Grimoire of N.M.M. Toukola

A complete Grimoire of N.M.M. TOUKOLA

All content by Nikodeemus Markku Mikael Toukola CONTACT: niko@thebigtreesociety.com / www.thebigtreesociety.com / +358 44 208 3238

Tämä on tieni kotiin. Koti, jota en löytänyt edes kirjoista, edes silloin kun ystävää hain.

Kuinka surullista.

Olen tuomittu sellaiseen kulttuuriseen näivetykseen, jollaista en toivo edes lapsilleni.

Kun ihminen vanhenee ja kuolee sisältä.

For I am doomed into cultural extinction, the kind I do not wish for my own children.

When a human gets older and dies from the inside

*** For this is my way home. Home that I even could not find from books, not even then when I needed a friend. For I am Sadness.

Mustaa kuin puhdas elämä, oikein raavittu, on ikuinen.

Black as pure life. properly scratched, forever.

AUTHORS NOTES: “This book is a consistency, a collection of works done between periods of 2004 - 2014. A decade of change, over a decade of my life. How I grew up. My notes, my complete works. Put together into same covers. To produce a singularity. Something that I need for my next Journey. Life is a circle, consisting smaller ones. Heart is like a compass. Follow it, keep it safe and breathe. 7 whispers before big decisions. 9 lives and curiosity. Pity is a sickness and cats live with gratitude. And solitude is a virtue.�

Vaisto on ihmisen tuntemattomin taito, oppilas.

We are all part of this world now. We have the ability to move through time and memories.

You have been selected for this one special program, and we will hope it will guide you through this life.

You are very skilled and modest about your talent. Use it well.

International inventor and traveller.

Symmetriapeli / The Symmetry game.

There once was a boy, who dreamed of equality that never happened. Power of music was strong in this boy, as he wondered in a world that lied and never existed.

Everything you see, can be technically produced in real-time with synchonization. When they see how you read, the keywords are replaced. The mainpoints after that can be presented to you before you have time to put them into paper.

He was forced on an island of desolation, alltough it was only cover for real isolation. Internet didn’t When the location is allocated, they can see from work, all his friends were separated, his house was which sources the outer stimulation comes from, sold. That is why he was sad. They only take what close it into a sandbox, a box that still has no shape. they can and after that dump me. Like succubuses.

That boy can not cry anymore. And that is bad.

Prologue

Even though life at that moment had nothing that could connect to. Hiutale remembered how innocent he had been. Far were the days, when he leaned over to old fence. He watched flying birds over the field and just sighed. Suuren Napin Ystävä had changed the inner voice and at the same time Hiutale was recovering from the curse of the Big Huokaus. Clothes, consisting trousers, and a weaved sweater jacket and a notebook from last year were only that was left. Few days since the Event, but the thorns came now in many. Many needles of spruces many.

The emotion was lonely again, but in a way relieved. The Wayfarers can be mislead yes, by pretending superficial interest. But that was only the surface. However Hiutale noticed something new, a wrinkle on the forehead, accompanied with sad smile. That wrinke had never been there, but his hayish hair was still happily tangled up, and it was enough.

It is possible, that the circle that one chooses has to be travelled alone in solitude, if one wishes to move forward. Tunnesurut at this time were just a League of their own.

When you are afraid of something really bad, it probably gives the Flow of Thought more pleasant stream. The sun was behind the trees, shining from the ebb, but Hiutale did not even want to move, because the dent inside was that big. He so wanted to believe in the beauty of the world, because that was how he was taught. Everything just felt so useless at that moment, not even the dance of the twigs gave not smile for him. The shadows of the rocks threw shadow among the days journey of the sun. And it was cold.

It was time to find a more permanent accommodation. The swallows had told him that the next would be extremely cold. They did that if you care to listen.

The last memory of Suuren Napin Ystävä was the last warm day of the summer, sitting under the tree and talking, when they finally had learned to speak the same language. The Wayfarers were given the talent to learn new languages easily, but the conversation had been a bit jumpy, and not easy anyway. The time heals wounds eventually, but for now the thorns were just there and did not wish to move.

Away from others, that d not feel so bad.

New circle was fresh and clean. How do you say to The Wayfarer that the Journey has ended? You can’t.

The circles collide and a new path opens. Junction and a new cycle beigins.

“Too many questions.”

“Too many stupid questions.” Hiutale thought.

Hiutale remembered. Something that came from very deep inside. You can not control the Flow of the World, for that how simple life is. One needle at a time, it is possible, but not in one day, no matter how hard one would stomp the ground.

Hiutale wished not to choose the piece of fence at that moment, but the options were in short.

The great Verge had taken everything.

“Beyond time and eternity.” Hiutale wrote to backside of the notebook. And walked away.

“Glow-in-visible”

“Timeless as the last leaf of summer.”

Hiutale floated slowly downwards.

The Blueberry Field in the forest surrounded by big trees had suddenly grown into gigantic ocean. The shades of autumn varied from green to yellow okra. The surrounding forest was quiet after the sun had went down. The Imprint from last Blueberry accident stayed behind. Almost closed even after the twigs had risen back up.

Hiutale remembered.

He was almost at the height of the big leaf.

A leaf, that had startled an amazement during the summer with its size, and that was still attached to a big branch, that exceeded from the far side of The Blueberry Field to half way of the opening.

The leaf was britt so, that in the moonlight it left a shadow that reminded a dark figure meditating, a pictogram like he sometimes and seen in rocky caves. A friendly landing spot, dim enough, and steady moss mattress. Through a brittled leaf a dim light shined and twinkled as the leaf swung with the wind. A light, that he looked and remembered that he was not that lonely, even though he was faraway again. Hiutale had discovered one evening while examining the shapes of the shadow and copying them into his small book. He glazed to the sky and with eyes he would look that shiny light. A Mysterious light. You could orienteer also back in a way with that light, if one had stepped on a strange path while examining shadows.

He saw familiar leafs at the far side of the shadow, especially one which tip was halfway off the shadow. The tip shined in orange a was cut diagonally to left. It looked like an optical illusion, but as the leaf danced a bit with the wind, the line between the orange and green stayed still. What a beautiful leaf, Hiutale thought. A carpet weaved to a prop for The Secret Theatre was still hanging on a big twig, it was left there to wait for a new summer. The autumn rain and dampness had turned

the carpet in orange-brown, it would become darker, if no one would not collect it indoors, but hey never did. Did they?

Hiutale was early. The performance had not started yet so he decided sit in the shadow just for a while. Hiutale stretched himself into a more comfortable position and looked at the sky, the dance of the big leaf, the dim light. He listened the forest and was perfectly still. He could recover damp conversation from distance and a steady sniffle in just few meters away and those steady breaks in-between. Hiutale smiled, when he would recognise the person behind the sniffle, not that he would have never even focused on that.

