e^{i \pi} +1 = 0 \,

euler’s identity.

single uses of the notions of addition, multiplication, exponentiation, and equality.

single uses of the important constants 0, 1, ei and π.

elegant, minimalistic, clean.

theoretical physicist richard p. feynman called it

“the most remarkable formula in mathematics.”


i love you, standing all alone in a black coat.


for a second there i thought you disappeared. it rains a lot this time of year. and we both go together if one falls down. i talk out loud like you’re still around. no, no. and i miss you. i’m going back home to the west coast. i wish you would’ve put yourself in my suitcase. i love you, standing all alone in a black coat. i miss you. i’m going back home to the west coast.

and if you shake her heart enough she will appear. tonight i think i’ll be staying here. and you never did like this town. i talk out loud like you’re still around. no, no. and i miss you. i’m going back home to the west coast. i wish you would’ve put yourself in my suitcase. i love you, standing all alone in a black coat. i miss you. i’m going back home to the west coast.

so pack up the bags to beat back the clock. do i let her sleep or should i wake her up? you said: “we both go together if one falls down.” yeah, right. i talk out loud like you’re still around. oh, no, no. and i miss you. i’m going back home to the west coast. i wish you would’ve put yourself in my suitcase. i love you, standing all alone in a black coat. i miss you. i’m going back home to the west coast.


lost in translation. (a pictorial study)

lost in translation is one of those movies that let you dive into another world completely. i watch it, and i feel something stir inside me, something foreign and completely familiar at the same time. the story just hits hard. and the visuals, they’re stunning. recklessness and tranquility, harsh neons and pastels – opposite ends of a spectrum blending together to make the most beautiful picture in motion. sofia coppola is great at that. a softness that’s real. heartfelt.lostintranslation-0087lostintranslation-0150lostintranslation-0233lostintranslation-0236lostintranslation-0282lostintranslation-0552lostintranslation-0595lostintranslation-0623lostintranslation-0744lostintranslation-0813


i’ll see the veins of my city like they do in space.


hyped and rightfully so.


don’t you think that it’s boring how people talk
making smart with their words again, well i’m bored
because i’m doing this for the thrill of it, killin’ it
never not chasing a million things i want
and i am only as young as the minute is full of it
getting pumped up from the little bright things i bought
but i know they’ll never own me

baby be the class clown
i’ll be the beauty queen in tears
it’s a new art form showing people how little we care (yeah)
we’re so happy, even when we’re smilin’ out of fear
let’s go down to the tennis court, and talk it up like yeah (yeah)

pretty soon i’ll be getting on my first plane
i’ll see the veins of my city like they do in space
but my head’s filling up fast with the wicked games, up in flames
how can i fuck with the fun again, when i’m known
and my boys trip me up with their heads again, loving them
everything’s cool when we’re all in line, for the throne
but i know it’s not forever

baby be the class clown
i’ll be the beauty queen in tears
it’s a new art form showing people how little we care (yeah)
we’re so happy, even when we’re smilin’ out of fear
let’s go down to the tennis court, and talk it up like yeah (yeah)

it looked alright in the pictures (yeah)

getting caught soft for the trip though, isn’t it?
i fall apart with all my heart
and you can watch from your window
and you can watch from your window

memory is fantasy

When I look back on my life, it’s not that I don’t want to see things exactly as they happened. It’s just that i prefer to remember them in an artistic way. And truthfully, the lie of it all is much more honest, because I invented it. Clinical psychology tells us arguably that trauma is the ultimate killer. Memories are not recycled like atoms and particles in quantum physics. They can be lost forever. It’s sort of like my past is an unfinished painting; and as the artist of that painting, I must fill in all the ugly holes and make it beautiful again.

– lady gaga

In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

– edgar allan poe

Frequently, our only truth is narrative truth, the stories we tell each other, and ourselves—the stories we continually recategorize and refine. Such subjectivity is built into the very nature of memory, and follows from its basis and mechanisms in the human brain.

oliver sacks

memories are dependent on us. memories are created by us. it has happened so many times that someone has described an occurrence so vividly that i’d be able to recollect and retell it as if i was there. so many times that i’ve read a story, seen a picture or heard a song, and just let it simmer in my mind. and really, if you let it set enough, what’s to say it’s any different from anything that’s happened to you physically? because that’s the real difference anyways, isn’t it? that some things happen to your body, and others to your mind. and it’s a fact that you manipulate even the memories of things that you’ve actually experienced. the remembering part is all the same. it’ll show the same on a brain scan, your body will react the same. you will feel it all the same. there is no objectivity, everything is created through you, and therefore, it’s created by you.

hotel chevalier

I'm on my way from the airport, 
and the front desk won't get me your room number.
What's your room number?
See you in half an hour.
- Wait a second. -What?
- Where are you? -I'm here.
I didn't say you could come here.
Can I come there?
I'll see you in half an hour.

