltast med lasasmidinn. Vantar ast tilad haetta hugsa um thad, vantar akvedni, bara draumar, tofraverold, takn og allskonar sem segja mer ad gefa hann ut, sama og eg er ad skrifa um. en eg sjalf vil helst haetta vid, eda theas eg vil helst ekki hugsa meir um thetta, thetta er ad fokka mer out of brunninni og eg fae illt i hjartad.

enginn er tilad koa med mer i minu veseni.

mig langar ad henda thessari bok i sjoinn.

Back to boredom

Since I passed the date-gate I can have my boredom back.

Ha ha ha. Ha ha ha ha ha.

Ha ha ha ha.

The Date-Gate

Please pass the date-gate and you are in Ireland.

When I woke up after the fake-date or the anti-date I knew I never wanted to see him again. And then everything changed, I knew I was in Ireland, moment of realization, my eyes could see the churches, houses, people, streets, bridges, everything, and my ears could hear how constantly the aeroplanes fly over my house, I had lived her for two weeks without hearing it.

I was happy.

I guess I havent heard my border-guard in the beginning or the locksmith or the God Janus who is the god of every gate.

So to cut the story - to be continued.

Comment from Ireland

I have been thinking of a flower, and dancing, did you know I dance every day in Ireland, yeah, in my house, flower and dancing, and watching the flower dancing in the wind.

And guess what, I got my first comment from Ireland.

The man at Liffey

Today I met the river-man, sitting all the time at the river Liffey, watching her go by, he told me once he fell in a love with a woman and this woman left his husband for him. But I brake up with her because then I knew she could as well brake up with me if we got married.

So you lost her because of worrying about the future. What about yourself being with a married woman.

The man said nothing, it was obvious he was broken and was trying to put himself together by listening to the river.

I am not sure the river heard him.

The asking-man

I met a guy here in Dublin always asking me out, he asked me on the mobile, he asked me on the text msg, he asked me on the emails, and when I finally went with him to a resturant he asked if I could afford these prices.

Just to let you know

The next day I got an email from him, saying that I had planted a seed in him about his obsessive behaviour, sending all those emails all the time, and he was torned between that devil and another devil saying I would maybe think he no longer wanted to be friends if he didnt send me an email.

Here we have a clear examlple.

This man is blaming it on me.

It means he takes no responsibility for his life.

Are you okay?

I met a man here in Dublin who was always asking if I were okay, and I found it rather scary. But perhaps he wasnt okay.

The story of the pillow and the book

Last spring I dreamt I had a huge black leather pillow decorated with five rings. I have been writing a love-story about black man and white woman, having huge doubts if I should publish it or not, if it was ready or not, if it was good enough and those wonderful questions that comes to one creative mind.

I was sure that the five rings meant I should write it five times as I did and then lay on the pillow until next year maybe.

Then I met a young woman in Ireland and she said I was afraid. I gave it a thought and told her about the dream of the black pillow and my idea I should lay down and wait, think, rest, sleep...

She said I couldnt be sure of that meaning. Perhaps it meant something else.

And today in an old church, thousend year old church, I went in, and in the cellar of the church, behind a glass, there was a book laying on a pillow.

It was open and you could read it.



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King Boredom

King Boredom is such a great king that all mankind fear him. To show their fear they dig holes and hide themselves inside those holes. To tell you the truth. But King Boredom gives great award to them who doesnt fear him and that actually happened to a great hero called Elisabet. She was a poet and she had constantly been reading up her poetry in public since she was 20 years old. Fifteen years later she just couldnt stand it anymore, reading up poetry in public, it was so boring, she thought she would vomit if she had to do it one more time.

And what did our hero do? She felt the boredom, and feeling the boredom gave her such a great power that next time she red poetry in public, she put fire on the book and red it while it was burning.

