Did I mention I am working on a novel in Swedish? Well, anyways, I am.
And while writing some today, I decided to start the process of a chapter with a sketch (if you can call it that). I simply wanted to line up what was going to happen in the chapter before I got started writing it. The sketch, however, ended up looking almost like poetry. And while the project is in Swedish, I still felt I had to share this accidental poem in some way. So I translated it. Without context it makes little sense – but then again, must it really?
Abstract illustrations of bliss.
More concrete plans for the night?
The present: a visit from A, starting to suspect something is wrong.
The truth hatches, a moment of realization and rational thought.
Then the world falls. Abstract again, emotions, metaphors.
Out. Some kind of poetic darkness to build atmosphere.
In the middle of this a phone call from the private place that is dark now.
The close is a promise and a gunshot. Decides, this must end.
On the floor in the room with all the pictures. Affected by memories, emotions and substances.
Disconnected thoughts between substantial dialogues where the answers don’t make any sense.
A dead bird outside the window. They take the bottles and the pills. Rage.
Wants out, but they calm him with sleep. Darkness.