What's this music?
Thank you.

How'd you find me?
It wasn't actually that hard.

Are you gonna take a bath?
It's for you.
Who cut your hair?
Barbara in the lobby.

What the fuck is going on?
How long have you been at this hotel now?
I don't know.
More than a week?
More than a week.
More than a month?
More than a month.
How much does it cost?
I think around 750 million euros or something.
How long are you gonna stay?
How long are you gonna stay?
I'm leaving tomorrow morning.
Don't you think it's time for you to go home?
Are you running away from me?
I thought I already did.

Would you order me a bloody mary, please?
Two bloody marys, please.

Have you slept with anyone?
No. Have you?
That was a long pause.
- I guess it doesn't really matter. -No,it doesn't.

You got bruises on your body.
What ever happens in the end, I don't wanna lose you as my friend.
I promise, I will never be your friend.
No matter what – ever.
If we fuck I'm gonna feel like shit tomorrow.
That's okay with me.
I love you.
I never hurt you on purpose.
I don't care.

Wanna see my view of Paris?

on a saturday night

so we celebrated my friend A’s birthday. and it was brilliant. R* and i shared a bottle of white wine and a bottle of kir**. it’s one of the cheapest, most heavenly alcoholic beverages i’ve ever drunk. so anyways, for a gift, we’d bought two godard films and a card that says something about drugs taking the pain away which is funny because she’s going to become a doctor and also a little morbid and who doesn’t love that, right? she seemed really happy about it. she also seemed a little shocked and a lot touched that we insisted on paying for the things for the food we were gonna make for everyone. which was nice. A’s one of those surprises i didn’t expect to get from high school, and didn’t really get until the very end and mostly after graduation, but i’m really glad i did. her, her used-to-be-but-isn’t-anymore-but-kinda-still-is boyfriend, and kind-of-but-not-surely best friend. they’re all great.

so anyways, we bought our things and went to her place. she lives in a really nice house. it’s pretty big but old, cosy, homey and not intimidating at all. so we all, including her friends that we’d never met before***, cooked a delicious meal together, and A baked bread which was a nice touch. the mood was just very organically jolly. another dear friend from high school, J, who is one of the most genuinely bubbly and free-spirited people i know, gave A some home-brewed beer as a birthday gift. it smelled like raspberries but tasted like beer and i thought that was lovely. another girl from high school, who i’d never really hung out with before, had drawn her a really good portrait. basically some great gifts.

after eating, laughing and getting buzzed, we all hung out in the kitchen for a while. V**** and R were doing a pretty pathetic***** version of the dougie when we decided to head on out. we went to this opening party for a culture centre located in a suburb****** about 20 minutes away from the city. the culture centre had just been rebuilt after some nazis right-wing extremists had burned it down so i was pretty excited to celebrate and say fuck you to the hate. we went, and arrived, and then – my mind just kind of exploded. it was this really spartan cuboid with white plastic, semi-transparent walls and neon lights flashing all over it. there were three stories and the line wasn’t even a line. the place was just spilling over with people wanting to get in. there was some heavy-bass, live, swedish hiphop shaking the walls from the inside and we were just like oh my god let’s get in there.

so we just nestled ourselves as far into the clusterfuck of people as we could and i can’t even explain how we did it but we were inside in no time. and it was just awesome. just music and pushing and smoking inside and “oh wow is this even legal?” and general grittiness all over. we managed to get right in front of the stage and just went nuts. and the concert was insane. after it was over, some djs took over and we just danced and danced and danced. i knew A was really excited to spend her birthday there because her big sister had been involved in building the first centre, so i was really into the idea of making it memorable for her. that’s how i got the brilliant idea of taking her up on stage with me. i just pulled her up, and then a couple of her friends too, and we basically danced and partied with the whole crowd at once.