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The many holes of our life

As you know we live in many holes, we live in the mobile-hole, the blog-hole, the komment-hole, the text msg-hole, the mail-hole, and ofcourse your home-hole, and the thing is that sometimes some people fill all our holes. So we have to find a new hole and where could that hole be, yes thats right thats the new-hole. But just to tell you why people go and fill your holes, it is because they are bored.

Happiness

I finally came home and wanted to make myself an ommelette but here is the gas... so lets not be afraid of the gas. It is full moon, so full and the light cast so good light. I am drinking tea anyway. I went all around Dublin to day, yeah, and I might tell you later when I have had my ommelette. But now I have a very good story which is called The book on the pillow. And then everything came together, dream and reality, the dream took place in reality and opposite, yeah opposite, there are flight every five minutes over my area, I am not sure if I am making the ommelette but I turned on the electricity in my blanket, common, what kind of blanket is that, Ireland is icecold at the moment, still the roses are open, and I am happy with myself.

My first date in Ireland

was not a date. Gaeinn sem var buinn ad senda mer oll thessi imeil a dag, senda sma skilabode hringja og obboslega hissa af thvi eg vildi ekki segja honum hvar eg aetti heima. En eg akvad ad gefa thessu sjens og vera ekki svona tjradrumbaleg og tha segir hann a einhverjum resturnat, hefurdu efni a thessu, - thad var fullt tungl, thetta var enski bankamadurinn, eitt af tigrisdyrunum, eg hafdi nottla alveg efni a thessu, eg vard bara svo hissa, aetlar thu ekki ad bjoda mer, eg bara helt thad, og svo komu skyringarnar, hann vildi ekki ad folk gerdi rad fyrir honum, og hann vildi vita hvernig eg bregdist vid, og eg hellti mer yfir hann, og tha for hann ad bidja afsokunar og eg sagdi fyrir hvad, svo akvad eg ad lata hann ekki eydileggja kvoldid, fullt tungl og hundrad skutur i hofn og for inna omurlega stadinn og fekk omurlegan smokkfisk sem hann svo borgadi og thegar eg neitadi thvi tha kom eitthvad no no no, einsog hann vaeri thvilikur hofdingi. sko malid er ad thad er takmarkad ad marka imeil, madur ser folk best vid bordid: stjornsamur niskupuki.

og thegar eg spurdi hvort hann hefdi beitt konu ofbeldi: bara i sjalfsvorn.

Keltabangsinn

Vitid thid hvad Irar kalla efnahagsundrid sitt: The Celtic Tiger. Enda eru her litil tigrisdyr a hverju horni, veit ekki hversu keltnesk thau eru.

You got it; blog

Nu er eg voknud, dreymdi Einar Karason einsog Jim Morrison i nott og einhverja bartjona. Er ad bida eftir imeili fra utgefandanum, drekka kaffi og mikid ad hugsa um hvort eg eigi ad fara uti bud og kaupa djus. Peningarnir fljuga ur hondunum a manni her i Dublin. Svo er eg alltaf halfvidutan. Hef ekkert heyrt fra Katrinu. Var ad hugsa hvort eg aetti ad skrifa flugmanninum en thad er einsog hafi verid skrufad fyrir thad i bili, mer thykir samt mjog vaent um hann, eg a eftir ad spyrja hvort thetta se paragliderland. Mer synast adallega vera hlidar her. Svo vantar mig skrifbord, svo er eg buin ad eignast addaenda, hann sendi mer thrju imeil i gaer og tvo sms og seinna sms var tilad segja mer ad hann myndi hringja, og svo hringdi hann. Hann er enskur bankamadur. Veit einhver hvort thetta er addaun eda ofsoknir. Kannski astsyki. Einsog astar og kynlifsfikn, margir halda ad thad se einhver perraskapur en thad er mest einmanaleiki. Eg er buin ad fa einmanaleikann a heilann her i Dublin, afskaplega merkilegt kvikindi.

