Tonje Høydahl Sørli

tapestry, comics and random writings

The Healing Day, Bill Fay: It'll be O.K. On the healing day. No more  goin' astray. On the healing day. Yea we'll find our way. On the   healing day. To where the children play. On the healing day.    When the tyrant is bound. And the tortured freed from his pain, and the lofty brought to the ground. And the lowly raised. Ain't so far away The healing day.



Nick Drake: ´Cello Song

    No Harm, Editors

Radiohead, Daydreaming, also backwards.

   Susanne Sundfør: Delirious, Fade Away,




Right Now! In favor! Songs I listen ( I have a passion for songlyrics, had it since Smashing Pumpkin`s Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness came) to:

And to set the tone: Michael Nau, Love Survive. AND I   

Mas Ysa, Shame & Gun  Lana Del Ray: Music to Watch Boys to

Team Me, June, I Killed Sarah V..Lowell.

Squirrel Nut Zippers! Pallin with Al

Farao, Sparks Edith Piaf said it better

Lorde, Team                          Highasakite: My Name is Liar+++

                     The Slow Show, Dresden      Daniel Kvammen! Luve!         Ferrari

         The Czars, Drug       

           Explosions in the Sky: Your Hand in Mine

                                 Coldplay: Up&Up

She is Lost in Thought

Leonard Cohen, You Want it Darker & Leaving the Table

                  Nils Bech: Glimpse of Hope

Father John Misty: Real Love Baby

Apothek, Inheritance         



Dot Hacker, Eye Opener


All That We´ve Become

Coming: Jumpsuit. Umbrella Song.

Alice Boman/ Jaakko Eino Kalevi, Be Mine

Caroline, Douglas Dare


Amason, Kelly & Yellow Moon      Unge Ferrari: Balkong

Frazey Ford, September Fields & Done

                Erlend Øye: Rainman 

Sufjan Stevens love your songs

Smashing Pumpkins, Lily(My One and Only)

Fleet Foxes, White Winter Hymnal

Lars Vaular: Dessverre

         Sundfør: Undercover(Edit)

Rockettothesky: The Dead, Dead


Lily Thing    Amason Marry Me

Just for Fun

Iris Viljanen, Ska vi fira

Bright Eyes, Lua

Emilie Nicholas, Let You Out,  Junip Line of Fire

Timber Timbre, Demon Host   

                   Jacob Faurholt, Floating in Space

Cass Mccombs: Bum Bum Bum,

Jimi Tenor, Moonfolk,  & Tame Impala, Let it Happen                  

                                             John Maus, All Aboard/Skjønte du spøken!??

P J Harvey: The Ministry of Defence

Bowie: Girl Loves Me         

    John Grant: Grey Tickles, Black Pressure

Cold Mailman: Petra Pan & Something You Do.

livlig her i dag*

nidkjær høvding

Tonje (& Annea) Høydahl Sørli

tapestry, comics  and random writings

Tonje Høydahl Sørli

tapestry, comics  and random writings

CocoRosie: Child Bride         London Grammar, Metal & Dust

Kent, Den sista sången du får.

                      Tindersticks: Follow Me

Night Beds: Dear Jewell           Arcade Fire: Put Your Money on Me             Tindersticks  Dear

Bjørk: Yoga

           Mas Ysa: Face

weaving, music & lyrics

Running Fox

Resume, Raise Your Arm.

do be a voice in this world: 

Follow me  on  Instagram: 


On Facebook, as myself, or follow Tapestry, Comics & Random Writings there.


/poems / texts:

Scroll down! What is this lyrics- page? Its u.t.t.e.r.a.n.c.e.s, my short texts, pamflets and lyrics on life events and aftermaths. Why? To live with a voice and to set focus on. And? Because knowledge bring social change, and empathy in peoples heads & hearts. 

Please read my pushbutton-texts/pamflets>>>

when theyre back..probably very soon.

Young Girl in May,

this was me,

my voice was there,

I loved music,

the lyrics in songs,

I listened to them,

and looked to my poems,

piled as now,


I was too, careful not to

show my inner strife,

this made me write like


I wrote this song, if 

you want to, you can use

it, but only if you delete

my writings before you use


-Signed then by me, as myself, but without my right name.

Sommeren 2015 skrev jeg dette:

strekk ut den lubne lille hånda di

du klapper sommerfugler

ja slik er det

du snur hånda di og

det er støv der

som om noen

bare har blåst fargene på

og så tok du de

og øynene dine

du følger den

lurer på om den fortsatt

kan fly


og det kan den

All lyrics on this page©Tonje Høydahl Sørli

Nyperose, Nyperose, jeg vil være den du er(dikt av Inger Hagerup)


Yellow Hufflepuff


isnt this typical, my daughter,

that we are Hufflepuffs,

hard-working, friendly, loyal,

honest and rather impartial.-

Sparrow wasnt what I hoped for,

when valuing fair play,

Hufflepuff is my daughters

choice of way.