He took three rolls over axial rotation towards the sound and landed next to a peaceful character. His eyes had now adjusted to darkness and smaller details he could now see much better, and that happy familiar smile. Mustikka smiled always, even though said something else, and during her sleep, one could definitely say something interesting was going on in there.

Foggy rain like from a big sprinkler grew into bigger drops and Hiutale jumped up, fetched his leaf boat, sticked it into ground facing up as a cover, and sat next to Mustikka. Taking turns and watching how Mustikka smiled, then turn to horizont, and felt pride as he was watching over that shiny characters dream. Far side of the forest, numerous phosphoric lights moved slowly and turned into brighter. He poked Mustikka to the side - no reaction, but opened her eyes in instant and jumped up. “Did it start yet?” “Not yet”, Said Hiutale. Mustikka rubbed her weary eyes, sat next to Hiutale and they both gazed constantly towards horizon and closing lights.

The beginning of The Performance, was always the best, always unique and always unpredictable. And, Always different, even though it was a daily event. There was still time before it would start, a moment enough to eat snacks.

Hiutale took a small package from his bag. A

package that held mustard sandwiches, couple fruits and layered them to a small piece of bark.

Mustikka in the other hand, did not understand the very essence of the mustard sandwiches, so she would just eat few fruits and wood sorrels. It was enough.

“Would you like to go visit The Big Train after The Performance?” Hiutale asked while chewing slowly and with some difficulty the sandwich. Mustikka turned and smiled. Last the last visit had truly been remarkable. A harmless play with bended wire had flown Hiutale couple meters through the air straight into a bush of roses, and even though the strong layers of clothes, numerous scratches had been decorating his body several weeks.

The lights, numerous of them, had unnoticeably slided in the middle of the Mustikkapelto.

The lights that now formed a three-dimensional ocean of stars, lighting up the whole field, leafs and profoundly forming new shadows. The lights moved with gentle choreographic, from left to right in a slight curve. Hard rain had transformed from big drops to sprinkling fog and Hehkunäkymättömät, that were slightly higher then others were much dimmer now and they followed the movement of others with a slight delay. As a result there was a symbiotic peaceful gesture, a hypnotic echo, that one was looking can not be amazed, to not amaze and of course - smile. The great Wind was about come, in any minute now, for starting The Performance, and like good music - all beautiful starts with a silence. A slight breeze tangled a bit Hiutales hair, sleeves flapped. The humming grew up and from somewhere deep a singing started. Hehkunäkymättömät flew still the movement, but faster, changing the arches zenith slightly steep. Then - A sudden burst of huge wind, this time from ebb, turning The Big Leaf upside down, throwing away the big shadow and the moonlight showed familiar faces sitting at hassocks, with their bags.

The Big Leaf flew back to original position and The Blueberry Field was dark again.

The breeze had uplifted the thin wings of Hehkunäkymättömät and threw them high up in the sky, emerging them into few seen stars. Up there, they gathered speed, forming a gathering, getting prepared and they waited a new breeze that would bring them down. This Hiutale knew, beacuse once he had seen the preparation of The Performance when he had arrived on spot a bit late than usual. Floating down, Lehtivene had been taken inside the Breeze and thrown him high up at the same level as Hehkunäkymättömät. It had been a rare scene, for as little they knew about The Performance, as Hehkunäkymättömät - those were one of life’s mysteries. The singing echoing from distant got even stronger and accompanied with steady drumming, when numerous characters in the shadows participated to for a Rhythm and humming.

Hiutale did have a hunch of the starting pattern, but one could never be sure. He had tried to understand and learn the logic and language of Hehkunäkymättömät as one time he had seen them so close, but the end result was always found in the conclusion, that the opening pattern was based on new shadows pattern, combined with yesterdays happenings and the unpredictable wind. The end pattern he was not so sure, but as The Big Machines had arrived, The Performance was day by day shorter. The Machines were silent at this hour, but even the thought of their sound and presence gave shivers to Hiutale as he pressed himself closer to Mustikka.

The wind gathered some volume again, and the drumming paused just for a while. It started after a short moment and it echoed now in the whole forest when the characters got excited, danced and banged together the most peculiar objects together. Humming was now loud singing as it profoundly accompanied the Rhythm. Sudden burst of light flashed as thousands and thousands Hehkunäkymättömät lit their wings high up in

the sky as they stormed down with a high velocity.

Some of them lit their wings up just after the treeline, and as result they were tripled then in the beginning. And like out from nowhere, they kept appearing, more and more.

In a wave they came, up and down. Strict arch, waving the tip of the bigger twigs. And then high up again, forming a perfect circle with the wind, and then the Pattern was live. a slight dimmer circle formed inside the first one and it danced. Outer circle turned axial rotation clockwise diagonally over the inner one. This was not the opening pattern, but more of an exercise, a warmup. The inner circle had turned also over the axial and was rotating with great speed cutting the outer circle. And in a blink of an eye, the Pattern was broken into small dots and random pattern reminded us as thousands of wings flapped like handful of sand thrown into still water. Slightly dimming halfway bright and bright formed a single dot, one single dot, and the movement slowed down.

The dot still danced in the wind that was getting stronger. Mustikka shivered a bit and Hiutale gave her his hanging moss weaved scarf with a hoodie. Much further a dead pine tree squeaked and snapped as the wind was swinging it and it’s dried up branches. The movement of Hehkunäkymättömät and the Rhythm changed, when dead pine tree again rpesented its existence, as wanting to be part of the dance. It was the oldest and the most beautiful tree Hiutale had ever see. Tightly dried up in counterclockwise for, like a spiral. And greyed through with the most signification including all the branches. One needed to be careful though when climbing in its branches or close by it, as the old trees were really unpredictable.

The trunk of the tree was that big, that one time when Hiutale had made an effort to measure it. The sum was 50 handful of Hiutale, two hopping leaps and then lost count and as he was then thinking mustard sandwiches, he climbed

to the strongest branch he could find and decided to copy the patterns that were on that spot to his small notebook. He also realised that from head toe or hadn to hand of one special Hiutale was not universal measurement, so the knowledge was unuseful to anyone, he just decided it was big.

And the birds were truly remarkable when one was seeing them up so high.

The excact copy of the ground was now up in the sky and glowing and it started to rotate slowly.

Mustikka tried to show the position of the new Well, but the pattern rotated more excessively and moved just when Hiutale had focused the position with his eyes.

