Tenacious little me

I listened today to an old song from the movie Tenacious D, which was a huge favourite of mine when I was 13 years old, in seventh grade. I  know I go back to the times I was 13 quite a lot, but there's so much to untangle from that year in my life that I won't stop until I don't have the need to mull over my past anymore.


The movie Tenacious D was everything a little rebel me needed. It was a comedy musical about heavy metal, had satanistic undertones, a lot of cursing and a lot of brutal sex in it. Maybe not you go to-movie for a 13 year old girl, but I loved that movie, and had downloaded some of its music.

Me, a girl, listening to that movie's songs made me actually quite popular in the boys' department, as they hadn't met a girl that liked "boy stuff" that way before.

But back to the satanistic undertones.

I used to tease my very religious friend about me watching the movie Tenacious D. She saw heavy metal (and the very obvious Satan character) as satanism and I loved to scare her about demons and devils. Not maybe the best move of someone who wanted to call her a friend, but when thinking back I realize I used the shocking method in getting friends that spring of 2009.

My way of making people look at me, and see me and talk to me was to do something absurd/shocking enough so they'd remember me.

It worked for the most time, but only short term. No one wanted to be friends with a madman for real. I didn't care. I liked the attention from people being actually scared of me. I wanted to be frightning, because to me, that equaled power. If my friends are afraid of me, I can control them.

That didn't work out of course.

I'm so happy that one friend called me out for being agressive and hitting people, because I don't know if I could stop if it hadn't been for her.

Thinking back to that movie makes me laugh a lil bit at myself. Foolish little 13-year old girl, thinking violence could solve most things. Lol.

Over ten years ago. Thankfully time flies.

Hurting someone

I was going to write in all fury and disappointent and self loathing all this on Sunday or Monday, but I had to get a few extra days to process and accept this issue.

Have you ever hurt someone so bad that they cry in your face, and you never meant to hurt them but something insignificant you once said turned out to have a huge impact on them and they dwell and cry about what you said and you had no idea.

I managed to hurt my mum really bad about a week ago. It was horrible.

I had meant it as a joke. As a simple not so funny joke. Turns out she took it very serious and I had ruined her day and taken away her night sleep, and then she confronted me; and let me tell you, having your mum cry in front of you because her own daughter was such a piece of shit, my god


it was horrible


so so horrible


and I hate myself for what I said


it was a joke


but then there's this thing again to remember

Words hurt just as much as a knife

Fuck

Please, tell your parents how much they mean to you

I almost lost my mum two weeks ago, and then I managed to break her heart

it was horrible

but it's good now. better now. but damn.

it was horrible

Living in a grey world

This fall is absolute, utterly, undenyingly SHIT.

My dog died.

Then my mum almost died.

I've fallen into my own fantasies really hard, and reality is not really a concept in my world anymore. I hide in my own head.

I have acting in my life again, but it has not been the way it used to be. Back in the days, Mondays (or theatre day) was the best day of the week. Mondays continue to be theatre day, but I don't even wanna go to practise. Am I getting sick?

Acting just doesn't do the job anymore. It's not a drug anymore, and I'm fucking sad about that. It used to be the best thing in the world for me, it was pure freedom. The drug is gone and I had to find a new one.

I found a drug in writing, and that's what I'm doing for many hours a day. I forget about the outer world, I live in a fantasy world. And yes, I've become really, really addicted. I think about it all day. One of the first things I think of when I wake up is what I'm going to write, and when I come home from being away my fingers itch because I want to be on my computer.

My Master Thesis, lol. It's there and I've worked on it, but fucking hell.

It's hard to think of the future. I live in the moment so hard, that I almost forget that I have lots of things to plan and look forward to, but I can't. The future is just not there. I just want to wake up, write, live in a world that is not real, and then go to sleep again.

I am lost. Yes, I truly am. I don't know why I'm living anymore. Acting lost its spark, the vurnability of all living is hauting me, I'm stuck with my play and think it's shit, I hate planning a future, though I look forward a new puppy very very much.

