Dillinger escape plan doing NIN…

Is she weird…

Internalized hate…

Eat my flesh

Divine

Drink my blood

Sanctified

Maybe I’ll forgive me at the same time

Has fallen in love again…

Lovely…

Hmmm…

Kanske man sku skriv nåt hit för en gångs skull.

Om jag summerar upp tillvaron i ett enda ord så e trött det först som dyker upp…trött på det mesta…trött på att känna mig som nån freakshow. Trött på att veta att det jämt och ständigt finns bättre än mig å framförallt…jag e trött på att försöka.

Nåväl….ny dag imoron

I’m alone in my soul…

Is…

Back in black….me thinks…

I come and stand at every door…

I come and stand at every door. But no one hears my silent tread. I knock and yet remain unseen. For I am dead, for I am dead.

I’m only seven although I died. In Hiroshima long ago. I’m seven now as I was then. When children die they do not grow.

My hair was scorched by swirling flame. My eyes grew dim, my eyes grew blind. Death came and turned my bones to dust. And that was scattered by the wind.

I need no fruit, I need no rice. I need no sweets, nor even bread. I ask for nothing for myself. For I am dead, for I am dead.

All that I ask is that for peace. You fight today, you fight today. So that the children of this world. May live and grow and laugh and play.

– Nazim Hikmet

Personlighet….

För första gången har ja gjort ett personlighetstest som ja faktiskt tyckte gav rätt resultat. Här e resultatet…dehär e faktiskt ganska bra beskrivning av mig…

INFP – The Idealist

INFPs are very sensitive beings, and oftentimes the social scene feels extremely repressive and painful for them. They want very much to be accepted and cared for, but sometimes they become so uncomfortable that they become very nervous and feel completely out of place. Many try to express feelings of sadness and helplessness to those close to them for support. For lovers, they often look for outgoing, strong,caring people who can help them feel a part of things and who they can give their love.

Because the INFP tends to extrovert their iNtuition (they can reveal out loud the possibilities that they are imagining when they imagine them) to the world yet at the same time introvert their Feeling decision-making (not reveal the values and processes they really hold), they can seem to others that the possibilities they suggest are really decisions. Because they say things (possibilities) they don’t necessarily believe, it is crucial to verify with them if some of their statements are truly decisions or judgements. In order to help the INFP feel good about themselves, it is necessary to tell them verbally that you care about them. They need a great deal of positive affirmation and can become very self-conscious and insecure and lost without it. Some say that they ‘can’t do anything right’ and feel very depressed amd lonely. In conflict, keep in mind that, if pressured, the INFP may try to change the subject and escape. It is best to treat them very gently and lightly discuss the subject at hand without seeming angry or upset with them. When they feel very cornered, their usually sweet exterior rapidly changes and they begin to lash out. Do not take this behaviour harshly, for this happens only under very rare circumstances and when the INFP feels they have no other choice. If they feel they have shared their feelings in a kind and loving environment without being criticized for them, they often feel quite content and calm.

INFPs love to work behind-the-scenes and support the group. If they feel they are appreciated for their hard, considerate work, they often enjoy themselves immensely. Because they are often socially unsure, many find jobs they can do from home.

Idealists are the Diplomats. They spend their whole lives searching for their unique identity. The idealist prefers to think abstractly about the future and how issues will affect the people around him. S/he is more focused on the intangibles than the nitty-gritty of daily life, so s/he may appear detached or in another world. Unfortunately for the idealist, gracefulness and body awareness are not his/her natural gift and s/he is more likely than not to be less adept at sports or other activities that require high body awareness. If an idealist is skilled at sports it is most likely to be from training rather than natural ability.

NFs flee from corporate management and gravitate towards helping professions where they can contribute to society and humanity, such as teaching, counseling, politics, and the clergy. Their individualism could lead to careers that focus on personal growth and development, and journalistic work appeals to their idealism and truth-seeking.

NFs are generally good communicators. Idealists can be indirect in speech and use metaphors or analogies to make points. Rather than talking about things in an objective way, they key in more to the reactions that people have to what they are saying and how the topics relate to their own feelings and values. They talk about relationships, values, and intangibles.

The iNtuitive in the idealist makes him less fixed on personal appearance. NFs are unconventional and at times even artsy, and wear clothing that communicates their values, which may lead them to appear more like hippies than court-ready lawyers. If a Judger, the NF will take more care of his appearance than if a Perceiver.

Spending time with friends, saving the world….

Gets energized when they are alone with themselves. Enjoys solitary activities such as reading, writing, and daydreaming. Take in information through a “sixth sense” and focus on what could be. Decide by their heart. Prefer values, motivations and feelings. They have a flexible approach towards life

The Raven…

En av mina absoluta favoriter. The Raven av Edgar Allen Poe.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
`’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me – filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
`’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,’ said I, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’ – here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, `Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, `Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
`Surely,’ said I, `surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
`Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning – little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered – not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee – by these angels he has sent thee
Respite – respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore -
Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me – tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! – prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us – by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! – quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted – nevermore!