Right above the bright dot, layers of dim lights appeared and the Pattern started faintly seem like bright pole that grew even longer and waved. This Pattern supported Hiutales earlier deduction, but he thought it could not be so simple as in a moment the poles became two and then three. The moving Pattern was Geyser and then again it stormed in the tree-line of the Forest, exploded and lightning also the upper branches and and simple aww of amazement was to heard as the all characters just stood still. For as the way The Performance changed with the wind and brought even more variables for the event. The wind changed, proper angle as the wind blew, Hiutale and Mustikka smiled.

“Hmn I’ll show it to you.” Said Mustikka.

The copy of the ground turned into two-dimensional, the silhouette of dead ine tree moved from behind to forward right in the middle of glowing pattern. The details of the spiral like trunk appeared from below to up as the numerous branches grew up like explosion. Some of the Hehkunäkymättömät move below of the scenery forming a lake, where the exact patter mirrored the scenery. The wind waved the dead pine tree further and clicks echoed, and the movement of the tree formed into the Pattern. The falling branches were there, but much dimmer, and as they fell to lake, they formed trails to it. Mustikka waved her hand as like she was trying to pick up the falling branches. Hiutale laughed and and tried to scoop out water from the lake and and wondered at the same time the opening Pattern, and came to another conclusion that was it even necessary to find out the logic of something this extraordinary event or not, if one felt this good and just this very moment. In the daytime no one could not even see Hehkynäkymättömät, they wandered away to their own journeys or on a moonless night they just wandered around flying and gave light to people who were on a journey in the night.

Hehkunäkymättömät turned off their wings just for a moment, darkening the whole forest. Deep silence. The Dead pine tree snapped with rapid echo. Hiutale gasped and the Rhythm started again so loudly that it almost hurt his ears.

Hehkunäkymättömät had moved in darkness into new positions next to each others in every leaf they could find. They lid up their wings again and started synchronised movement. For a moment it seemed like the whole opening was lifted up.

The pattern changed again and it was a forest, but in movement. It moved in a way that behind the trees new trees were formed, from single dots and it moved closer. Mustikka stood up from amazement and started dancing with the Rhythm. Hiutale in the other hand took his small notebook, turned over and decided to write words that came up to his mind in that very moment and at the same time glanced the mirrored image that played.

Hiutale did not participate to the Rhythm yet, because he had to warm up his fingers under his sleeves as he had forgotten mittens. Instead he waved himself and hummed. Forgetting mittens was usual behaviour, and that was the reason his sleeves had holes for thumbs and they would serve as mittens that no one could never forget.

Mustikka moved her shoulder up and down as they danced with Hiutale at the same pace.

“If in world there are many, I am just one, What is many, and how many is one?”

“If worlds exist by many, There are us of many, still one, So how many?”

Hmn, I guess not many enough, Hiutale thought, closed his notebook and stood up. A dim character was now brighter and it danced in front.

The scenery was breathtaking, as he noticed that the details in the mirrored lake were much more accurate then the one above that was the reflection, and if one could squint ones eyes, one could see all the shades, in colours that were the light coming from blueberries, twigs, moss, moonlight and trees. The trees in the background danced and moved with force, the branches formed out of nowhere and took height by exceedingly fast, the outlines of the big leaf were formed brightly and the strong breeze grabbed the leaf out from the branch throwing it really high up over the treeline. The glowing image of the leaf stood still in the air, unmovable, like it was still there. And even the clouds had moved over the moon, the fog thickened dimming the lights that were in distant. The shadow was not there anymore, and Hiutale and Mustikka danced.

The glowing image of the big Leaf was still waving in air. The actual leaf started spiral like landing, and when it was lower and the leaf turned in the moonlight, a bright fox was laying on top the leaf. The trees behind went off one by one as the leaf landed, the glowing image was still there and the leaf landed on top of the lake, Hehkunäkymättömät shut their wings off one by one, the trees were gone and the image of the biggest leaf of the summer fainting with the wind that was getting stronger.

It started to snow...

THE JOURNEY OF HIUTALE

It snowed. More and more. Hiutale woke up shivering with cold. Afer staying up all night and sudden action in need of sleep Mustikka was nowhere to been seen and lonely footprints on the snow lead deep inside to the forest. Hiutale pulled his shirt even more tighter, the cold was now deep inside the bones. Fingers freezing. The Performance of Hehkunäkymättömät had ended a long time ago and a new day was dawning.

Because Mustikka didn’t bother to wake up Hiutale, he thought first that might have there been an accident, but decided then that units like Mustikka walk their own paths, almost always, and not not necessarily consider other people; or perhaps they see something glimmering in the distance, something that you definitely need to follow this instant. Hiutale knew that the Big Meeting was coming, and for that eventually they would be reunited and so decided to leave the opposite path. Remains of the snacks from yesterday consisted following: A-half-mustard-sandwich.

After walking a stalk of a hay or grass, in a snowy forest, Hiutale exited The Blueberry field humming and eating the last sandwich; rubbing other hand next to trousers so that even it would feel warm even though every other body part would be aching. He wondered do the other body parts become jealous, when the cold is constant, and one gets more attention then others.

“Maybe”

Orienteenring with southwest wind, the one that kept hayish hair in movement, Hiutale travelled with that speed that one could get from half sandwich. It was finally warm and it was still pouring snow quietly. Hiutale was about to burst of that view, how beautiful can the first snow be.

He hoped slowly whispering that The Big Machines would be quiet, and in the end, would stop functioning. Hiutale had no destination, only a hunch, just like he was taught. It was enough.

That, and when travelling a journey you smile.

Unhappy is a terrible state of mind to travel. As it creates an uneasy emotion, like thousand of thorns would sting you under your shirt and at the same same time someone would sing the most mocking song ever how someone ate all your snacks.

Day had turned into evening, when Hiutale reached the fars-ide of The Unknown Forest, he squinted his eyes and gazed mouth open the mountain line faraway in the horizon. Both ends ended into darkening sky. They have always been here, he thought. This was the furthest, that Hiutale never had needed to come. He looked around and saw a symbol cut into the tree. It was the Sign of The Fire Parade. At least a safe place to rest for awhile, Hiutale wondered and noticed a small outing in a cliff, between two trees. Small enough, just perfect for one night to rest and gather strength to travel again. Hiutale collected some lower branches of spruce, took Tinderbox out from its bag and lid a small Fire. And as for nothing else was to be eaten, he decided to roast few pine cones on carefully selected stick. It had noticed, that with humming the thought starts to journey path of its own. Hiutale was thinking of Mustikkas journey. And his Brothers and sisters where he had been taken away in the age of 5 for the path of Wayfarer. He wondered this new feeling inside - approximately 3 thorns he counted, just close the shoulder on left arm. Just in the middle. That emotion - Monster Loneliness, Hiutale figured.