during all the fuck yeah, i managed to have a moment of wow humanity when i saw a girl looking for something on the dance floor. i remember thinking “wow that must be so hard” because people were literally stomping and jumping all over the place. so i whipped out my phone and turned my flashlight app******* on. with the light shining on the muddy floor, i helped her look – and she found her thing! granted, i didn’t see what the actual thing was but she looked really grateful and gratitude is really gratifying. so we all just resumed our controlled flailing. after a while, the girl came back and just grabbed my face. i’m glad i understood what was happening because i just casually turned my head and let her give me a big smooch on the cheek. i think we all felt the love at that point.

anyways, after dancing for a couple of hours we went up the stairs where the mood was more chilled. after getting some H2O and general O2 we went back to dance some more, because you only live once********, right? so we went back, and there were these five girls dj-ing, playing all sorts of awesome girl-power music. once again, i came up with a brilliant idea. i discreetly danced away from the gang, and got one of the djs to come to me. then i showed her a text where i’d written “please play something by azealia banks, pretty please” and we just had a moment of mutual understanding where she conveyed “i got your back” and i responded with “you are the best”*********. so i went back to my crew and joyously shouted to R that i had requested azealia. she was like no way and i was a dumbass smartass and answered yes way. we danced to a couple of more songs and then surely enough – 212 started playing.

we went berserk. i was so high off the power that i just took R’s hand and dragged her up on stage with me. we owned the shit out of that song, egging the rest of the party people on while i miraculously shouted along to every word. that was a definite highlight – i truly felt like i was on top of the world. the rest of the night followed in a similar fashion and on the car ride home, i just kept thinking about how it had been one of those nights, when everything feels so carelessly magical. and A, the birthday-girl, apparently had an amazing time as well. my heart swells. it’s now that i’m writing this that i realize that i’m slowly but surely acquiring a collection of those nights, and they’re all such dear memories to me already.


*my best friend.

**it’s a deep, blood-red and tastes like blackcurrant.

***they were very nice.

****the quite-but-not-really boyfriend.

*****but oh so hilarious.

******the swedish suburbs i talk about are actually our version of the ghetto, which is actually not bad at all. just mostly working class goodness. yes i live in one, and yes i’m extremely biased – so what?

*******welcome to 2013 everybody.

********don’t kill me, i can’t fight the applicability of this saying.

*********we had very expressive eyes, okay?

(baby you know i tried, can’t lose you from my life)

being born and raised in sweden with african parents gives you a pretty nuanced and complicated view on race and identity. it’s the “are you swedish or african?”. it’s the “where in africa are you from?”. it’s the “eritrea? is that in africa?”. it’s the “are both your parents from africa?”. and lastly, it’s the “oh, you don’t look african! at least not completely…”. i love my heritage, and i’ve learned to accept and embrace the complexity of my background. it’s a bit of a mess, but it’s a damn beautiful one.


an aesthetically enhanced version of what african roots + western influences look like. i love solange for showing that –  the existence of a fusion and the wonderful reality of it. she’s fabulous.


tell me the truth boy, am i losing you for good?
we used to kiss all night but now there’s just no use
i don’t know why i fight it, clearly we are through
tell me the truth boy, am i losing you for good?

my africa is

my africa is a bruised, but not broken creature. filled with pain, used and abused by so many. my africa is being taken advantage of by the white man, made fun of by the white man, milked and marketed by the white man. my africa is men owning women, adulthood owning children, reality owning people. my africa is low education, low economy, low survival. low low low.


my africa is blood flowing in the water. it’s sweat nourishing the earth. it’s tears watering the seeds. my africa is death.


and it’s life.


my africa is burning – it’s as bright as the sun. my africa is hurting, but it’s alive.
it’s love and celebration and not giving up. my africa is a warrior. a protector, glowing with the power within. my africa is fathers.  mothers. sons, daughters,brotherssisters.
my africa is family. and it’s wealth. it’s richness worth the world and more. my africa is high heritage, high culture, high vitality. high high high.


my africa is endless pride. it’s the twinkle in an eye. it’s the joy in a laugh. it’s the warmth in an embrace. my africa is mindbodyandsoul.


and it’s heart.


my africa is a bloodied diamond, soiled but as brilliant as ever. a bruised, but not broken creature. my africa is


a survivor.


my blood is radioactive


i love marina. so saccharine it becomes diabolical. electricity coursing through pop with a taste of pink bubblegum… spiked with arsenic.