Thetta kvikindi reisir hallir i stadinn fyrir ad retta ut hendina.

Army of obsessions

Like you know I have army of obsessions. That keeps me away from being alive, that keeping me away from my feelings. But here in Ireland my obsessions doesnt work, I am trying to or they do authomatically, - I also can tell you I can feel the pain of the obsessions.

Heilraedi lasasmidsins

hefst a ad eg hitti spakonu i new york og eftir thad fer orlagahjoldid ad snuast, og svo skrifadi eg sogu um thetta og klaradi a irlandi og eftir eg skiladi sogunni for eg i gegnum hlid a gomlu borginni i dublin og fyrsta sem eg hitti er spakona.

My first heartstone in Ireland

I found it where they are building houses, houses, houses. Tiny little stone with a candle in it, a mask, butterfly and heart.

My first Irish play

She comes into the train.
she sits down.
she has something in hear ears.
she looks around.
she smiles little smile.
she goes into her handbag.
she takes out a map of dublin.
she look at it.
she takes up a mobile phone.
she watch it for a while.
she takes up the map again.
she sing a very low tune.
she puts the mobile into her pocket.
she looks at the map.
she goes into her handbag.
she takes out a camera.
she sits with the camera, smiling.
she look at some picture.
she close the camera and put it into her handbag.
she smiles to me.

I was ready for that smile.

Fading away

Old soldiers dont die. They fade away, he said. And then I remembered Beckett's handwriting, it was fading away.

Three ladies from Beckett

At the railstation in Howth they were sitting, just pomped out of the play. I couldnt believe my eyes so I couldnt take my eyes off them. Its a huge fishmarket there,.

A bird in Ireland

I saw a bird at the shore today and found out I am Ireland, because you cant find bird like this in Iceland, so its good to know the birds so you can tell where you are.

Litid barn a leidinni

Mig langar bara ad segja ad Garpur og Ingunn eiga von a barni, thad a ad koma 7.februar. Thetta eru svo mikil gleditidindi ad manneskja einsog eg sem er sibladrandi missi bara malid og fer ad prjona. Thad var reyndar litid barnabarn hun Johanna sem platadi mig tilad kaupa prjona og garn. Svo eg sit her prjonandi a Irlandi. Og hugsa til thessa litla krilis sem er a leidinni hja theim. Og svo hugsa eg bara Garpur ad verda pabbi, thad er svo stutt sidan hann kom i heiminn og efni i margar baekur. En thau eru svo falleg saman og god og falleg hann og Ingunn.

On the dart-train to Donaghmide

The dart train was crowded and there he was with his eyes made my body warm all of a sudden.

Then he went out without looking at me.

Molly and Malone

In a little coffeehouse yesterday on O'Connell street it was full of old ladies, sitting at every table, they all looked like Molly but one sure was Malone dies.

And when I think of it today I am sure this was an internatioal meeting of some witches.

In the streets of Dublin

Yesterday it was a heavy rain and in front of me four young ladies going with their bags when suddenly the bottom of one bag opened and all the fine stuff went to the street. The four young ladies tried in a hurry to pick it up when there came a (klaedskiptingur) about 60 something, with pink hair, high heels, just like he jumped out of the show and said: I am so sorry I cant do anything.

Mobile, shoes and Godot

I bought me a mobile-phone, and two pair of shoes, and a thing so I could plug in my computer in Ireland, and so I red Waiting for Godot and found out Beckett should have deleted the chapther number two. I already got the messages.

Enn um lasasmidinn

Lasasmidurinn skildi eftir lykilinn a arinhillunni thegar hann yfirgaf aettlandid.

My lonlyness

I found out that all my obsession is to keep me in one place, my lonlyness, and to make it so beautiful so I dont wanna leave the place and finally wanna die in there. But here in Dublin the walls of my lonlyness are slowly going to pieces, so there I am with my lonlyness, able to feel it, which I was not before.