Hiutale had never ever felt himself as lonely. Actually Hiutale, like rest of the Wayfarers had been taught differently like many of the Chosen ones. The exact emotion of being lonely, was a mystery - they just did not know.

The chosen ones were a pretty peculiar units, chosen by their abilities from rest of others in the early stage of their abilities very young.

Units that showed a talent with their extraordinary stories, or carved Shadows their first ones. Moved silently, or as The Wayfarers the lost ones, who knew a bit from a thing, and then two, could replicate, could tell about accidents and finally - made it alone. To all of them, They would take extreme attention and with seriousness and would be educated, if they insisted on.

After traveling the Path of Wayfarer first two years. Hiutale knew everything that it was needed to be known from the Shadows. How important it was to keep Grimoire with you All the time. A Grimoire that when danger lurks, you would press it against your heart as hard as you could. How Shadows gave signs from unknown, known and so on. And how important it was to draw those into that very Grimoire. If one time it would happen that you wish to go back. And forth. Where you came from.

The second matter that was taught, only at the third year was the different Aisti. Sense.

And how to orienteer with the wind. Sense and Wind combined to Shadows was one of the corner stones of survival, if one should be brave enough to survive in the Unknown World.

Fourth and the final year, was meant to have fun and as said - Travelling unhappy, brings you to unhappy places. In short, too difficult as Every Wayfarer knew. The thorns then came by too many under the shirt and under the feet.

Hiutale in the other hand had spent his final year to do small trips close by and went as furthest as to the Last line of the Unknown Forest and was every time amazed how big the Lonely World can be. The other Wayfarers had either focused to copy the shadows very delicately, or how to learn different flowers out from the memory.

But as seen first time the mountains, that surrounded the Unknwong Forest, Hiutale understood what happiness truly was. He never

returned to the farside of Unknown forest - not until now. But this time, the new feeling, the one that he could not understand.

First dawn and he woke up, cold as always.

He lit the fire again, warming up the cold that builded a house during the night. The Wayfarers were meant to survive from cold distances, but it did not take away the cold hand that had reach inside and radiated from the head to toes. Pine corns did not give that energy as Mustard Sandwiches, but Hiutale felt rested. Nobody can not understand the amount of happiness, that you can feel if you see the mountains as the very first thing you wake up. How slowly the sun came up behind them. He saw tracks on the snow, and realised that a Fire Parade had made a way with him, closely.

Next to bonfire, there was a new peculiar object.

And after a closer examination it turned out to be a carmine-red Button. A big one.

“Peculiar, yes, but see how beautiful it is.”

Hiutale mumbled.

Hiutale took the Button, looked through the holes how the sun reached its noon high point, just high enough. The button shone with the rays of the sun, when you turned it upside and down. Hiutale messaged with she shiny object to faraway birds, and then juts decided to put the Button to among other things into a bag. And continued the journey across the Verge.

The ground leaned a bit forward and Hiutale was hungry, but every time when the hunger alarmed without a notice, he would turn his head, see the mountains and smile.

The destination of the journey had now received a new signal, he would definitely would like to know where the mysterious object came from.

This is the basic foundation how Wayfarers react: They find something interesting and you just have to follow it along. Like a shining star. Find out what is the origin, to come enough

text where it came from and to tell others - that was their duty. In the end everything will be transcripted into Big Book of Times, the one that Ruohometsänkansa kept as their pride, so full of matters like this, stories, and The Big Button would fit in there perfectly. Absolutely. Hiutale counted days with his fingers and realised, that were still days to The Big Meeting, so he diced to find out where The Big Button came From. The sun was warm, and its rays exceeded Hiutales journey. No more snow during the night, so he decided to follow the path that The Fire Parade had left. Always opposite.

It is always good to return to the beginning, so one can start the journey again. That was the thought as he noticed smaller tracks next to the ones tat Fire Parade left. Journey went forward, humming, next to mountains, next to smaller tracks. The sun was up rising, presenting now in it’s all glory that it was noon, when Hiutale reached a junction, where the smaller tracks vanished deep inside the forest. He noticed a symbol drawn in chalk into a small rock. Sat next to it, on soft moss, and decided to keep a break. Hiutale wondered a while, and copied the chalk symbol to his Grimoire.

Definition of a Lion’s Leap goes also as following: -You leap deep inside the forest, but usually you find your way back with experiences richer. So thought Hiutale and jumped inside the forest.

“Faraway the dream is a place where the tortured play never reaches.” That was the chalk symbol.

The definition, the meaning. And another new feeling took over Hiutale and he pressed the Grimoire right next his chest.

The tracks that lead back to forest, were a bit smaller then the ones that Hiutale left behind, which concurred that the person who left those was 5 sticks smaller then Hiutale. The tracks didn’t even follow the path that was already there,

but went circling. From left to Right. Like someone would like to leave tracks to loose someone.

Hiutale did continued following the tracks deep inside the forest and wondered the joining path that they left behind. The forest turned even darken. And the out-scape from leaning trees, the blue sky, and a piece of mountain was a fainted mask as Hiutale travelled to even deeper to forest.

After a while walking the circulating hopping path a meadow. That meadow when you mouth just stays open. Of wonder. A big colourful objects make a fence. A sun shines through the trees to give that special light for moss. A swing made out of an old cello. And a hut made from branches. And the humming. From an open door.

A rusty half arch beside the fence and Hiutale looked the Big Button. Only to hear a snappy voice.

“No! Keep it.”

“Hold on. One moment,”

There are sayings. Sayings that keep the truth in just couple sentences. Sentences that remain after the generations. Matters that can be just revised with light-footed, as some stories can be. But as always, righteously used, in a right moment, they gave more help in that situation then nothing that you never ever learned. These saying Hiutale thought, and he thought a lot. Always on those circumstances, when he couldn’t predict the upcoming. He was truly flabbergasted of the premise at the moment. It was a really long time when he heard a voice, a Voice, then his own.

// When you live the respect of nature, you get used to it, to live in quiet, and you do not harm others.

Some say, that the hardest path is the one you by yourself and it is the longest. And that every path tells a different story to every Wayfarer.

Or not, that can happen too. They are part of the

forest, our legacy from the ants. Full of choices.

The path does not exist unless someone takes it.

Fallen twigs, thorn branches, changes, that can not be seen, if you don not know where to look.

Changes that will change back, vanish, like snow, when it melts. The Path, and not in it’s normal form does not exist until 1000 people have taken it. And then it is only physical. Nothing more. The Path does exist, when the adventure needs it. And the Quest demands it. That is why winter is easier.