lying on a fake beach
you’ll never get a tan
baby i’m gonna leave you drowning
until you reach for my hand

in the night your heart is full
and by the morning empty
but baby I’m the one who left you,
you’re not the one who left me

when you’re around me, i’m radioactive
my blood is burning, radioactive
i’m turning radioactive
my blood is radioactive
my heart is nuclear
love is all that i fear
i’m turning radioactive
my blood is radioactive

waiting for the night fall,
for my heart to light up
oh baby i want you to die for,
for you to die for my love

ready to be let down
now i’m heading for a meltdown

tonight i feel like neon gold
i take one look at you and i grow cold
and i grow cold…
and i grow cold…

my heart is nuclear
love is all that I fear.


fool’s gold

just finished the transcript of this poem, written and preformed by frankie reese. it took a while, but it was worth it. i long for the day when i can make art as achingly beautiful as hers.


hopes and dreams are only hopes and dreams until you help them become your reality. i was hoping we would have changed with the times. somehow, some way kept up with the ripples and wrinkles in life, but it seems as though high tide has gotten the better of both you and i. and perhaps we were nothing but casualties in an unfair game of love and war; left to drift away at sea; sinking under the weight of our own shortcomings. set ablaze by our brethren like vikings.

but i figured by now i would have been reborn, drifted somewhere ashore to start anew and love some more. i thought you would have hung up your jersey, quit doing bitches dirty. i thought you wouldn’t do to them all the things you’ve done to hurt me. war crimes for which you’re sure you’ll pay a price, in a distant reality not yet spawned. the approaching dawn tonight, three years too long. the final chord and the longest song ever recorded.

let’s see. well that was my own fault, the hasteless night had me thinking crazy. how could have i have been so cruel to my baby? my foolish heart had my rationale in a half nelson from the start. who would have thought we’d have drifted so terribly far apart it’s united – we feel each other’s tessellations. how could we have been so shameless? mislabeled the nameless beauty that lingered in and around and all over our oneness. but that was then and i suppose this is now – but how?

i’ve been jaded a shade so sea green i don’t even recognize my own reflection, don’t know the girl staring back at me – fuck, this is one hell of a lesson. i feel as though i’ve been dissected and laid out for everyone to see. oh captain, my captain, you’ve made such a fool of me. first maidy or lady, i would have never abandoned ship, but what you said went so… so be it. and so would went one long hard year you spent living rent free in my head, pirating my happiness. but i digress.

perhaps we’re in a time warp; perhaps i’ve gone mad; perhaps i’m drowning, but there’s no knowing. couldn’t tell you in which direction i am going. can’t distinguish the difference between sinking and floating. what’s a girl like me to do? do i ask for help or proudly struggle in deep waters?

but maybe this is just what happens when captains abandon ship; maybe we deserve this ship; maybe we live as reminders in each other’s heads to never, not ever leave anyone for dead. for they will haunt you every last second of every last day. i’m tugboating a ghost ship with a crew so cruel they call themselves memories and they always fucking with me. and i try to ignore them but they come rushing, pouring inside my head. a constant reminder of the dead, whispering things to me that were left unsaid. the torment is ceaseless. my silent demons, my ailments, they’re help and i’m killing their captain who’s abandoned ship. is this, could it be my perpetual punishment?

and yeah, i believe in second chances and advancements but these phantoms have got it out for me. does it feel the same way on your end of the sea? can you sympathize with me? oh captain, my captain, do you still have an anchor? or are you too capsizing and diving into an ocean of emotions and compensating numbness with peculiar potions like your former first maidy? do we feel the same tug and pull from the same pale moon? do your tides rise and recede? does your crew, too, torment thee?

we need some sort of way out. we need to find the lighthouse, a harbor where we can both dock these ships forever – forget about bad weather and the conditions of being who we once were.

friday the 13th, september 2013.

