For the love of a lost soul: The Jackie Arklöv catastrophe

Weep child and dry your eyes only when you want to see. Morn because our mother cries for me, but she wails for you ... A blessed soul now so lost ... The alternative end to the tragedy of the mental gypsy ... The ending where the gypsy never finds his Atlantis, never finds a place to call home ... The ending where the gypsy is forced to accept the inferior mentality of the superficial city ...

Weep child for as much as you might not like it, the truth is you are an integral part of it and instead of hailing Hitler, you are better off Hailing HIM Selassie. Our mother had sons and daughters of great achievement, but she still worries more about the the renegade elements within her offspring ... The kids that left home and just never came back ... Home is home blood ... And your home will always be there for you ... I call my struggle a complex tragedy which i try to document in order to make sense out of a seemingly senseless situation ... However, the complexity of your struggle dwarfs my tragedy for yours is a tragedy left unchecked ... It is a catastrophe

As i reflect on events from the past to present, I see the tribulations of man have very common characteristics. The response of men on the other hand is very very different. A tragedy, when discovered early can probably be contained with a significant amount of determination. If we however let the tragedy of any situation to get out of hand, we will be left to the mercy of our inner demons who are determined to destroy us at all cost ... Yes, we are determined to destroy our own selves and If we are left to the mercy of our own selves then the end is inevitably destruction ... Weep child, for that is the Jackie Arklöv story ... The death of a tragedy and the birth of a catastrophe ... :-C

In search of atlantis: The tragedy of a mental gypsy

He stares in admiration of the power of mother nature ... Watching as she raises wave after wave in all her mighty splendor. He sits wishing ... wishing that just one more person could see it in the way that he has ... But his lone presence on that beach is a testament to the superficial nature of the people in that city. No one goes to the beach no more ... Not since the color of the water became PHYSICALLY unattractive and the APPEARANCE of the sand became so "imperfect". He sits on that beach alone, with almost no school of thought that he can actually call home.

"How can the mechanism that makes the waves rise and the tides fall be of less importance than the mere color of the water?" wonders the gypsy. "Although the water might be temporally polluted and the sand physically less attractive, why should this minor superficial set back offset thousands of years of majestic bliss" ... It should not , ... it actually cannot ... But as perception has steadily become reality, I guess it just did

Rising from the beach he is set to continue his journey ... he will never settle down until he finds his Atlantis ... An eternal resting place that he can finally call home ... The lost city that his ancestors had mistakenly strayed away from. However, In his most trying and difficult moments he feels nothing ... That feeling of nothingness is actually something ... it is that thing ... And it is tragic ...