It’s easy to walk in Shadows, it covers everything like the first snow. Things take time to change. But one in night, that is how easy it can be. The present is constant, because two eyes can see it. Unity then is similar, to all species, We need to adapt.

And like all creatures, species, existing ones, who do not remember how to orienteer with the sight and smell, and just only pretend their matter, but not their vision. We know then, we are not alone.

Hiutale remembered the stories about Big Roads, that existed before his personal time. How people used them without understanding and linear. Fast. Not thinking. He could not understand this kind of travelling. The character or the nature. But in the other hand. He could not be an ant either. The natural way of finding the paths, forming, but he knew how those paths came physical, so he decided to leave that story into fiction, moving forward, drawing, and humming the way to his book, the un-predictable one, until it was dim again.

FOOTNOTES FROM THE AUTHOR:

Afterwards, as the music stops and the Rythm is silent. You might wonder who is Hiutale, or what is Mustikka. More proper question would be, where is The Unknown Forest?

And the answer to that is very simple: It lays inside of you. In the deepest corner, next to something forgotten. A soul might someone say. This is my world. World of Itinao, where the only accepted fee is honesty.

Truth is never easy, nor acceptable as it is. Imagine yourself as the beholder of an Island. Start with that. Create a premise and continue from there. This story is my gift for you, if everything should fail. We all need the ground zero. An attic to store things. A safe haven. Find it, visit it, keep it clean and keep things simple. That is how worlds are built. When the music stops - the revolution is over. We are more complex beings as the eye sees and every creative persons duty and obligation; if one is strong enough to hold a world inside, is to bring that world as visual as possible. That is the only way we will learn. From each other. And these words I leave you within:

“With the bottom of my heart, believe me - You are not alone.�

“They have created this language, so that people could be won over by it; controlled by it. This is too supervised surrounding, where differences are not tolerated. I never realized that this country is so racist, and the System behind it are way more than that. There has to be a change. I can no longer live in this country as long as this kind of inequality is something that you can touch by hand, therefore I ask eviction from the democratic nation of Finland.�

Nikodeemus 1.8.2010 HELSINKI

Ärsykemaailma - It started from the UK

The world of stimulation - It started from the UK

Yksilönvapaus ja ajatukset. Se joka jää kiinni housut alhaalla, oppii pitämään huolella turpansa kiinni ja epäilemään kaikkea ja kaikkia. Loopin ulkopuolelle jäänyt palautetaan takaisin tekemällä se riippuvaiseksi yhteisöstä ja ryhmästä. Eksistentialismi tapetaan niskalaukauksella ja meiltä katkotaan siivet. Babylon, Mustan raudan vankila, monta nimeä.Koneen osat, hyödykkeitä ja robotteja. Numerosarjoja toisen perään ja pysyvät jäljet sekä arvet. Uudelleenohjelmointi. Mitä aikaisemmassa elämänvaiheessa sen asian tajuaa, sen surullisempaa se on. Onnen saavuttaminen tämän jälkeen on yhtä helppoa kuin kalastaminen kylpyammeessa. Luultavin saalis on se karvapallo, minkä voisi oksentaa yhtä helposti matolle kun uneksii yhteistä unta ja se ei ole enää omaa. Kirjoittaminen tapahtuu raskaalla kädellä ja sensurointi tapahtuu jo ajatustasolla. Ja sitten on vaan niin hiton kylmä. Tasapäistämisen prosessi on valtaisa ja ulottuu sisäelimiin asti. Se sydän lyö hiljempaa ja epätasainen biitti on hävinnyt. Pakko juosta. Niin kauan, että keuhkoihin sattuu ja ne meinaa räjähtää rinnasta ulos. Heittovarjot lattiassa on läsnä joka hetki, ne ei lähde koskaan pois vaan ne muistuttaa mua aina siitä missä me todellisuudessa ollaan.

Freedom of being solitary, and thoughts. One who is caught red handed, pants down, Learns how to keep mouth shut, permanently. To suspect everything and everyone. One who has manaed to get out from the mental loop is returned by force and made dependant again from group and society. True existentialism is killed with single shot in the neck and they cut down our wings. Babylon, The prison of Black Iron, many names. Just parts of the machine, necessities and robots. Line of numbers and in binary, one after another. Re-programming. The earlier you figure all this out, the more sadder it will get. Reaching happines after this is just as easy like fishing in a bathtub. The catch would probably be a fur ball, and that you might as well just throw up to a carpet when you are dreaming a collective dream and that dream is no longer yours. Writing happens with heavy hand and self-cencoring happens the same time as you think. And then it’s just cold. And then it’s just cold, nothing more. The process of boxing thoughts is huge and it reaches the inner organs. Heart beats slower, more quiet, the irrelevant beat is gone. I have to run. Run, until my lungs hurt and they are about to burst. The shadows on the floor are there every moment, and they are not leaving. They help me to remember everyday where I am.

Pulssi tasaantuu. Ja todellisuudessa se on peli. And in reality it’s a game. Ärsykemaailma. Illuusio ja silmänkääntötempuista suurin. Yksipaikkaiset lähettimet vaan ottavat vastaan lähetyksiä eri taajuuksilla.

Mittatilauksena tehty hanska, juuri sopivan kokoinen, mihin on ilmestynyt reikiä, mutta sitä hanskaa ei saa pois, vaikka kuinka revin ja potkin. Se päivä nousee jälleen ja se valo on taas täällä, mutta en kai saa koskaan siitä tarpeekseni, enkä koskaan voi katsoa sitä sillä tavalla kuin haluaisin. Valonnopeus ja hetken lento. Ja sitä kun pohkeet ja kyljet on kipeenä kaikesta juoksemisesta, eikä mihinkään voi luottaa, ei edes omiin aisteihin ja sit on pakko mennä takas nukkumaan ja toivoa, että heräisi kauniimpaan aamuun. Käännyn vielä, mutta auringonsilta on jo mennyt ja mä en uskaltanut hypätä virran vietäväksi vaikka olisi ollut mahdollisuus. Pelko yhdistettynä maalaisjärkeen on valemyrkkyä. ”Jos et kestä todellisuutta, valehtele.” Se lieka venyy näkymättömän pitkälle ja harvemmin katkeaa.

Vaan se on aina olemassa. Loppuun asti.

Ainoa virheeni oli sen loputtoman etsinnän jatkaminen, en valehdellut itselleni enkä muille. Tyhmyyden paljastaminen, itselle ja muille. Se kaunein kohta, mikä löytyy kaikesta. Se aito. Se piste joka on aina siellä. Sitä minä yritin etsiä. Tunne, elämys ja rakkaus. Toisto vai liike? Valitsin liikkeen ja minut pakotettiin toistoon. Ilman syytä koin seuraukset ja naamio päässä laulan nyt sitä vitun laulua muiden joukossa ja häpeän tätä rattopojan tunnetta.

