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Journal

An introvert gone supernova

I’m an introvert gone supernova. I need time alone, and that includes time away even from my partner. We have had rough times for a while and I’ve tried to make it work by acting extroverted, talking for the sake of talking and always trying to do things together. That, of course, only made things worse by draining me without giving anything to us. But I didn’t understand, so eventually I got stuck in that mode.

I had moved to a new city and left my few but close friends behind. And in this new setting I entirely forgot that I am an introvert and that when I am social – which I really do enjoy – I must get time to charge my energy in between. But I was trying to fit in and got desperate somehow to make everyone around me happy. Except myself.

I didn’t understand why my energy got so low and never recharged. I became, like a star burning it’s last fuel in a bright flash before dying, a supernova. This is my most recent insight into myself. It was just the other week I finally put the pieces together. Introvert and never alone. Of course I’ll get fatigued. Now I try to make sure I get time by myself and though it’s a long way back, I’ve started to recover, I think.

Being someone you’re not is exhausting.

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Journal

Messages

I have so many messages I need to get out. But my communications array is overloaded. It’s the middle of the night here and I can’t sleep. There is a chaos waiting to be formulated, put into words. Like I want to harness my feelings, making them real by shaping them into words. While they are still undefined those feelings have power over me, freezing my conscious self while the unconscious runs amok. I have to make them tangible. Need to write them down. I’ll try.


Addendum: Every fragment I write captures some thoughts, piece by piece. I’m just afraid I’ll discover that every piece comes from a different puzzle. Or maybe that would make me relieved — then there’s an explanation to this mess that is me. Thinking of it, now I’m kind of curious.

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Journal

Pan

For many years I really thought I was straight. Well, I am not homosexual because I am attracted to the opposite gender. So then I have to be straight, I thought. But of course it is not that simple. I sometimes blushed and got hot from people of the same gender too. At school I forced myself not to accidentally peek in the shower after gym class. I was so scared that if I looked it would mean that there was something wrong with me.

Growing up in a small village, and later in a small town, I didn’t want rumors to start. Though I think maybe there were suspicions anyway. I knew of no one that was gay or in any way related to LBGT where I lived at that time. At least I didn’t see it. I was also a bit naive I suppose. Sex education wasn’t so great and my god how my face turned red when the teachers talked about homosexuality. I didn’t listen, I just wanted them to stop talking cause it felt like everyone was looking at me. This was many years ago. Today I wonder if anyone even noticed and if so what they thought it meant.

I had crushes on some girls and some boys. I got off to fantasies about both boys and girls. I secretly watched straight, lesbian and gay erotica. Gender didn’t matter, setting and scene did. But despite this, for a long time, I still thought of myself as completely straight, and only had straight relationships. The mind is complicated, especially mine, and I simply didn’t understand there was another option.

Finally, only a few years ago, when I met my partner who had no doubt in who she was or her sexuality, I realized that I was bisexual. I hadn’t even considered it, didn’t understand that was an option. Maybe it was the usual prejudice: “Confused and hasn’t chosen side yet”. But as this realization matured I realized that I didn’t care about gender or gender expression. I’m liminal, I like to explore the borders, to be in an unspecified in between. I’m not confused, not in this case anyway. I am interested in hearts, no matter their parts.

Today I am even more specific and call myself pansexual, because I want to include non-binary people too. Sometimes I just say bi cause more people understand what that means, and maybe it’s just semantics. I feel what I feel, I am what I am, and understanding and accepting this has made me more of a whole human being. This is a big deal for me, but hopefully no big deal for everyone else.

Phew, I thought I’d never dare to write and post this. I don’t know what I am trying to say, or why I am posting it – I suppose it is some kind of therapy, as someone observed in a comment on an earlier post. I feel a bit naked and vulnerable now, please be kind.

Categories
Prose

Inside Universe

“How can I explain this. It’s like a shell. We live in the soft, fleshy body of a hermit crab, endlessly walking the seabed. All matter we observe – seafood. Encapsulating that is the shell; hard, separate and a completely different world. We don’t know where it came from, but it’s there all the same.”


TVS Monthly Nanofiction Bonanza April 2017
The challenge: Write a story, exactly 55 words.
What if the universe we perceive is contained within another universe?

Categories
Journal

A rare woodpecker

There is a rare kind of woodpecker living in the wall of the old house where my father lives. Every morning while I was visiting, at 6.15 sharp, it woke me up with a noise like a small machine gun. But since this particular species is an endangered species my father doesn’t want to chase it away. In fact bird watchers go there to watch it.

