one without a title #exwr14

ˇööpäevane lasteaiarühm riia tänaval tartus, kasvatajateks olid 50ndatel ainult medöeharidusega naised

I was left in the kindergarten when I was two

And never picked up again

I am still there

Sitting in the sterile soviet monstrum house

With the other brainwashed people

Waiting for someone to pick me up

Where are you my beloved ones?

Sometimes I get tired and frustrated

I scream in pain and longing

I am a troubled child

Demanding my right to breathe fresh air in the spring morning

Just some small molecules of freedom

Entering my lungs

Is that too much to ask

Is tha


please, allow me to leave this space

10-12-2014 Nyköping station kl 20:14


_breasts #exwr14

Under water pressure. I am about to give up. Breathing. It is too much heaviness.

On my breasts.



Breathe! Hinga! Andas! echoing in my head. All the different languages just keep entering my mind as if there still is a space for intellectual discussions about linguistics, as if there is a way I could argue myself out of this “discomforting encounter”. Should I pretend that everything is normal? Should I play along as if it was no water flowing in through all the doors and windows of the university building?

I grab my recent book “Intersectonality and feminist utopias” as if paper or my academic credentials could save me from disappearing into the nothingness. Everyone in the room is getting nervous; I know this feeling in the air. Lot of experience in research circles, one might say…

The internationally well-known professor grabs her chair, junior staff members and post-docs are silently weeping in fear. They have no chance. For a short second or two the room is frozen into the hierarchies. And then it breaks into fragmented panicking masses, everyone is fighting for their lives. All suddenly “equal”… or not exactly…

I decide to die after have seen it happen. Violence made visible.

Troubled structures.

Bodies in pain.

What a beautiful ending to a short story, I´ll take a brake now.

Have been wondering around for some minutes and just discovered as if the air is somehow disappearing. Cannot. Breathe. Anymore.


(8-12-2014 Linköping)

STRANGE FRUIT manifesto #exwr14

Mina Tartus 2013 sügis


where are you?

encounter haunted by the dead

living bodies, stories and the beautiful
harmonies across the night air cut off.

Every point I would want to resist work



each chapter    outside myself, each chapter   experience trigger

finding one´s self face-to-face put on display.

I thought if I was, I becoming overly predictable?


I write     deeper strings   in the labyrinth
becoming memories,    really

I write     living world   flourishing
be call ed into the depths

ENERGETIC      familiar             DIFFERENT


10-12-2014 mellan Linköping and Järna

THE PINK I #exwr14

What if I open it?

The small and full of personal secrets.

Inviting, intriguing, impossible, imaginary, inspiring,


Would I laugh at your

intimacy being

exposed to the


or cry?               or go mad?


Allowing myself not knowing


Meetings I

What if I constantly fail
to be figured out
What if I always escape
and turn invisible


is my favourite tune
the colour of my life
From pink to blue
everything is possible
and impossible

Who am I?
I sometimes ask of myself
but then again

The butterflies of times
pass by
hundreds of years in a second

Why would I smile to you?
Niceness is for someone else

I know and still keep searching



The Diaries of the Invisible 


I danced today
In an empty house
No one was there
Not even me
Who am I to say
A word
An empty house
A dance
My trance
I wave my hand
And life just keeps passing by
I sit at home and
They tell me to cook
When I was a girl
They told me to do the dishes
No one would marry me
No one
I am not married
It is so obvious why
I do not want to cook
Kitchen is not my thing
I always forget to eat
I  always forget myself
“Everyday power”
I found a book about it recently
How to gain power
The book is white
POWER written in black
Are they demanding me to become visible now?