Because of all the ideas, the beauty, and me building all the time.

*

You might be tired of my father but perhaps all this lonlyness-in-beauty-building was a revenge, because he rejected me, I was going to build me such a beautiful lonlyness and die in it to make him unhappy. Or I dont know if its my father, perhaps I wanted peace and to rest in peace.


*

I was thinking of my first play this morning, about three person, she, the other and a person in a glass bowl. The person in the glass bowl gives comment all the time but they cant hear her, she seems to have no feelings and want no drama, the focus has never been much on her, more the conflict between the others. That is a love-conflict. But perhaps the person in the glass bowl is the key. She is the master of them both. Letting them going into circles and they never can be able to contact their true self because they are not aware of her.

They never step out of love.

They are not aware of the lonlyness, so there is kind of a missing link, a missing part, and if you are not aware of that part, this part start to control.


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The person in the glass bowl is like a greek philosofher, although she comes up with all kind of comments.

And that remdind me of two things: When I went with my mother to the Arab-country I could feel how lonly I was in my western culture, based on the Greek.

And secondly, few days ago I asked a German student to be my audience, I would sit at the statue of James Joyce and play that I was a writer that must decide if he was going to publish his story this year or not.

I sat there and afterwards I asked him what he had seen, and he said, you was like a greek philosopher, heavly thinking, I saw a writer that will not publish his story.

(Not this year, maybe later.)

The funny thing was, I was sitting there very seriously, looking at a little tree in the street and above the tree there was a spider, making her web.


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My grandmother Elisabet

Has a birthday today, she already passed away, she was a military minded woman, and very brave.Always wearing bautiful dresses and when she walked it was like a whole army, look I am coming. She left those shoes when she died and then I knew she only had moved to the next room.

Ali from Pakistan

I met Ali from Pakistan in bus nr. 29A which is my bus in Dublin. He is studying business as all of them, and during the night he works in a 24hours shop. He is intresting in dealing with people and I asked what is the secret about that, and he said, be kind and not loose your temper. He said I was matured, reasonble and something more, maybe open, person. He was very happy to hear that there was one Ali from Pakistan in Iceland as well.

Lasasmidurinn fra Irlandi

I dag for lasasmidurinn fra Irlandi.


Hvad skildi hann eftir, ljod? Eda eitthvad til therris, kannski tar...

The gap in Ireland

I was coming home from town, a long road, with the dart, and then the darkness, I couldnt find my way to the old ruined church which is my sign, then I met two teenager-boy with their dogs, and they showed me the way,...just go through the gap.

And here I am.

To my friends

It can be hard to know if you finish a book or not. But this morgning I knew when I was sitting at home and thinking of I should write emails to all my lovers. Then suddenly something inside of me said, - it was the finish-god - fuck them all.

So perhaps they will not be blocking my life any longer. Or me letting them do so. Okay, here is the permission to block my life.

So something new, one day at a time.

The narrow path

I went through the village, cross the road, over the bridge, down the steps and then I found a narrow path that led me to the dart-station. There were lot of flowers on the path, and grass, it looked like old one and I could see the Rottweiler suddenly coming running towards me and I would say, do you know Mani.

On the other hand there was the man's world, lot of big cars and something going on in huge machines, - on the other hand there was the dart-road.

All this in a needle-eye.

The meaning of life

I can tell you the meaning of life but I cant buy a ticket in the dart-train. So I tell you the meaning of life is to buy a ticket in the dart-train.

The Irish are back

As Garpur pointed out here are lot of red-haired people, allover the place and they all look so sensitive, nice,poetic, irish.

So now I am in O'Connell street trying to buy a coffee-machine because I already destroyed one. Yeah, it was a red-haired coffee-machine.

The Irish are gone

Here I met people from Rumenia, Slovenia, Georgia, Greece, Germany, England, Pakistan, America, Africa, Biafra, but no Irish, must be in the walls or what. Where are they. Gone. I met one Irish and he was brother of Roy Keene and this lady in the bookstore. Other Irish I havent seen. Yes, one with a balloon.

