For once, I took your advice. I'm glad I did, because it worked.

I am happy. I am happy, for the first time in so long.

Did you know I miss you?

I walked outside in the middle of the night last night because I swore I could feel you taking you time time walks
Today I saw you
And I wanted to crash the fucking car right into yours
Just so I could have your attention

Or to hold you as we'd die

You once said to me "It's love that will keep us together no matter how much we don't want it to, or push it away. I could be a million miles away from you, 5 years from now, and still feel your hands on my ribs like it happened yesterday."

And honestly, sometimes I'm afraid to move on, because I'm afraid you're right.

I don't know if I miss you. All I know is that there is unbelievably strong energy between us.
I can feel you when you're near, even when I don't see you.
When we're in the same area, it takes all of my strength not to go up to you and hug you.

But I think
I'd much rather jump in front of a bus
just to get your attention
to see if you still care

You watched me die once
Maybe that's not enough

I am not a writer

I am not a writer. I am millions of atoms carrying energy from my heart to my 
fingertips. And I thank this pen for its generosity, and I beg forgiveness from 
this paper. I am not a writer; I simply bleed ink that shifts its shape to help 
others comprehend. I and my words are separate beings; they wanting to be 
understood, and I wanting to simply be heard. I will speak in a monotone whisper 
to see who comes closer. Who will still be around when my voice is gone? The 
voices in my mind are far more articulated and wise than the language I mumble 
and wail. I am a book without a book mark and a chapter without a title. My 
pages stay unnumbered to mirror my days. And so, maybe I am not a novel they 
will teach you about in grammar school. I am no fairy tale or wise man.  I am a 
book with far too many typos and not enough white-out. I am a diary full of 
secrets, a journal filled with information. I am a bible, I am my only savior. 
But it will never be an autobiography, because I am not a writer.

The best day of my life.

I always said that the best day of my life would be when I read or heard something that made my entire life make  sense. It could be a terribly shitty day, but if that happened, it would be the best day of my life.
Well, it happened, and it's all because of this.

njósnavélin- by sigur ros





the object of this competition was to transcribe, translate and interpret jónsi's vocals in the new song njósnavélin (a.k.a. the nothing song). the tricky part about this task is that njósnavélin, like all other new songs, has no actual lyrics. jónsi just sings gibberish that fits with the music so it's up to the contestants to literalize the sounds and interpret exactly what jónsi is singing about, sound by sound. the contestants were asked to analyze the first verse of the song, amounting to 40 seconds. [you can download a clip of this part of the song here.]
in the numerous entries we received, it's interesting that the majority of them seemed to interpret the song as something emotional and dramatic, such as the end of a relationship or alike (many entries shared a common theme of some sort of loss). some entries were highly profound and poetic, with analytical explanations of the songs in which the level of detail was almost frightening. others chose to interpret the song visually and drew a sketch of what they though the song is about.
we've put together a collection of some of the more interesting entries we received, which you can readhere.
the winner of this competition was spinynorman214@aol.com, with the following astounding entry.
[note that this entry is completely ficticious.]
------------------------------
a recent study of mine concludes that the hopelandic language sigur rós uses is derived from a little known ancient language, essil (roughly translated as "light"). though its speakers are long dead and their country long forgotten, i have learned about its culture through its surviving art and poetry. "njósnavélin," a new song by sigur rós, uses a piece of essilian poetry for its lyrics. unfortunately, literal or even poetic translation fails to fully explain the concepts behind the words, so an explanation will follow the transliteration and translation. (although essil uses its own alphabet, there is as of now no font to type it. a catalogue of the alphabet's characters and the culture's artwork might be available in the future.)

njósnavélin in essil

(original title: "ete tas essilev" = "light's traveller")

essil on
essil on erifet al
essil on
essil on eriftel al
essil on

(pronunciation: ee-sile on [long "i," as in "hi" and long "o" as in "throw"], er-o-fet all)

literal translation:

i travelled through light
i travelled through light; i am not afraid
(repeat)

explanation:

