Saint Elsewhere

So yeah, anyways, I don’t know if I’m lost or free, or maybe both. Gone maybe. Gone and lost forever.

A twister came along and took me away from my old life, there’s no place like home? What is home? Me and the french guys found a simple and beautiful truth; home is where the mother is. But mine is moving away. If home is where the heart is my home has to be right here, because a little bit of my heart I still have, and spread all around the world as well, with all the people I love, and all the places. This sounds true. But can home be somewhere where you've never been? Or somewhere where you don't know anyone?

My house doesn't feel like a home. Cork isn't my home. And I don't think it will be. But I call it home. Will that make it home?

Home. Safety. I prefer freedom over safety, over control, over anything else in the world.

Exept maybe love, but I don't know for sure.

Is anything as lovely to me
as the truth in love?
I'll take it over freedom
any day
-David Eugene Edwards

I don't know much at all. There is one truth, one that I know and believe, and that is that control is a trap. Control is a good way of fooling yourself, nothing else. You cannot truly control anything at all.

Beauty and creativity and love can only come from chaos, never from control. Freedom lies in chaos, captivity in control and safety. Of everything I beleive, wich is a lot, this is the one thing I beleive in the most. This is what I know.

Parts of this text has also been published in my other blogthing/webdiary at Helgon.