What to learn about in Dublin

Money-machine in the street.
Security-system in the house.
Gas-machine to make coffee.
Open my hotel-room with a card.
Buy a ticket in a machine.

Thinking about buying mobile=phone and a computer.

So this is the western world.

And asking for help all the time.

Like God wants me to be modern. Common guys.

Lot of machines anyway.

What Ella Stina learned in Dublin, to use a machine.

And first thing I heard hear about playwriting it is like building a machine.

Who is a fortuneteller

I came to a Ireland and was sure I would rent an old house with flowers on the roof and old chair to sit in and it would give a sound from the centuries. But non such stuff. I am renting a room in a brand new and modern house somewhere out of Dublin and my landlord is an American Writer.

~

So now God has taken me off almost every road I usually go in my brain but he has not still taken me off the publishing or not publishing road. Perhaps he really want me to find out and stop looking at the signs and playing all the games.

The painter and the docuartive

I was wondering if I should pulished my book or not when I met this painter and docuareting. I asked him what is the secret of that

The secret is patience, he said.

So I must be patience with my book, I asked.

The lady in the lobby

I met a woman in the lobby at my hotel and she was rather serious until I asked her where she came from. She was so serious it took me 3 or 4 days to ask her. Then she said she was from Georgia.

Oh, I said, my mother takes tourist there.

Then she gave me a big smile.

And I have a silverspoon from Georgia, I said.

Then she gave me a even bigger smile. And draw a picture of the whole country in 3 or 4 sentences.

Is it the right place

I came to Dublin - Ireland - to study from the writers, because the Irish were supposed to be such a good storytellers, but so I went into bookstore and met a beautiful Irish girl working there. She said they were so bored the Irish writers, blend and dull. American were better, more flavoured.

Nice word. Flavoured.

Anyway she said the plays were good and its fathers birthday today, he was a playwriter.

Fast or slow

If I go fast, I crash.

But so I met a guy here in Dublin who said if he go slow he loose concentration.

So please give a comment.

A blind and a kind lady

Today going to town I met a lady who leaned against the wall and I asked if she was okay. She was blind and I led her to the supermarket where we had coffee, she was 86 coming from the graveyard, we talked about lonlyness, being alone without her husband, death, tragedy, god, children, blindness, coffee, travelling and so on. I asked somebody at the coffehouse if there was a internet-cafe there and he pointed somewhere down the road.

Oh, this blind lady said, it must be the place where they all sit down in a row with their computers.

My first Irish story

The pope was coming and the Irish asked themselves if they should bow or not, and while they waited for an answer the pope went by.

James Joyce a huge promblem in Ireland

I found out James Joyce is a huge problem in Ireland, I went to the Writers Museuem and couldnt found him there with all the other writers. Because he is such a problem they had to put him elsewhere.

Ella Stina's machine

Since my early childhood I have been told that playwriting is the most difficult thing on earth, so always when I think of playwriting I start shivering.

But here in Ireland I have finally heard something thats makes sense when it comes to playwriting, my theacher told me playwriting is not about writing these endless conversation - more about building machine.

Therefore now it makes sense that my friend who drove me to the airport is a man of the machine.

Ella Stina off the road

Sometimes god takes you off the road. Like yesterday I was supposed to walk, but took a bus instead, it was a wrong move or what, he told me to go out and take a taxi, it was a heavy traffic road. I managed to get one and start talking with the taxidriver, his name was Butler. So Butler, you are in the Irish music.

No, he said, I am not good at listening.

I understand, I said, neither me, I am so full of my self.

Ella Stina on a bus

On my way to a meeting I was sitting next to a lady, I got a ticket by the busdriver and asked the lady what to do with this ticket.

Oh, nothing, you dont have to do aything with it, she said.

