Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.) (lantichristo) wrote,
Alexandra Norrskèn (N.S.)

Spring again ...

There is something beastly about spring.
Although it is still winter here - cold and rainy, snowy even - with not a single green on sight, I can feel spring coming. I can not smell it yet but I have all the symptoms.
My heart is racing in crazy moments and for no reason.
I am restless. I can’t sleep. I’m not that very hungry. I sigh a lot and my stomach is tied up in a knot like when you are falling in love with someone for the first time.
My fingertips are oversensitive and my sense of smell is insane.
I am most of the time lightheaded, plus I have wild cravings for drunkenness.
Not to mention the bombarding of words inside my head. Words I simply must write down or I’ll go mad.

I wrote a new song today plus I think I am finally finishing my “Monster” epos. Yes the one I started in 2001. It is not that long really. I have reached around 200 verses (in groups of 4 and 6) and I think I will write 16 or 32 more max. (or will I?). Oh and the “Pig Queen” is finished. Although it needs a touch up.

In any case, I have all these symptoms and a desire, a desire for something.
I don’t know what is … this … something; but it always, and only, comes in spring time. I feel like an unfinished sentence. Like an incomplete verse.
“I want …” but I don’t know how to finish it … because I don’t know what is it that I want …
It is a great desire … just a desire.
(There was a band in the old country, their name was “Magic de Spell”, they had a song called “Desire”. One day I will make a cover of that song and I will sing it only in spring.)

I tried to explain it but it is impossible. I tried to write about it; even more difficult. I always end up writing some maudlin poem about lilies or shit.
Yes, there is something brutally primeval about spring …
Only spring.
My favorite season is undoubtedly winter; but nothing, nothing and no one makes me feel like spring.
That desire, that yearning, that longing.
So, un-satisfyingly satisfying. Yet not satisfying at all.
I am now longing for the full effect.
When spring comes for real and all the flowers are blooming all around.
And it smells like spring on the ground, the air, the trees.
And it smells as if every molecule of existence is having sex.
And the temperature is in that turning point when it is not cold, yet it is not really warm either; and it is 8 in the evening but it feels like 4 in the afternoon because the sun is still up in the sky; the night birds are singing and the night flowers open up filling the air with their scent; and the Scandinavian breeze is stroking my face as I take my evening run down by the harbour.
Oh how I long for the full throttle of spring.

Tags: dear diary, spring, writing

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