First morning, vacation and all, I just wanted to shoot the damned thing. But then after a few days I got used to it. Last morning it didn’t even wake me up. Now I am on a train going home and I have accepted that even noisy birds must be allowed to live and do what they do best. I suppose I’m a noisy bird myself.

Categories
Journal

What is a story?

Uhm, the story is the soul, but the message is not the body, it’s the scent, hardly noticeable, but very important for attraction or repulsion and lots and lots of subliminal things.

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Journal

Cease the day

Cease the day, roll out the night, as I discreetly move in the fringes of the second dimension of time, I push the borderland, I embrace the unknown, the abstruse, dives further into idea space to find the stem cells of the mind, the malleable words that simultaneously creates myself and the world.

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Journal

My muse is a bitch

She softly gives me a great idea and while I happily plan how to take good care of it she throws ten more, related ideas, into my unprepared, fumbling arms and says while laughing hysterically: “Now you also have to take care of all these! Good luck!”

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Journal

Summoning

First I write my name into existence; then I write my life into reality. I am Ellinor Kall! I spell the secret words that unhides the truth to stand here naked among you – kindred spirits, wonderful writers and magnificent magicians!

Categories
Oracles

The Oracular Nomenclature

  • An Oracle is text or talk about the ontology of magic, or the person delivering these.
  • The Divine is inspiration (creative flow, love, ecstasy).
  • Holy is someone that is inspired (one who is whole).
  • Sacred is that which inspires (beauty, art, nature, emotions, etc).
  • Infernal is that which distracts (aggression, threats, coercion, etc).
  • The Trinity is a state when divine, sacred and holy is in harmony.
  • Virtue is to help (to assist or cooperate in benevolent actions).
  • Sin is hinder or ruining (to block or obstruct someone else from doing good, or destroying possibilities for others).
  • Heaven is mental existence, the mind, consciousness, thinking, logic, creating, art, abstraction, content with solitude and introspection, masturbation (if at all), acceptance, control, the transcendent ego. (Not necessarily positive.)
  • Hell is physical existence, the body, eating and drinking, concrete actions, feeling pain and joy, doing things together, groups cooperating, relations, sex, orgies, conflict, chaos, the selfish ego. (Not necessarily negative.)
  • Magic is creation and influence by will emanating from the Trinity that is manifesting inside reality. (See further definition.)
  • Sorcery is the very dangerous operation of manipulating the actual structure of reality itself (changing the source). (See further definition.)
  • Actual reality is energy and matter in space and time (the physical universe).
  • Social reality is (an infrastructure of) intangible concepts that affect the actual reality (like money, countries and centimeters).
  • Ideaspace is where fiction and ideas exist; could be seen as a part of social reality (where Superman, Kali and Winnie the Pooh exists).

(More words to be explained…)

Categories
Prose

Tightrope

When the tightrope catches fire you better run, she said as I ventured out over the bottomless chasm with the intention of never looking back. As soon as I felt the heat I started to scurry along the line. Flames licked my legs and my soles got scorched black as well as my soul. The acrid smell of burning hair was overwhelming and I could feel the fibers bursting like ruptured tendons in the rope under my feet. Finally my mask of wax, that I had carried to conceal my true face for a long time, melted and the sizzling, fiery drops disappeared in the abyss below. Everything was pain. But if I fell I knew I would never get back up from the depth again. So I tried to focus through the sweat and tears in my eyes. Run, she screamed, and I ran like never before.

Categories
Essays & Ideas

Conglomerate personalities

The physical reality is not the only reality. There is another, less thought of, reality that is equally real. It is created by our culture, our social paradigms and it is as real as our physical existence. We all live in multiple realities. This non-physical reality exists in our collective minds, in our culture and makes manifest in action, words, writing and so on. Ideas are intangible but very much real things and they affect the physical world constantly.

The same way thoughts shape who we are. We are not merely biological lumps of flesh – we are the sum of both the physical and the extra physical realities that makes up our world. That is how we in our psyche can be another person than we are physically. And it is no less real just because the difference is not visible to the eye. You have to look deeper to see that dimension of someone. You have to gain insight into that person to see who they really are. And by who I mean that in plural.

Because no one is just one person. I am a conglomerate of several personalities, impulses, hidden feelings and hardwired responses. I got several creative strains, curious and bold bits and pieces as well as the bad sides, as doubt and spleen (in the sense poets used to use the word). Sometimes rambling, sometimes taciturn. Sometimes the wise man, sometimes the trickster.

And I’m fluctuating – both internally and in contact with others externally. For instance, I can’t easily explain who I am. My identity is diverse but singular at every moment. Mind you, this is no weakness, it gives me strength. But as I said, it’s fluctuating. It all depends on who I am with. This range of identities doesn’t show to people, they meet the same one, and I keep a solid facade, can’t break conventions, society wants labels, clear cut and unambiguous people that are easily understood. Gradients are effectively repressed so that there is only two official colors. Who’d want a complicated society where everyone is different?