Like the guy I am in love with, I asked.

The blind and the kind woman

A premia of my play Blinda kindin will be in Austurbae, the 15th of september. This is a comedy about a woman who let burry her self twelve times, yes, having her funeral twelve times.

I am a dramatic person but write comedies.

Actually I am romantic, but thats a secret.

Romantic is to keep me in the legend.

~

Dont forget the show, Palina Jonsdottir is excellent in the role of the blind and kind woman with the Funeral-woman and the Universe-woman.

This show has already been on in Idno, New York, Macedonia, Austria.

So join us in the theatre.

Ella Stina in bissniss

On the plane to Dublin there was a lady sitting next to me, I thought she was a nun and thought it was a lucky sign, but she was a office-lady from Australia, I told her that is easy to see the desk as an altar. She knocked her head. But she thougth I was in businiess.

Me! In business! I dont know even how to spell it.

Yeah, I thought you was in business. Travelling back and forth.

Do I look like in buuisneiss, I said.

Yeah, I thougth so, she said.

I know what you mean, I said.

But I didnt tell her about all the bissniss in my head, going back and forth.

~

So finally somebody saw me as I am, a nun from the land downunder.

Ella Stina at the border

I learned a lot on my trip to Ireland, when I had crossed the border in Iceland, I suddenly remembered that I had forgot to stop the water in the washing machine as I had told Garpur, so I had to run back and telephne, Garpur did not answer, it was early in the morging. So I called Valli and asked him to let Garpur know. So I went back and had to cross the border again. The borderguard was crazy: How dare you cross the border without asking the borderguard.

I did not know, I said.

When you cross the border, you must ask the border-guard.

You mean the border-guard inside?

Ella Stína í paraglider

Hvítu blómin eru alveg að springa út, kannski verð ég að fresta Írlandsferðinni tilað sjá undrin. Þetta eru þrjú knippi, þrír vendir. Kannski hin heilaga þrenning, eða þrjár miljónir, málið er að í dag frelsaðist ég, ég hætti að binda mig fasta, túlka og binda mig við allt, ég er laus, frjáls, ef ég sá hugmynd batt ég mig fasta við þessa hugmynd og flaug á henni útí buskann og bjó til veruleika úr henni og þegar ég lenti (ef mér tókst að lenda) þá lenti ég í allt öðrum veruleika. Ég lenti aldrei á sama stað, ekki í sama landi einusinni, stundum ekki sama hnetti.


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Róbert sagði ég mætti velja hvað þetta táknaði. Mér finnst þetta ekki tákna neitt, jú kannski að lífið sé dásamlegt. Og það tekur tíma og ég er alltaaf jafn hissa þegar ég er að fylgjast með, knippin eru orðin mjög þrútin núna og blómin sjást næstum í gegn, svona gegnsæi... en svo kannski í nótt, kannski næstu nótt, ef guð lofar... þá búmsið, ekki einu sinni búms en hljóðlaus athöfn. Eða kannski nem ég ekki hljóðið.

Ég er búin að reyna finna tákn, þrjú barnabörn, þrjár miljónir, hin heilaga þrenning, láta þetta tala, en ég á svo erfitt með að leyfa lífinu bara að vera einsog það er.

Ég er alltaf að þykjast vera viðgerðarmaður.

Ella Stína var alltaf að gera við lífið og þessvegna gat lífið aldrei gert neitt við hana. Sama gamla sagan um traust og viðgerðaþjónustu.

Ella Stína í skriftastól

Ég var að hugsa um það hvað það væri frábært ef ég kæmist í skriftastól í Írlandi og gæti byrjað að játa syndir mínir og gæti ekki hætt. Skriftastóll er hápunkturinn, lengra verður ekki komist. Nema þegar presturinn sem hlustar segir: This is not enough, dont you have more sins. This is nothing. You are a louser. Okay I admit that. Thats a great sin. Tell me about it.