But I guess this is life, in all its glory.

Winter is coming

Yes, winter IS really coming.

We have a big beautiful tree right outside our window and we follow the leaves every day, and this morning when I woke up, almost all leaves had blown away during the night. Now the tree is almost completely naked.

I kind of like winter and autumn. I love snow. I even love the dark, but this is so ironic because winter mood is slowly hitting me again and that's because of the darkness.

So I should hate winter with its dark, but I can't.

I should hate the cold, because I freeze easily, but I love wearing hats and mittens. I love when it's not hot.

And everytime some other Finn, on Facebook or whatever is complaining about the cold and the dark, I'm almost flipping my shit. Stop behaving like a baby and adapt! I adapt. We're humans, we are great at adapting, so stop talking about you pikalähtö (traveling abroad without planning) and put on mittens.

Oh, this is not pointed towards any individual in particular, just random people on facebook that I should unfriend.

Hello, I didn't die

I can't remember the last time there was unplanned six days between posting. I love posting here.

I found a way to get the voice back. Maybe that's why I'm floating in my headspace.

I've had lots of things to do.

I write. A lot.

I chose the final wedding dress I'm about to have. It's so beautiful.

I've been to the pony everyday of this week, as my mum fell sick, and I had to postpone/ not do other things in order to have time for the pony.

The pony have been really wild these late days. No, I've not fallen off, of course, but she's not the easiest to ride, at the moment. Funnily enough, I kind of enjoy it either way.

I turned 24 years old. Had a little party for my family. Made a blueberry pie that was absolutely sheisse, but tasted good, yo!

I sleep a lot more. Since the days got darker and darker, my energy deplete. It's okay though, I know this is just the cycle of my psyche.

I read. A lot. Wonderful stories, brutal ones. Romantic ones. Ones where the main character is abused. Great ones.

Frustrated... so fucking frustrated

This week has gone to absolute crap. Fucking hell.

I'm feeling so frustrated with the theatre group I'm in right now. We've been doing absolutely nothing for one month. One month of "practise", and it's all been sheit. I feel like I'm the only one knowing anyfuckingthing about acting.

That doesn't mean that the other ones are bad actors! No, no, no, the few things I've seen them do has been absolutely legit and interesting, but this is the problem. The "few" things. We haven't done acting at all! We've talked and talked and talked for 2 hours out of the 3 hours practise, and discussed plans that the director anyways already has decided about and a lot of the older members ride on inside jokes.

I realize that I take a lot of place. I force myself to take place, because I want to be noticed. This project feels like a ship put together with silver tape. Hell, even the small productions I did with eleven children out in the country side felt more put together and professional than this.

I'm so frustrated, but at the same time I force myself to adapt. I can't get what I want everytime. I must let other people have their opinions. But fuck, they like discussing philosofical questions (we talked for quite some time about the myth that actors are broken inside) but can we even call ourselves actors if we don't do FUCK WHEN WE'RE SUPPOSED TO???

I just don't get what the point is when all they talk is about what we're going to do when we don't do anything.

I want to ACT. I want to.... FUCK, I WANT WHAT I HAD BEFORE

I want this to be 2016 again. When I had my old job. The kids were fine, the teenagers wonder, wonder, wonderful, I had the best coworker/boss, and I found myself and worked out who I was in companionship with acting and now that I want to act someone is keeping it away from my hands, out of reach, and I'm frustrated.

Yes, we can talk about Turkka and all the theatre myths but nothing matters if... I... can't... do... what I went there to do.

I am so fucking selfish, for being the way I am.

Just rambles, and a good song (!!!)

I'm atleast halfway out of my trance and the voice in my head has calmed down. But having the voice calmed makes me bored. I mean, it gave me constant stimulation in my brain, and now that it's silent for most of the times, I'm getting slightly annoyed that I don't have that stimuli anymore. Which is one reason why I'm writing this.

There's no actual reason for me to write, because I uploaded a post yesterday, but I'm so desperate for a voice in my head (after being used to having someone who talks in there for a couple of weeks) that I have to awake it by writing.

