Steve Sodegard @SSodegard

Be careful about not standing up for yourself, lest it become a habit.

If one uses fiction to say all the things one hasn't yet dared to say in real life. Is it then really fiction?

You are on your deathbed and the nurse have just handed you a sheet of paper and a pencil. What will your last written words on earth be?

What if religion is simply another manifestation of mankinds search for inner peace. Deep down the man going to Church on Sunday, and the man going to the Casino bar is searching for the same entity.

What is the most valuable possession that anyone could have but few pursue? Peace within.

Lionel, pardonnez-moi de vous contacter, mais un tableau (un portrait d’une dame noble) qui semble avoir été réalisé par Geneviève Brossard de Beaulieu est apparu dans mon pays et se trouve maintenant en ma possession. La signature est authentique, l’année est bien lisible (1809), mais puis-je vous envoyer quelques photos pour que vous puissiez y jeter un œil et me dire si cela vous semble original ?

@DrDavidVernon Perfect, thank you very much. Is "Confessions of a Mask" also a good intro to Mishima is that a bit of a strong starting point? Have it in my bookshelf but never read.

What does it say, then, when I should, but I don’t? I don’t even know how to write. Writing could have saved me; it would have, if I could. So where do I go, then, where do I go? If masterpieces were born in the trenches of the Somme, beneath the gas chambers of Poland, or in the frozen wastes of Siberia, then what excuse do I have? I’ve been a seeker of solitude for years, yet I’ve never found it. Being alone is not the same as being at peace. Solitude demands a stillness of mind and mine has never learned to rest. What is really keeping me from writing, though? Pride, perhaps. Or that old, familiar fear of not being good enough, yes, that’s almost certainly it. Children write in school; why can’t I, a thirty-five-year-old husband and father of three? My outlook has been bleak for some time, still is, if I’m honest. But then, isn’t that true for most of us? We are, after all, only a spark of consciousness between two eternal silences. So, let’s write, to hell with pride and worries of inadequacy. I would like to tell you about my childhood. The happy days. When the world was new and innocent. When a humble bike could become a motorcycle by pressing a piece of cardboard against the spokes to make the sound of the engine. Or when the leftover nails and planks from Pa’s veranda could become a rocketship to propel us to the stars above. The world was right, and simply living was more than enough. Why is it that this childlike imagination and curiosity are so often lost on us as we grow up? I wish I knew the answer to that question, or if not the answer, at least regain the ability to see the world once more through young eyes. #vss365 #WritingCommunity #authors

@piersmorgan Invite him to your show @piersmorgan. Then eviscerate him in front of your millions of viewers. Disgraceful.

I am seldom glad to see the sun. Its light feels too revealing, too insistent, as if it demands I be seen. #vss365

Let the horizon stay unbroken. In the dark, I disappear. No eyes to find my trembling shape, No dawn to strip me bare. The night alone will guard my breath, And silence hold me near. #vss365

The old terror is back, justified in his ways, Prowling the borders of my weak existence. Its frightful eyes pierce the lame, the halting parts of me Still seeking its first win, the only one he’ll ever need. Its ghastly eyes, like licks of flame, Familiar now, too much like home, Pulling me in, those repulsive waves of light. Yet against them one must fight Lest their stronger existence annihilate me before my time. #vss365 #WritingCommunity

Are tears spilled in vain, when the fruit is thistles and pain? Shall sorrow be wasted rain, or does it seed the hidden grain? #vss365

@whodamoose Oh, what an honour. Appreciate it 😀

One morning, you may awaken to the truth: decades spent fleeing the world as if it were a shadowed forest. Distractions rise and fall like fleeting phantoms, each briefer than the last, until you find yourself once more at the place you thought you had escaped. And the revelation strikes like a hammer of fate: you have been running, and yet, you have always been here. #vss365

Compassion is the fiery water That cracks the frozen heart It seeps into the coldest crevices Melting walls built from years of silence And whispers life where none remained #vss365

As courage is all, Without it must fall The frail threads of man Swept in eternity’s sand Speak, friend—speak. #vss365 #poetrycommunity #poet

We who in a mystery represent the Cherubim and sing the thrice-holy hymn to the life-giving Trinity, let us now lay aside the cares of this life. Amen. That we may receive the King of All, invisibly escorted by the hosts of angels. Alleluia. youtube.com/watch?v=yg6J65…

Oh, if only ghosts could be buried.