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Ég byrjaði að hugsa um þetta í einlægni, með skriftastólinn en svo sný ég öllu á hvolf, karnivalið í mér, ég er með karnival-karakter í mér. En er þetta í einlægni fyndið.

Well this louser has a black humour.

Okay ten Maria prayers.

I would end up laughing. I cant help it. Its my nature.

Elísabet þreytta

Orkubúntið ég hef sjaldan verið þreyttari á ævi minni. Svaf til hálftvö og er aftur orðin syfjuð. Ætla kannski að horfa á videó í þessum stormi og stórsjó. Ef þið vitið hvíldarráð skiljiði þau eftir á náttborðinu. Ég er nú soldið stolt af þessari þreytu, þið ættuð að vita hvað ég er búin að... skrifa sögu.

Ella Stína írska gríska

Ég spurði Ellu Stínu í gær hvað hún vildi hafa með til Írlands, hún vill hafa með gríska kjólinn frá Díafani, mér dettur í hug svo næst geti hún sagt: Mig langar að hafa með mér írska gríska kjólinn.

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Elísabet ánægða

ÉG er nú alveg hætt að vera ég sjálf á þessu bloggi, ég er svo hrædd um að lesi þetta og ég vil auðvitað að hann fái rétta mynd af mér, annars var klettur áðan sem sagði mér að gleyma honum, eða hvort það hafið, í staðinn fyrir stopp, gleymdu, hann hefur engan áhuga á mér, ég er bnúin að senda honum sms og hringja en ekkert6 svar svo ég skil ekki afhverju ég ætti eitythvað að segja mundu töfrana.

svp er ég líka með á heilanum hvað lesandinn segir, einmitt, það er lesandi að lesa yfir söguna mína, og ég þrái ástir lesandans, það er kannski næsta bók, Ástir lesandans.

ég fattaði áðan að ég hef líkamlegar þarfir, ekki bara vitsmunalegar ogh fór í göngutúr og sjórinn var spegilsléttur og ég hafði líkama og teygði úr mér, smá tungl, sma´-ggulítið tungl. jæja elísabet. þþu ert að faa til írland, s, búin að vera pakka í allan dag, pakka, pakka, pakka, tyggja, tyggja, yndislega Kristín tengdadótytir mín kom hérna í dag og hún hefur svo fallega rödd, svo blíðlega og yndislega og gáfaða og tyilfinninaríka rödd.

hvað lesandinn segir. fuck him. fuck it.

ég bað maríu mey áðan að hjálap mér, hún sagðist vera að því, ég sagtði takk. en það er einhver kökkur í heilanum á mér því ég græt bara með heilanum. k+a eomjverm eomj einhver kökkur í heilanum, ég verð greinilega að horfa á lyuklaboðið. ég svaf til þrjú í dag, ég er örmagna eftir þessi skrif, þetta er líka svo merkileg bók, og nú þarf ég að minnka hugsanir mínar. verður kannski móðgaður ef ég ætla að gleyuma honum en mér sýnist hann vera búinn að gleyma mér, auga fyrir auga.

ég ... einmanaleikinn og þörf á skilningi á sjálfri mér. ég er alltaf að ætlast tilað einhver annar skiljir mig ogh sjái fyurir þörfum mínum, ég er hætt að vera barnið. en herni er konan, já hvernih konan, hún segir, vertu hress, vertu ánægð, þú ert búin að vinna þrekvirki.

vertu ánægð.

já nú fatta ég þetta, er á heilanum mér svo ég skil ekki sjalfa mig. ég ætla taka heilahreinsara og hreinsa hann ut, hvernig er heilahreinsari, það er að skrifa bnúbníbúbbílíbúbbúilí bú búb. jammammasamm kæúkúrífrúri.dúr.

hver elskar dippið. ég elska dippið. dipp,dipp, dipp. ohhhhhhhh