So I act very differently towards different people. I also act different when alone depending on mood and I don’t know what – I’m fluid and unpredictable. The thing that is supposed to be me, my self, I, is in fact only a control center trying to make sense of all the parts conflicting and warring. I am not one person – I am many. As we all are.

Or are we all? I’ve met so many people that never seem to change. They are very solid and unmutable. One-dimensional. They oppose change, they get upset by non-binary possibilities. I have heard a person actually say that he had done what he wanted and now only wanted every day to be the same. Someone really said that. Yes, really. So maybe we are different. Maybe some people are just one person while others are an entire menagerie. Nothing wrong with that. Celebrate diversity! Life would be simpler but rather boring if my inner crowd dispersed.


Added later: Career-wise I am constantly moving through different expressions, albeit of the same core profession. I have successfully worked as film director, director of photography, editor, photographer, graphic designer, author and lately as copywriter. I’ve won awards for both writing and directing. And people have payed me good money to work with these different expressions. I enjoy it all but tend to drift between them which makes it difficult to convince people that I am rather good at all those things. Because you can apparently be good at only one thing, just look at mr DaVinci. Irony intended. In the end it all comes down to different aspects of storytelling for me. That is my core profession. I’ve thought about calling myself a pan-medial storyteller. But no one will understand what I mean by that so maybe multidisciplinary storyteller would be better. Except for the discipline part. I defy discipline but rather enjoy to enforce it in others. But that is another story.

Categories
Prose

Marschta: The Barn

The Marschta Barn

The barn haunted me. I could not stop watching it. There was something inside. Something would step out of it anytime. I had to see what it was. I spent days up there. Brought a sleeping-bag when it was cold. Just watching. Listening. I had to. I had to know. What was the thing inside?

Text: Ellinor Kall | Photo: Fred Andersson

Categories
Prose

Marschta: The Nexus

The Marschta Nexus was one of northern Europe’s great centers for focused geomantic energy. The inhabitants in the towering building at the center of it didn’t notice, but the rosette-shaped energy field was slowly changing them. They had started to communicate with each other, in a subtle way, unnoticeable to an untrained eye.

Text: Ellinor Kall | Photo: Fred Andersson

Categories
Prose

Marschta: The Marsch

The Marschta Marsh

This morning I heard anguished cries for help from the marsh, but when I got there the voice had gone silent. I stood watching for a few minutes, holding my breath, listening. But the water remained still. Only a lone bird was heard far away from the treeline. I took a picture before I went home.

Text: Ellinor Kall | Photo: Fred Andersson

Categories
Prose

On the Shoreline

That summer morning on the shoreline was magical. Everything was as perfect as it gets for a short, blissful moment. The slow waves rolling in hardly made a sound — as if the great lake didn’t want to disturb us this early. No wind and no birds could be heard. It was a peaceful contrast to what happened last night. A brief respite perhaps. Because it was not quite over yet.

We wore no shoes and on our way down to the lake we felt the dew in the grass moisten our feet while we ran. Then, when we reached the small stretch by the lake that we had cleared from stones and called beach, the sand stuck to our skin and for a moment it looked as if we wore golden brown socks.

Sophia started to laugh and pointed at my feet. I laughed too, because seeing her laugh eased my pain a bit. If she could laugh maybe all wasn’t lost after all. She gave me hope with that sudden burst. That was the most wonderful feeling I’ve ever had. Hope from nothing. What a wonder! Then the moment passed and our smiles faded fast when we continued our fast trek along the shore.

As soon as we had crossed the patch of sand the sharp stones began to hurt our feet. I regretted leaving without shoes. But there had been no time. We had left in a bit of a hurry without knowing exactly where we were going. I took her hand to help keep her balance as the stones became rocks and boulders. But only a few meters later she scraped her foot on a sharp edge and her tears told me she could not continue at this pace any longer.

Without shoes we were trapped. There was no way out of this. We both knew it, and we knew it even before we ran. We didn’t run to get away. We ran to get a last moment together. I realized that the moment had already passed when we laughed in the sand. That was it. That was all we got. That was the precious moment I would cherish hereafter. That was the magical moment we had made that final run for. For that moment on the shoreline.

Helplessly I saw her sit down, resigned, with her blood and tears flowing.

“Ellinor, we’re fucked”, she exclaimed. “Really fucked this time.”

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Uncategorized

Ellinor’s Theme Song

Ellinor’s Theme Song is a short song and animation I made in which I sum up my very best life advice in just over a minute. Enjoy!