I saw in a movie, surrounded by friends, that Cellardoor was, according to english gentlemen, the most beautiful of words. I don´t know if such conclusions are possible to be made, but I must admit that the sheer sound of the word is indeed pretty, and thus i felt, that it would only be fitting to name this little collection of life, after the opinions of english gentlemen. What you, whoever you might be, might be interested in reading (Of course until you get bored by a certain lack of coherency, and meaning), is my life. It is not a diary as such, but more of a taste of my mind. My feelings, my experiences. All neatly packed in bundles of metaphors and lack of regard for any readers understanding. I hope however that you might find some enjoyment, in my life.

Yours truly


2. The death of my life at the river

I am laying here on the brink of the river, my sight on the screen, and my mind on the company of family, I just met. We talk and laugh, we share the past and present, and now. We feel and sing the song of what should soon be gone. In the company of friends, I feel the joy of my person unfolden. But I shan´t stay. Cause the river brink, of which I yesterday lay my head, and dreamt, do no longer exist. And my person, as unfold, can no longer share it´s soul, with those from home. Life has changed, and with it me. My brothers and sisters have been spread through the lands, and I can no longer fit in home. My heart is shaven as my head. And though I know a new life is about to unfold, and my soul might find it´s peace on there, my brothers and my sisters shall not follow. My life has ended, and my soul feels dead. I miss the river, and I miss my so-called epitome of life.

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