(skrevet 11 nov. 2019, av meg, fordi

neste generasjon barn liker Harry Potter,

og blir en del av historiene ved å ta

tester for å finne hvilket hus de er. Huffle-

puff er mitt hus også i mine testsvar:).



Lyrics 1 On This Site:

These days I  usually publish here on this website. Right now I dont share my lyrics with anyone or anywhere but here. So my lyrics is not in use for anyone, or for any project these days, but mine. If you have found your way to lyrics on my website, you are welcome to have a read. Nice of you to visit:) 

I got support from Kunstløftet in 2014 to do a comic-project on trauma-reactions, and will work on this as a theme (amongst others) in some of my projects a little longer. Right now the shortlyrics here on this site are  written and published over several years. They cover the core of  living in the aftermath of trauma, which is a life too many live  today. My writing about dissociation*, is done to highlight post trauma-living. As an artist I have chosen to read about and focus on Onno von der Hart, Kathy Steele, Suzette Boon and Ellert R. S. Nijenhuis thoughts on post-trauma-reactions Besides from this, my focus in lyrics has always firstly been personal, on feelings, and secondly to that on relations.


Though a direct tone- I dont write about anyone I have known or know on this site. And I have never intended to offend anyone with my lyrics.  Most  I write comes out of what I  love in life, and that is  how you and me relate, observe and reflect as friends and lovers.


All lyrics©Tonje Høydahl Sørli


Do follow me  on  Instagram:   


I am sometimes also on Facebook, once probably under a pseudonym, but today this is not my thing. To use pseudonyms wasnt rare in artists careers back when I also made use of this teqhnique to get things said.

When Artists get Carried Away


summer so,

will you as past years,

pull me under in this.

Didnt remember,

that ill behavoir, of yours,

even the hounddog looked worried.

In the water, me I wasnt eager,

no one there deepseadiving like him,

his breath inside,

with bubbles to surface,

as he stumble up the beach,

and I sit there,

later, to laughter,

angried eyes into a shell,

and to despice myself,

adoralbe am I, or trusting,

in them glasses, yours,

and though I felt as seven years by your gang of friends,

is what I will remember the best,

the girl with yellow hair that flirted with you,

and I swallowed water, felt ashamed,

also that I felt sorry for you,

when you couldnt find your goggles,

you rushed to the ocean,

looked in the sand,

and I thought of money,

how you perhaps couldnt afford a new pair,

and how well you got your gaze elsewhere, but on my hair.


later a student,

you disappeared,

I miss you still,

though noone can tell,

I watch your silence,

and that yellow haired friend,

she always came walking late as myself.

the sea was cold,

my hand wasnt mine.


when I were young, and you was bold.*

*This collage of  old and new poems is written for someone I sometimes think of as he was a friend in my youth.

Dear Disney & Running Fox

Carrier, Where did You Run>>>>>




I- worry- Bernardie, Bianca(with reference to a song) 

This is bugging me: I write lyrics every day. I dont give them away. Today I take good care of my lyric-side. I write for myself, and with thought for those close, I dont have a publisher, or let lyrics circulate. I will never publish them on facebook, or give them away(as I once did). And, agape was something I was writing of, with interest in lyrics and vocabulary. Without that context the message disappeared into sth I didnt was or liked. To be misunderstood by is one of my not so fun facts in life.

And only If you let me know you, as a part of you life, I would perhaps, do write to and with you in mind.

This lyrics 2 site is also here because I lost my hardware with tons of stuff over 5 years ago. This has happened before. When 14 000 files is missing and also personal notes, its just creepy to know. What to do? Well, I had to start a new life.



jeg så deg se dem,


fra siden av ditt ansikt,

og så sa jeg inni meg:

fint vær i dag,

det er ikke sånn

de burde være,

fulle av latter over andre,

og hvis du ikke hadde sett det,

som fra meg,

my eye, black, liksom.

Men du bryr deg vel ikke lenger.


This comic Imprint, is on becoming distant when having triggers. A trigger is a reminder, almost as an imprint, in self and feelings, that makes you lose yourself for a second. I first learnt about this frozen way of staring of a psychologist that worked with refugees. Frozen gazes is a normal and healthy state when driving a bus or doing something you often do. As a post trauma reaction this distant glare is not dangerous or harmfull. Its just a brain pausing in the middle of everything.

Listening to Tobias Jesso Jr. -True Love:


this song isnt for distance

or avoidance,

and makes me think,

as I am listening,

of an article and intervieuw,

in Aftenposten,

years ago, that I read,

about a young couple,

somewhere on this earth,

working hard to make it,

having little money,

him waiting for her to come home,

working late and working for each other,

anything for you.

And I thought and I think,

about this everything for someone,

where one need each other,

as a silent answer to this strange worlds loving.