in essilian mythology, light was the source of everything. people were born of light and remained immortal as long as they upheld nature and light. the preferred communication of scholars and monks was thought and telepathy, which they understood as the pathway of light that bound the minds of all. but for the sake of posterity, they recorded their thoughts in essil, the language named for light itself.
their belief was that water preserved light, and from this preservation of light they came into being. this song, "ete tas essilev," is an account of their sort of birth... instead of reproduction and natural child-birth, the people of this culture claimed to come into existence from the water and light. the verb "essil" is a concept of both birth and thought. the speaker is talking about swimming in the water before birth, a collection of light and souls (or, arguably, a single soul shared by all). the form "e(e)ssil on" is a first person perfect form of the verb. our understanding of the perfect form has changed over time. instead of a single action in the past, the perfect tense here is understood to mean a continuous action... this soul was floating and travelling from the beginning of time, and is still a part of their "essil."
the alternate line's "erifet al" is a first person negative present of the verb "rifet," which means not simply to fear, but to be incredibly fearful, to be terrified. why would one consider birth fearful in the first place? surely with such a languid tone and the lazy repetition of phrases and lines, this is not a song of fear, nor is it a song of the abscence of fear... it speaks of a peaceful ignorance. the present here, too, is not to be taken in its true form. rather, it means the person was not afraid at birth, nor are they now. the explanation of this is the essilian culture considered coming into existence and existence as the same thing, a continuing and never-ending process. so where does fear come in? the essilians are doing two things: first, they are praising light, essil, for its comfort and power, but secondly, the speaker is asserting his belief in essil... therefore he is speaking of his trust that he will continue existence and not be revoked his life (a thought expressed in the noun/infinitive "ocente").
taking all this in mind, a poetic translation becomes more possible. but, for the sake of the original scheme, it is necessary that its simple repetition and ideology be preserved. thus the poetic translation:

in this lake of souls
in this lake of souls, i lose all fear

Furthermore, it makes me never want to change my hair so they have to get over it... Just makes me feel like shit.

I hate when people tell me that they like my hair different than it is. I feel as if they don't like me the way I am.

"Oh and by the way, I think you're gorgeous."

All of a sudden, I wasn't scared anymore.
Not because he complimented me, but because I know it wasn't just words to fill the silence.
It was sincere, he is sincere.
He is honest, kind and patient with me.
There are no boundaries and no expectations.
It is truth and acceptance.

She would be so proud of me, and so proud of you, too.
You give me the freedom and strength to move on, and I could never thank you enough.

An internal monster is coming back for another battle just when I thought I got rid of it for good.

Maybe this time I'll just go with it.

When you live through depression, you lose your sense of time.
The days and nights drag on for so long that eventually everything runs together.
You can't tell the difference between the sunrise and sunset, six o'clock in the morning or six o'clock at night.
Right and wrong, love and hate, white and black; everything fades to gray.

So when someone tells you that it will get better in time, all you can do is shake your head.
And the days that you spend missing someone, will always feel like years.

Looking at it realistically, we're both monsters. The love we once shared has turned us both into confused, bitter people.

I believe that falling in love with you was one of the worst and best things in my life. But, I also believe that I would have been much happier if I would have chosen him instead.

And so, here's the truth: the whole time I was with you, I was thinking of him.
It doesn't mean I loved you any less, I just loved him on so many more different levels.
And now that we are done and the love we once shared has withered away to nothing, I still accept him for everything he is and I still love him with all of my heart.

We know what it feels like to have a new seed being planted in the arteries of your heart.
And to look at the tree beside it, you feel a sense of emptiness for something that you watched die.
You touch its trunk, you trace its roots.
You remember how it feels, you know every line and knot in its structure.
But now it's dry and bare. And every leaf that read "I love you" is now shriveled up on the cold ground.
And if teary eyes and unspoken goodbyes could have brought this tree back to life, would you love it like you used to?
You would sit there and watch the tree die, all over again. You would let it die, just so you wouldn't feel so alone.

And you would run and find a shovel, to dig up that new seed.

And I thought he looked familiar, but then I said to myself, that after a while I suppose everyone does.

I can't listen to my dad talk about my sister.
About how he misses her or remembers her, any of it.

I feel as if he doesn't have a right to talk about it because while I was dying, he had left. Physically he was still there, but he was a monster.

My father and I are so distant, and I know that one day I will regret it.
But, for the time being...I feel as though I'm not sure how to be close to him.

Sometimes I feel as if I'm not capable of loving him.

My mother is always making remarks about my appearance. I struggle enough as it is, and she makes it even harder. I wish that I felt pretty.

It's such a scary thing to realize that you are finally moving forward. For all of the days and nights I laid in the door jam, I am finally letting it slam shut. It does not mean that it will stay locked forever, but for now, I'm throwing away the key.

I know that you understand how I feel, although I wish I could tell you. I want to tell you everything. How much you influence me, how much I care for you, and how incredibly afraid of you I am. It's one of the most valuable treasures to be able to sit in silence and still understand the other's emotions. I know you feel me, and I know that I do not need to articulate it, but I am hiding.

You'll understand it all when I fall apart. It'll happen again, I just never know when.

I had a dream that you told me you loved me, and I woke up terrified.

You're teaching me so much. And with your help, I think ill be okay this year.

I can't wait until you start writing again, its going go be so beautiful. I'm so excited for you to let it drain out of you, so it can stop eating you alive.

Our energies have a rare pull to each other.
So beautiful.