Kaisa Aglen's Page

M.M. is in Johannesburg. We are daily writing short e-mails to each other where the message is variations over the one thing we need to say again and again, and need to hear each other say again and again: Je t'aime. My days are empty after coming out of a hospital stay where I wanted to end it all. That is, empty to be filled with whatever I want. I am switching between writing poems for my own secret collection, working with a theatre-project about love, the dark love, and organizing a collect… Continue

There were long pauses of silence between our words. The night before she had remarked how good it smelled outside. It was the clear smell of fall and we knew the summer for sure had come to an end. She had brought her cup of coffee and a pack of cigarettes outside. I clung to my cigarette as so often before when we had been sitting outside on some stairs talking and smoking. But this morning was different. Our voices so low and dark, her face so closed, and why did she sound so bitter when she… Continue

Spring evening, the grass was getting cold, legs stiff from sitting, bottles empty, words empty, sun down, colder still, this sudden feeling, that our language is wrong, it aims, and miss, aims, and miss, dividing where there is no division, generalising where there is nothing to generalise, time to go.


But not home, there were no homes to be found yet, only strangeness. M and I went to the city centre to find a place we never had been before, and this searching for something new in the famili… Continue

It's an early sunny morning, I'm looking out on the cows; slowly chewing, it's quiet here, but my thoughts are somewhere else, thinking on how to manage my heavy luggage, how to move it from bus to train, and from one train to the next. And I'm also wondering how to write this text -is… Continue