Old Lost John speaks...

One of my closest friends is having trouble with her boyfriend. They've had some sort of argument, or at least communication has been down for a while. She initially cut it off, but now she's worried that he doesn't handle himself too well and wants to get back in touch.

But he won't answer the phone or open the door. "Can I pass his house and look into his window just to see if he's there and seems to be OK?" she asks. "Why don't you get yourself a periscope?" I respond. "And a fake nose just in case."

After dark, approaching through the bushes, coming up by the window, periscope raised. Forcing the flower-bed, stumbling, bumping the periscope into the sill and falling face down among the tulips, dropping the fake nose and ruining her disguise. Yeah, I can picture it very clearly.

Made my first trip to Berlin last week, in company with Goran the trombonist. We played at Antje Oklesund on Tuesday and Acoustic Moon at Schokoladen on Wednesday night, both good gigs with good response from the audience.

And the atmosphere of these venues... Antje came across as an illegal-looking hideout all concrete and windowless, but came alive as the night developed, crowded with the nicest people. The place breathed underground art, music and culture, and the stage and sound was good. The name, Antje Oklesund, is the name of a fantasy character whose life story is continously being written on their myspace blog. People kept asking about the name, so they felt they had to make something up.

Schokoladen had an all red stage setting, and Goran looked like the giant in Twin Peaks as he walked on. The woman who runs the club, Sarah, is Australian, and it was nice to have some fluent conversations in English for a change. My German is not very good. I said "Guten Abend" to the crowd from stage, explaining that it feels good to be able to address an audience in their home language. Then I added "Haben Sie Tomaten, Herr Muller?" as that was all I could come up with.

Made a recording of the gig at Schokoladen. Well, I started with Antje first, but there was only noise in the left channel and I deleted the recording to make sure there was enough memory left for having another go at Schokoladen. Good move.

(Music: As We Do In Dreams by Old Lost John, recorded live at Schokoladen, Berlin, Germany, on the 13th of February 2008.)

Strange things happen on the paper rounds sometimes. I'm used to drunk hedgehogs, arrogant rabbits and kittens jabbing through the letter box by now. But I'm not used to elevator doors opening by themselves.

Seventh floor, the elevator stops, as it's supposed to. I raise my hand to push the door open, but almost fall on my face as it opens by itself, accompanied by a humming sound. OK, doesn't sound that peculiar, does it? Perhaps I happened to touch the button for disabled and lazy, the button the starts the electric engine that opens the door for you?

If there was such a button. Should be, really should be, seems to be several old people living in that building. But I've never seen such a button neither inside nor outside this particular elevator. I looked and I looked again, and really I would've known since a long time, wouldn't I? But nothing. Perhaps you need a key, is there a keyhole? No keyhole. No nothing.

The only conclusion I can come up with is that there must be superhuman powers at the controls. Perhaps they're trying to tell me something. Perhaps it's an omen. "The door is open for you, Tomas." Smiling and looking at me curiously, one eye-brow raised. Of course I can't see that, but I can imagine. Oh, you are such poets. But what door are you talking about, the door that will take me to another level of some kind? Is this about my career, a breakthrough around the corner? Or is it about that woman finally getting ready to let me back into her life again?

Subsequent events almost had me believe in the second alternative. I was terribly wrong. Think I'd better focus on my career.

Faith is a rare thing these days. We all carry our burdens and struggle to keep going with whatever was loaded upon our backs. We get in touch, we seem to connect, we try to believe but ghosts from our pasts spell out their anxiety and anger in the most stupendous ways. We get misinterpreted, or we make ourselves misinterpreted, depending on how you look at it. I'm sorry, I fucked it up, I'm sorry, you fucked it up.

Don't look back. We hear it all the time, from friends and relatives, thinkers and writers and all kinds of self-made consultants. Many times that may be a good advise. Other times it's just running away from a challenge and a possibility to grow. Linger awhile, I say. Or take a walk around the block, sober up and try again.

People never change. That's something else I hear all the time. And it's true that some people keep making the same mistakes over and over. Simply promising yourself not to do whatever silly thing you did ever again won't help. But of course you can change. There wouldn't be any shrinks if people couldn't possibly change, and if you go see one you better believe it. Once you know what triggers those outbursts, stupid jokes, manic moves or whatever, you're on the right path. Then keep going.

There's a little boy inside the man. A slight emotional crisis, a few drinks a few too many nights and small hours loneliness may be enough for him to slip on through. Sometimes he waves too wide, just to spark a reaction. And perhaps someone gets hurt. Tomas the grown-up is the one who will have to deal with the mess afterwards. Perhaps I'll tell you more another day. In the meantime, I'll keep Little Tomas in chains.

Faith. Yes, it is a rare thing. I firmly believe that one day we will reconnect, as friends, some of us who lost it and kept hidden in our separate corners for a long time, uncertain of each other. And some of us may definitely not, well aware that we might call up some old ghosts and fall back into a nightmare.

(Music: She Won't Listen by Old Lost John.)

Summer is gone, and October brings a gust of freshly cool air. I've been looking forward to this fall, as pretty much any fall. It sort of becomes legitimate to turn inwards and lose yourself in thoughts and musings. A good time of year for listening to beautiful music at home with both ears, a good time of year for reading long novels while sipping a cup of Darjeeling tea, and of course a good time of year for writing songs and even get them recorded.

Everything seems a bit easier this year than last year at this time. I know what I'm doing and I know that I'm not doing anything terribly wrong. I'm not desperately trying to do everything right. Sometimes the right thing to do becomes the wrong thing to do because you try to do it too early or too much, when time isn't yet ripe, when it can't be done with conviction. I have good friends who keep in touch and I'm not likely to squeeze anyone too tight. I keep an eye on my drinking habits and count my heartbeats.

A new breed of songs emerging. They seem to sneak and peak from out of the corner of my eye, unwilling to reveal their true identities. Like shape shifters or dream-beings, beckoning. This time around, I don't seem that intent to be hammering out my thoughts and ideas about anything or anyone in particular. I simply go with the flow that comes from within as much as from anywhere else, keep my feet just above the ground and hover on, getting lost close to the edge of the forest. I kinda like to get lost in the woods.

These songs may be dark, or rather delivered in a dusky setting. They may be sad, but remember there wouldn't be hope and relief if there weren't any sorrows. These songs are reaching for the mysteries that surround and embrace us and flow like rivers through heart and soul. This seems like a good place to stay for the time being.