Toisinto ja status quo. Pelko ja hallinta. Systeemi, joka astuu peliin, kun joku pääsee liian lähelle. Liian lähelle sitä puhtainta ajatusta, joka rappeutuneissa länsimaissa on jo melkein sukupuuttoon kuollut. Kuten Imperiumi, myöskään aate – ei koskaan kuollut. Se aate kytee meissä yhä hiljaisella liekillä ja odottaa purkautumistaan ja palaa voimakkaammin vielä kerran kuin yksikään virvatuli. Houkutellen uteliaita keksimään omat sanat ja sävelet. Ja se laulu on niin kaunista...

Sen sijaan, että ne sitten olisi korjannut mut, ne vaan anto lääkettä mikä korjaisi hampaat ja silmät. Että voi taas pureskella leipää ja eläytyä sirkukseen. En oikein vieläkään ymmärrä sitä. Mun silmät paloi siinä tulessa ja siitä kuvasta tuli liian syväterävä.

Kampin monttukin on jo ummessa, se oli ehkä lähinnä sitä tunnetta mitä näin ja koin.

Ehkä kaikki oikeastaan kävi hyvin - loppujen lopuksi, en oikein vielä tiedä. Aika näyttää, mutta mun hammasta särkee yhä ja minä olen sokea. Se mikä sinne laitettiin äidinmaidon mukana tuli ulos oksennuksena ja mahaa pistää niin vietävästi. Sieltä revittiin jotain pois.

Sydän, sielu vai ajatus paremmasta? Hoitajana iso karvainen mies, tatuointeja kädessä, ilman puudutusta. Tikkejä ei laiteta, ne ansaitaan.

Siihen asti on hyvä selata vanhoja juttuja ja havainnoida uusia. Säikähdellä niiden hienovaraista epälineaarista, mutta loogista tapahtumaketjua ja todeta asioiden todella menneen niin. Alitajunta – miten monimutkainen asia. Ehkä mä kudon jälleen sitä lankaa itselleni, verkkoa mihin kompastun tai sitten odotan vaan arpeutumista ja huudan, laulan siihen asti.

...Ja joku itkee taas sinisiä kyyneleitä ja minä olen sokea.

Se todella voisi mennä niin. Ihmisen persoonallisuuden jakautuessa. Minä vain jäin kaiken sen alle liian monta kertaa. Liian monta kertaa minulta vietiin kaikki tai osasin lahjoittaa pois.

Kun sen kutsun kuulee, on otettava miehestä mittaa.

The pulse is now steady. And in reality it’s a game. Ja todellisuudessa se on peli. A world of stimulation. Illusion, The greatest trick of all times. Single-seated transmitters just receive messages with different frequencies.

A glove that was measured up to your needs, just the perfect size suit with holes. But that glove is not coming off, no matter how hard you try, I kick, I tear it off.

That day arises again and the light is here, but I guess I neer get enough of it, nor can I see it like that how very much I would like to. The speed of light and that moment of flight. And that, when legs and sides are soar, for all the running, and you can not trust to anything or anyone; not even your own senses, and then I need to sleep now - and wish that I would wake up to more eautiful morning. I turn my head one more time, but the bridge of sun light is gone now, and never had the guts to go with the flow, not when I had the chance.

A fear combined with common sense is placebo. “If you can not stand the reality, lie.” That leash stretches out invisibly far and rarely breaks up. But it is still there. Until end of times.

My only mistake was to continue that endless search, quest. I never lied to my self nor the others. Revealing your stupidity, to yourself and to others. The most beautiful spot, that you can find from everything. The purity, that genuine. That is always there. That, was what I was trying to look for. Emotion, understanding, love. Repeat or movement? I chose the movement and They forced me back to repetition. Without a reason, I experienced the aftermath and with my mask on I sing tat fucking song among others and I am ashamed this escort character emotion that I have.

Replica and status quo. Fear and control. The system that invades the game when someone gets too close. Too close to that pure thought, that in western countries is almost extinct. Like the Imperium - the Idea never died. That Idea burns inside of all us, with slow flame and it waits to burst out once again. It will burn with higher flame then Aurora borealis. Luring curious people to find out new lyrics and new melodies. At that song is so beautiful.

Instead, they would have fixed me, they just gave me drugs to fix my teeth and eyes. So I can chew my bread and watch the circus. Still don’t get it. My eyes burned in that fire and that image became too sharp. Even the huge construction hole is now covered, That was the closest description I could have given for what I saw and experienced. MAybe everything turned out fine - In The end, not sure of that yet. Time will tell and my tooth aches still and I am blind. For what put there through the milk from my mother, it came out as vomit and my stomach hurts like hell. They ripped something out. A heart, soul or a thought of something better? As nurse there was a hairy big man with tattoos, without anaesthetics. No stiches, those are earned.

Until that time comes, it’s good to browse old stuff, and receive new ones.

To freak out their subtle non-linearic, but logical chain of reactions and to realize, things really went like that. Sub-conscious - so complicated. Maybe I knit that line for my self, a net where I will stumble or I wait wounds to scar and I yell and I will sing until that time comes.

“Somebody cries blue tears, and I am blind.”

It could really go that way. When human personality is divided. I was left underneath that so many times. Too many times they took everything that I have, so I learned how to donate.

When you hear the calling, you have to measure yourself up.

The battle roamed in the distance. Echo of one past life, so very ashamed. Pure heart of one Young Maltese. A Union of One. See the vast plains, as it rumbles. Roaming ocean carried deep inside. How can you turn your back for all the sorrow right in front of your very own eyes?

“Sometimes you just have to.�

I see a boy in twenties, one deep wrinkle on the forehead, a boy who aged too early from the mind.

All wounds heal in time. Tissue is still soft and the Journey is an on-going process. Scarred - yes, but not scared. Not anymore.

One of the best physical examples of solitude in this life is when map given is not enough. We are born, we live, we love and we hope. Faith is not part of the Big Function. Alone.

- How can you miss a place where you have never beEn into?

- I don’t know.

- How do you see them?

- I don’t know.

-Where are you know?

- I don’t know.

- I am hurt.

- I know.

After spending my time just here in the mainland, for almost ten years. Lacking out of money and focusing on my studies. I needed a break. I knew my time had come. To leave.

My first thought was to be creative Erasmus at Alaska. To get as far as I could. To a place that was even colder then this one, the one where I was born and raised.