woke up. met kiki. ate pasta. listened to kiki go “hnng” in an eloquent way. had a bass mood drop. went to kulturhuset to look for atari teenage riot cds, but didn’t find any. discussed how ugly the sergel-part of t-centralen is. went to school. had a boring class about how to be a psych scientist. necessary, but still the unfun kind of meta. hung out with a girl from my group on the break. redhead with freckles and fresh out of high school. feel like a dark, slightly jaded but mostly just wise mentor. emo obi wan. saw best friend’s crush “asshole” (yes, that’s his given name okay no it’s not but might as well be) smoking outside. poser cliché. walked to the subway with new redhead friend. died on the way because of attractive boy/man(?). dark, kind of ruffled hair. glasses. a little chubby-cheeked. not that tall, but taller than me. felt an aura of “german descent” but totally just projecting a wish i did not know i had. not the conventional hottie but so my type. so attracted. which is rare. “oh bloody hell, here we go”. made eye contact twice, me-speak for “wow i want you”, but doesn’t translate the same way in normal-speak so. met kiki’s friend. really nice, remembered me and everything. met bestie. drank a latte. mood shot right back up and then some. visited dear friend at work. had french fries and a beer at the fave pub hangout. came home. chatting with kiki. thinking about dude again. struck by attraction (copyrighting that). like she, through google translate, said earlier: “weil sie wollen, dass die d”. indeed.

why things burn

My fire-eating career came to an end
when I could no longer tell
when to spit and when

to swallow.
Last night in Amsterdam,
1,000 tulips burned to death.

I have an alibi. When I walked by
your garden, your hand
grenades were in bloom.

You caught me playing
loves me, loves me
not, metal pins between my teeth.

I forget the difference
between seduction
and arson,

ignition and cognition. I am a girl
with incendiary
vices and you have a filthy never

mind. If you say no, twice,
it’s a four-letter word.
You are so dirty, people have planted

flowers on you: heliotropes. sun-
flowers. You’ll take
anything. Loves me,

loves me not.
I want to bend you over
and whisper: “potting soil,” “fresh

cut.” When you made
the urgent fists of peonies
a proposition, I stole a pair of botanists’

hands. Green. Confident. All thumbs.
I look sharp in garden
shears and it rained spring

all night. 1,000 tulips
burned to death
in Amsterdam.

We didn’t hear the sirens.
All night, you held my alibis
so softly, like taboos

already broken.

by daphne gottlieb

the phenomenon of an all-nighter.

it’s actually a very conscious decision to not sleep at all. it’s a realization made in not-quite-late portion of the night where i internally utter the words “this night will be spent with my eyes open”. no preamble. it’s very instinctual. a fact created in an instant – not in the eleventh hour, but rather the third or fourth. my relation to the night is pretty wonderful. the night is promises, and energy and creativity, even within the confines of my own room. maybe even more so. total freedom, a welcome to roam without restrictions… as long as i keep quiet. no one must hear me. so i can’t scream out loud. can’t listen to sounds out loud. can’t see things out loud. only virtually. so i write. i let the audio waves enter my ears directly, filtered through shells bridged over my brain. i look at the fruit of the creative labor of others. beautiful, colorful, black-and-white, emotion-inducing outcomes. everything feels clearer at night. more poignant. surrounded by sparks. time moves slower and the fuel reserve is bigger. there’s no rush, because i have hours upon hours. and no one’s there to pressure me. to tell me to go faster, do better. there’s only me and the everything as a whole. so many possibilities. i have all the space in the universe to fill with my presence. the world is my oyster.

welcome to my kingdom.

message to all readers:

wordpress has been a bitch and unsubbed every single follower i’ve managed to acquire. so if you’re reading this* and (still) want to follow my blog, click on the heart button to the right. love you long time, bye.


*who am i kidding, no one will find their way back here. oh well.


UPDATE: apparently, you guys haven’t gone anywhere, wordpress is just hiding you from me. which is fine, cause you’re still here. and i still love you long time, bye.


it’s about anarchy. a question of independence and disobedience. tearing yourself free. feeling the ghosting burn of the ropes that have been gripping you for 3837 years or so. about choking back the guilt and restraining yourself from saying the words “i’m sorry”. it’s about facing expectations and predictabilities and spitting in their gloriously metaphorical faces. chaos. purging everything that’s been inside, tar black or otherwise. showing the world what you’ve got. who you are. radicality. kicking and punching and screaming. it’s totaling any semblance of a pre-conceived notion within reach. it’s destruction. gripping the want in one hand, and the need in the other. it’s hurtling and letting the weight completely and utterly demolish the glass house. startling it into shards. obliteration, annihilation of something that wasn’t really there in the first place. the illusion. gone. it’s about looking superego dead in the eye and saying “fuck you”. it’s my existence.


I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Ozymandias, by percy bysshe shelley