Smell of rain. Sunshine in red tree-tops. Last moments of summer drowning in cosy, rainy, foggy melancholy. Cold creeping into the bones, huddled up until the darkness is gone.

This picture is from the first time I went on vacation on my own for a full two weeks. Before I had only ever gone for a week max, but this summer I was going to Ireland for two full weeks, so I could do all the stuff that I wanted to do: going fishing, going swimming and most of all: going swimming the Atlantic. That was the one single goal I had that summer. This picture shows me achieving it.

Sand between her toes, rubbing and peeling on her cold skin. Limbs stiff and numb, she tries to move, to get up. Sand in her hair, salty seaweed and shells, too. She walks over the wet stones, slowly, carefully, avoiding the shards, wind in her face and the sea in her eyes, dripping still of salty seawater, but knowing... After the storm she has to get up.

And here as promised is the video of our first dance to Frank Sinatra's "I've Got the World On A String".

A different air to breathe, will you be able to survive? Gravity dragging you down, pushing you against the ground and you feel all the movements, all the travelling through space on this huge foreign rock. See into your mind, child, memories of a different home, callous hands of emotion grasping for you, pulling you to your feet, pushing you forward, mercilessly, relentlessly. And all those crazy nights seem so far away, so far away, obscured by some fog, foggy time. And all you have is yourself. Will you be able to survive on this strange planet?

Let me introduce a new label to you. It won't be a label I'll post a lot under, but it might be interesting to some of you: Writing. I'll post some short stories, maybe essays, and in general longer texts under this label. Here is a short story I wrote for a contest once. It didn't win anything, but since the whole thing is over, I can now post it here. Enjoy.

The storm has ravished garbage cans full of junk food trash. The remains of Friday and Saturday night, combined, like tumbleweed on early Monday morning streets. The street lantern moon blinds, kills the soul, but mindlessly I carry on, softly treading the near-empty streets. Southern winds bring the smell of smoked bacon and of the foul river. And I drag on, street lantern to street lantern, like a moth at the end of night.

Throwback to that one class trip to Prague where everyone was legit drunk all the time. Good times. This is me, with a random snake. Some guy on the streets just gave me the snake to take a picture with and as you can see, I was legit confused. 

i. Bán Frost covering the early morning ground, white cloth covering the body, skin pale as a ghost, my mind blank and empty. ii. Geal The day clearing up, swans on the cold lake, enjoying the few days before snow falls. iii. Liath The colour of the sky matched the grey mist covering the roads and roaming through the ancient ruins, looking dull and colourless on this autumn day. iv. Buí Sunlight and corn are gone, his sallow skin fading with his life. v. Dearg The blood on the road, I ran from it. It was too real, too intense, too red. vi. Rua The night before was a stormy night. I should have noticed the red hair, shining like copper. It was too late and now evil rust is eating away at my soul. vii. Gorm Bruises on the skin, right where the car hit him, deep-blue eyes like the sky, closed forever now. viii. Glas The sea is raging today, the cold sky is pushing the weight of this new guilt on m

Some lovely stone walls, photographed in Connemara in late October.

One dark misty night out on the bogs I followed the will-o'-the-wisps, as I saw her dancing alone under the silver light of the stars, moving out from under the birch trees, her arms, thin and lithe, reaching towards the sky. I couldn't move, smitten by her gracefulness, by her dance in the penumbra, until she turns to me and in her ice-blue eyes I see a mocking smile, a terrible laugh, as I draw my last breath and sink down into the depths.

Here's a throwback to me having terrible hair when I was 14. This was also my first time to visit Ireland with my parents. 

The fires of my soul are burning hot. I have stirred them up for a long time, for ages. In them I want to forge words of truth, make them pure as light and engrave them with silver, adorn them with the beauty of rare gems. In the smithies of my mind I shall create, I shall bring forth ancient forces of emotion, make them shine in starlight; no, in complete darkness even to make shudder the hearts of mankind.

Okay, so one thing I like to do when I go out with friends and get cocktails (which I rarely do anymore, because cocktails are incredibly expensive in Ireland... like unreasonably expensive) is to take a picture of the cocktail standing in front of the candle on our table. Those are the results of three of those pictures (that I could still find). I love the glowing and vibrant colours in them. If I have any more cocktails anytime soon, I'll save more of the pictures.

Look at you, shining golden between all the falling leaves, the red and orange, reflecting the rays of sunshine from your copper autumn hair. You are autumn, child, spinning under the trees with the falling, spinning leaves. Autumn is in your eyes, child, dancing away the heat of summer, breathing faint mists and thick fogs. Autumn is in your soul, golden copper-haired child with skin of shining silver, hidden in the warmth of your bright red raincoat.

This picture was taken in Fushë Kosovë, close to the capital of Kosovo, Prishtina. I was on a holiday in Kosovo about two years ago, visiting an old family friend who spent a few years in my hometown as a refugee during the war. Going to Kosovo was an interesting experience. It is a beautiful country with lots of beautiful sights and amazing landscape, but you can also see that there was a war going on not too long ago.

The rosy colour in your lavish cheeks, opaque lips, yearning for a touch, yearning, dark red gloss like blood, smearing over your face. Let me drain the roses from you, your pale chest heaving up and down, dark and stuffy room, street lanterns shining through the blinds, intruding in our sadness, smell of dust and fat and consumption filling my nose. Let me ravish you to the bone, come crawling over the greyed out sheets, come crawling for my worthless love, leaving you cold and regretting in the dark.