No creative schools in Alaska, so it was time to go to the source of art. France. Made a portfolio same size as this book that you are holding, and applied. Didn’t even get the confirmation letter. Sold all my belongings. Took a shitty job at this hotel. Cleaned toilets the whole summer. Got high everyday. Cleaned.

Didn’t want to spend money on the busrides. Biked. Sang. But was determined that this shit has to go. I needed to go. If you happened to live in Haaga 2005, you might have hearded verses of Poets of The Fall echoing, as one boy drove by. And sang, at the top of the lungs.

One day the confirmation letter finally came. I was accepted. Still few more weeks of cleaning.

Packed my bags and left. Yes, did show my finger, banged the door, and just walked away.

After I reached my stationary in Saint-Etiénne, France, the disappointment was harsh. After thinking now almost ten years after, I feel no sorry for racists. You don’t need to have a different skin colour to be treated as scum. Facing almost everyday the question was, what are you doing here if don’t speak the language. The school accepted me to traditional art, but they didn’t want me there. Everything is easier in France when you have big boobs, fluent french. And money - parent’s money.

So my journey started walking on the streets of St-E. Crying. Not accepted once more. Little money.

In a different place. And questioning why they don’t want me here, even I worked my ass off to get this far.

So luckily I made contact with Pommez UG art group. And helped them to prepare for Art Biennale of Saint-Etienne. And I found my cave. Yes. France has houses that have caves.

During this period of my life of 30 years I had never felt so safe. The sky wouldn’t fall. It was dark .

Moist and dirty. I was accepted for the group and I started my inner journey to find something I had learned to exist in another century, definately not in mainland, and I wanted to get as far as possible of technology.

To create something that could not be re-produced with xerox machine.

Aftermath: I spent over two weeks in a small cave painting with ink and chracoal to a canvas using only candle light. The moist affected to canvas and it started living. The result is safe. And it will be continued in the periods of 20 years.

Distant echoes of transparent colours

Surfing through inspiration

Who - you might wonder. Why, is more valid A certain kind of seasons’s greetings. question when I hear something primal that echoes with the world united in mystified tone. There is A human never demands anything unless no beginning, only the present and the future is it’s hungry. Or greedy. We live for lust, for love, for redeemed by us. joy, for sorrow. For inspiration. When it flows it’s the rush of all combined. I’m greedy, I admit it. Greedy

In order to survive in modern art scene, one for perfection of sound in progress to satisfy all those truly needs to mystify itself. Big time. Difficult task needs. That’s what music does. When it hits, you feel for a nobody, with only self-made stamps in arm. no pain.

An arm that creates stars beyond this solar system.

Accompanied with the self-taught voice, she creates This summer is gonna be different. No revharmony from chaos. One of the best art form olution scheduled, no wars to end. The world stays approaches in this lifetime. still like warm water. Like a painting it has shadows, light and all the shades in-between. We walk through

Lo-fi, underground, teasing justice with that painting. I would paint it pink, I would paint fresh approach. Like summer time in childhood. the skies green, the grass blue. And so should you.

An echo, that has been tuned almost a decade to it’s If you would actually see the sky in lime, would you perfection. share it to someone. That special someone? I’m not that special someone. I’m me. That special me. Im Result? “If you build it - they will come.” portant. Black and white combined. All the shades.

Mask on the mirror. Flower in bloom and after the

A heroine of modern times. Not transparent, summer I’m still here. I’m human. Even though I but vivid. Like lucid dreams from a world to be. sometimes wish not. This summer is for new music.

Some people are just a born with the northern light Ode for hesitation. When we all could find mouninside, some call it charisma.The classic tale of a tain inside of us. This summer the inspiration will champion to become. flow through. Inside all of us.

We all dream of something big, and we see the very beauty in Every reflection. Now, that is the beauty of that very certain Heroine.

When the music stops, the revolution is over.

Answer to one certain why? The result - an rumbling echo in the distance. Why not. What is the definition of unfound transparent colour.

Ode

Oodi.

Why are you so down I sighed, I saw it from you expression, there are others you know, from the mind melancholic, like trees, they need to be trimmed time after time again, and it hurts, like burning love.

Without others, more stronger trees grow.

So strong that torture and suffering will not reach it.

So that the yearn of the world, the suffering, will not pressure the burden no more.

Not until today, when you feel like down under.

Away with small talk, now talk, tell me what is wrong.

Miksi olet noin allapäin, huokasin helpotuksesta, näin sen ilmeestäsi, on muitakin surumielisiä, mieleltään melankoolisia, niin kuin puitakin täytyy joskus karsia. Se sattuu kuin rakkaus palava, kun oksitaan, ilman muita, kasvaa kauniita puita, voimakkaita, että maailman murhe painaa, ei anna elämä kärsimyksiltään painaa, ennen kuin tänään tunnen olevani vainaa. pois turha puhe höykytys, nyt kerrot mistä on kysymys.

It can happen time after time again, that you fall, like a stone in still water, when you are further from mortal posession, and it hurts when you sweat the scum of 1000 love. A beautiful boy, from the mind, so clear from the forehead. So crystal clear, and when you are strangled once, you never know what the world offers you.

The fugitive is always alone, like a snail without wings, Clear blue sky. Cyan by name.

Like marble, in reflection, There in a half-made plan. You. Fine you will be, pure, clean, free from the mind, like a bird.

When the cold hurts, like candles last flame, botrh ends, always.

For that is life. This is how it feels like, when mind sees no borders, the limits though - mind and its never existing borders.

Believe in the power of mind, look at the beautiful sun, Now you have the wings, and now you are stubborn as mule.

But not for denial.

They want to know, what binds your tongue, what whistles, like kettle on a stove, for where the denial comes from.

Believe in the strength inside you, in mind, and see what became from the boy, a lost one. A brave man entered the forest, back he wanted, for the trees I fell That one tree they cut down.

Niin voi joskus käydä, että putoaa, kuin kivi sydämeltä kun on vapaa maallisesta.

Ne katsoo kieroon sellaista miestä, joka kärsii tuhannen rakkauden hiestä, niin se sattuu kun on kerran kuristettu. Kaunis poika, mieleltään, niin kirkasotsainen, ei tiennyt mitä maailma vielä kontolleen toi.

Pakolainen on aina yksin, Kuin etana ilman siipiä.

Taivaansini, kuin marmori, heijastuksessa, Siinä puolivillaisessa.

Hyvä sinusta tulee, puhdas, mieleltäsi vapaa, kuin lintu.

Kun kylmyys sattuu, niin että mahaa vääntää, Maljasi täyttyy, kuin kynttilä viimeistä päivää, siltä se tuntuu, mielen vapautuminen, oma rajallisuus, mieli ja sen rajat.