So yeah, hello again!

I'm sulking today. I'm angry at nothing and the whole world at once. I crave stimuli in my head and there's currently nothing that's good enough!

I've listened to this song so much it's almost alarming hehe:

If you're in a hurry and don't want to listen to the whole thing, listen atleast from 2:25 to the end, because it's soooo goooooood!

Poison by Alice Cooper, here in some kind of production.

This, THIS HERE, is like porn. A good song, an AWESOME cover of said good song, fantastic scenography (and a striking similarity to Iceland's Eurovision song 2019), dramatic setting and dance. Cause of deafness: this song.

I don't know which one I'd like to do more: Act in this particular setting as the singer, or write a story (play) where this song takes place. So inspiring I'm almost going mad!

*rubbing hands evily together while imagining characters in that particular setting*

More about sharing texts

I'm baffled.

When I wrote the last post, around 600 people had read/clicked up my story on the site it was uploaded to, and today over 700 has done it. That's one hundred more in like two days.

Hits on a fanfic is a whole different thing than views on a youtube-video. We've been so blunted to views on Youtube, I think. We value a video out of views, and, hell, even if a video has less than 10 000 views the creator is not seen as successful (in the English-speaking community). Do we even know anymore how many people ten thousand are? Videos with over one hundred thousand views are maybe viewed as successful ones. A video with 700 views is nothing.

But here's my tea. It's easy to watch a video. It demands nothing of you, just an ounce of your concentration (if even that) for ten minutes or so. That's why Youtube is so popular - because the viewer can take the easy way out. You can clean your apartment while a vlogger babbles on about their day and you don't even have to listen that closely.

Reading a story is a whole other matter. Reading is an activity that demands quite a lot of the brain. If you read normal pace, I think it takes about 2-3 hours to read the story I've uploaded. That means, that out of the seven hundred that opened my story, maybe four hundred read it in its enterity, and sacrificed hours out of their free time to read it. That's about how much some of the FinnSwe-authors sell on less known books.

And it's all micro managing. Only people interested in this fandom, in these characters, will be interested in my story. And that's why it feel to me like such a big number of people.

It makes me goddamnt proud. And yes, I am allowed to feel proud. I put probably twenty hours in writing it, so let me be happy people enjoy what I put my soul into.

Letting other people read your texts

I remember a girl I once tried to befriend, who was, just as I was, a hobby writer. We both wrote in the same genres, and I was very excited to share and talk about our stories, in the hopes to get tips, feedback and new ideas.

She refused. She refused to even talk about what her novel was about. She had this thick notebook, filled with texts, scenes, ideas, you name it, and she guarded it like a dragon gards its nest. I became incredibly annoyed with her because she would rather die than discuss her own texts.

Showing other people your fictional texts IS a very personal thing. You write a fictional text with feelings you channel into the characters. Of course you're going to be nervous, especially if you've written about, for example, rape. What would your friends say when they'd read a detailed scene of something so vulgar, that YOU wrote?

The way of expressing yourself in text in also very individual and, as always, personal.

But it's so SO worth it to share, if you get the chance.

My novel, the long one, has been read by five people and getting their feedback was worth more than gold. They all liked it, luckily for me.

But ever since I started to write plays I've learned to take a variety of different feedback, both the good and the negative and it is wonderful. And it's at the same time like releasing a burden, you've bottled up inside this text and finally let it go to other minds and it's such a good feeling, even if you're sometimes embarrassed.

I uploaded the last chapter of my English story on the site "archive of our own" today. Over 600 people have read it, or well, clicked it up. SIX HUNDRED. It sounds like... a lot! In comparision to the famous ficwriters, it's not that much, but hey, it's more than one, and certainly more than I expected, concidering I'm a newbie and never heard on that site.

I've gotten comments, all of them supporting and positive. Man, they like my writing!

It feels great to let other people read what you write. It's therapeutic, in some kind of way. It's nice.

The next step would be to let a critic see my new play and review it in the news papers. One can dream.