Usko mielen voimaan, katso kaunista aurinkoa, kuin siivet selkään sait kun sellaisesta moisesta kieltäydyt kuin pässi.

Ne haluaa tietää, mieltäsi kieltää, mikä kiheltää, kun viheltää.

Usko mielen voimaan, katso millainen tuli pojasta, eksyneestä sellaisesta.

Urhea mies metsään eksyi, takas halusin, sinne puuhun mistä putosin.

“There are things, matter(s) you can try to steal, borrow or buy. But some things move on, in so big cycles, that can not never be taken away. One of those moments was here, yesterday - just recently. I responded and the mirror answered. If the original sin is to know, then please do - define me a memory.”

“Again in the soulless embrace very deep in the depth of a mind, I hear no danger fear no avenger. When I see you, in the sky of freedom, I will fly with you - towards faraway towards faradays sky. Far-distant-land - called home.”

As said, the instinct is the most unknown skill, a student. We are crazy to accept the world as it is, where even the most challengeable matter can be bought. Rising uneasiness, as we see the democracy growing inside our own heads, how it takes it over from many angles in real-time making it useless just like an appendix. As I see a man my own age, laughing towards matters or customs, with that very certain way that I have seen so many years and in so many occasions. Manners that should be respected at least inside your heart. When you read this book in the age of forty, you realize why the world really ended up like this, even though you would not even understand the reading. Maybe the strength of mind is what makes us different among others. A snot-nose boy will eventually become a man, but not the one who laughs just empty laughter. Like a curtain of childhood, that stays behind when all you can trust is friends. For this is my book towards home. A home I could not find even in the books, when I really needed a friend. For I am sadness. And I did not choose my character, and the book has to fit the character, the one that carries it.

The future is pleasant for, the ones who had the courage to be honest. The coldness inside my heart is just hectic surface, a lump that I cannot catch, but it is always there. In my head things tangle up and I see how self-censorship takes over. The answer to the homesickness that is always present is that I do not wish to think like others. I don’t want to. Simply no. Juts do not want.

Everything I feel, experience, do, is always something that somebody else had done. I was condemned to be crazy, because I was not normal. Maybe I would understand the logic behind this if my purpose would be personal gain. The matter was never like that. For I am doomed into cultural extinction, the kind I do not wish to my own children. When a human gets older and dies from the inside.

I am abandoned; a league of one. It stings from the inside, really bad, when you realize that you can reach the same spot always the money. Never had that. I imagine now in my brain,that something is dying. Like cancer, I feel how it moves forward. The amount of frustration swells up like locked-up life.

The images of my mind prison are not exaggerated. The basics of human needs: Hunger, sex, adrenalin and communication. To me art is passion and just as necessary. The palaces crumble inside my head, like marble towards the ground; falling. I get destroyed. From inside.

Ugly face looks trough the mirror and I know how it happens again. What (hu)man does in a situation when one feels like shouting with the same force that the world was built; but simply can not?

How can you re-program something that you already know has been destroyed? I am living dead and always wondered, that if certain things do not change, where do the tales come from? Vampires, zombies...Four things in life that reveal the hidden truth: Music, photographs, writing and art.

The tales come from somewhere, and sometimes I think from the future. I know my sight is wrong now as I write this, I saw everything happening 7 years ago. Still trying to focus, write and just carry on.

The invisible closing. Knowing our class, there is no simple button, but distinct pressure, like evolutionary stupidness - is just as real.

28.11.2014 Helsinki.

Donata Juin.

Prison Planet 1979, Cell block 45

As I write this, I see no difference towards a man with different skin. This room has my picture, but I see no fresh air. A burden on my chest from torment of centuries. A debt that my parents made, is now on me. It doesn’t matter, 5 years, 10 years or 45 years. Bars or no bars. Fresh water is the only imminent. This is a Planet of Prisoners. I hear them laughing every night. I feel their cry every morning.

The short sobbing, the blinking of light and the clang of chains that does not exist here. Prisoners of free thought. We are them. Judged without hesitation.

A pure thought of something new.

Crayons they give. No black colour until 5 years of sentence is served. They value us every week with words. Every month we grow older from the face. Facial hair is not allowed. Sanction: Beating by soap on a sock. A mental one. They bombard us with medication, that is supposed to ease up the pain.

Meds are the last humanitarian invisible aid. Well that is the official truth. They use excessive force.

They mold you. To something you are not. Tangled hair. 15 years. Bare naked feet on the street: 18 years.

And that is how we grow.

Obsene illustrations colour this secret wall that I led people to see. Next to the physical form of penitentiary. It does no longer exist. The Big Machines took everything. Condos of Gemini Peak are now the landmark. And the rent is high. Too high for The Low people. The Low people belong to caste of secondary ones. The hard working ones.

Generation Y is the current level. And this, is Project Zet. You once wore the star so proud that now everything related is a discrace. Eve of destruction is upon. One day the borders are open and we are free. Free to choose our own location. Current section G27, The greater area of Haaga: The oldest inmates were allowed to choose the last burial scene 2013. Now, it is 47 years later. And I miss my father.

Sentence left: 25+ Inmate 311270 D.G.

I see myself now. Those images. With a gun. With a rope. With pills. Something that eventually kills.

I run under a car. I stand tall on tracks. I slash my wrist. For I was too little to see how it’s done. Sink filled with hot water, in you go and just do it - just not sideways. The bathroom is now locked. I held the heavy door as long as I could. Just like in the song. Nobody cared. I did. So much. With all my heart. The unborn, the damned, the same path walkers. I know I am not alone. Tormented yes, but not alone. Admission to my world was always honesty, but like most people - they just don’t care. Was this the lesson I needed to learn?

I have no idea. Never wanted to belike them, not think like them. To become like them. So much I cared, that my destiny, my experiences would not happen ever again to no one. So hard the road has been. No one deserves it like that. At the moment the world cries for me. I hear the calling, the place I need to see, to be.

My love, who needs me. Just not yet. Simple by nature, streetwise by experience. They always see something that I have. That I can not see myself. Again they ask, they take, they leave and never come back.

And it hurts like hell, but not like the trees grow. It is pain for giving up too easily. Too cheap, but I value my talent and those moments too dearly. This is for you my dear, from the bottom of my heart. How deep the roar can be. They, the invisible they, messed with the wrong boy this time. And what do you get when purehearted is angry? A lion. The battle begins. And they will one day wish, it had never started. Those meds, they suffocate the laughter, it brings the flatline to brain, and you are a vain memory of a ghost. Eat, sleep, wake up and walk with me. This is last message from outpost unknown. And yes, we are coming to get you.

The basics. No wounded are never meant to be left behind. Never ever.