All lyrics on this page---->>©Tonje Høydahl Sørli

Imprint, Comic / Tegneserie, 2016
I made this quilted blanket with birds on, and a hammock for my installation When Grief Comes, Ask, Gjerdrum, 2015. For children and youngsters to use. Unfortunately this installation is stolen, but not forgotten.
Bluebird. Bluebird. Bluebird.
Abelvær, Summers in My Youth


yesterday she sighed:

why are they moaning as we pass,

m m m a ma ma ma ma

today I looked down,

another man spitting, all right, 

m m m m ma ma ma ma

what happend to this world,

its like every other thing we do,

will make a lense, will hurt us  back,

when we are without support,

my hand to my rinning eye,

becomes a pretend to cry,

my hand to my chest,

is just what he forgot,

a back with pain so I sigh,

is seen as a plan for mockery*

©Tonje Høydahl Sørli

* This is Norway 2019, and its five years back, that I realised: I cant talk, cse there is real hate in them, its not dialogue here anymore, but spite and venge and being on guard, and even artists now put intentions in artworks and lyrics that the maker do not have.*

* Det er trist men sant. Det jeg trodde om dialog og meningsytringer for tyve år siden har jeg gått bort fra. Det er for mye hat der ute, som jo kommentarfeltene har vist. Trakassering i det offentlige rom på bakgrunn av kunstverk eller tekst er aldri greit. Når trakassering blir en konsekvens av utadrettet virksomhet så er det vel også noen ganger vanskelig å står for sitt eget prosjekt eller lyrikk, og være sin egen støtte.

^Over her ligger et utkast av  oppgave-besvarelsen min i fagdidaktikk mai 2018. Den henger litt i opplastningen, så trykk på refresh/last opp siden på nytt så dukker den opp. Jeg var kanskje for ukritisk til tema jeg ville jobbe med i vev i oppgaven, som tok utgangspunkt i teori om det å ytre seg/å uttrykke seg, men jeg deler likevel oppgaven her, også fordi jeg mener den kan gi perspektiver på kunstnere i pedagogikk. Og for å ikke gi inntrykk av noe annet skriver jeg og her at jeg ikke er for et fag uten kunst og håndverk med ferdigheter. Når jeg er kritisk til ferdighetskravene som det gradvis ble mer av i norsk skole, er det fordi mange trenger dette: å være gjennom å gjøre, fremfor også da å kunne før man gjør. Referer gjerne til oppgaven, men bruker du den til dine interesser, så ikke glem å krediter meg, siden det er viktig for meg😊og riktig også forståvidt

Thoughts on Ferrantes book 1, 30 july 2017 :


I believe this is A book Written to  a Brother for him to see what he is surrounded by & I do think its written with love


Scarecrows & Widgets

Brother(as in Friend), where to put this anger.

I cant anything but see.

Brother, where to put this anger. I cant anything but see what scared me as a child still scares me. Men, their aggression and fights with or without fists. And then, as from the sidewalk, or in some window, from the side: what did you all become. The morning was mocking me, this pile of books off from some mans hand between thighs. In a daydream, he came by, said, do you remember, or did you close your eyes to them bullying us, and I: no lyar, dont do this to me, what else than to put him down and regress into writing instead. And to find words elsewhere.

-Tonje Høydahl Sørli

Explode in a Flirtateous Mood!
We Dont Know what the Little Bird Sings

Up & Up.

This is Norway. Eagerness


put em on a train,

stack them between,

send them away,

throw licences and linen in a tray,

f them and show them,

seek and find a plausible cause, 

discard them of children and homes,

give up and live lonely,

live like nothing in a world of abuse.

Let alone in Norway, no: to find someone to scapegoat is kind of no problem you know, and so become an example of why you shouldnt lie, and for them to make sure she is a mother of four.

Then the bill, half a million thank you, to pay back,

though this plausible-cause-people make benefit from and blackmail a rule.

Eagerness Id call it: To make someone vulnerable an example and fly her or him off to countries without homes and lives.


And this is why they shouldnt paint Norway gray:

she is afraid.*

* This frantic lyric is written with thought on the political process of withdrawal of asylum for people that got and lost a place to be and live.

Fimo!                                      june 2019



her hand left a mark on my chin,

she is the one,

she is the aye,


she who will make use of this

can call herself alive.

Care in harsh surroundings. I dont know if she made it.
Apply Your Energy in the Spirit of Love II

Black Umbrella


to cry at night

make you walk,

to look into my eyes,

is everything right,


dear, was I thirteen year old,

Petter stood in the woods,*

looking dark, they said:

lets make a movie,

yeah lets make a movie,


a honnie, red dress and black eyes,

just do this and do that,

and later her amnesia

will cover it all,

but then you will find her,


a cupid star, twentyone,

twentyeight years old,

but I cant free you from him,

who forced you, and me,

into loosing all hopes

for truth and love,


as years passed I have seen you,

anywhere in town,

walking empty, with dark pits in ur arms,

isnt that ironic, I know.

As if to let go, it had to be rockn roll or drugs over all.

And to sudden hide your hand

into the sleeve, as if a child appear,

in you as you meet with me,


or is just fun that you are on a date with her, who feebles the button in her dress,

and looks down.*



* This lyric Black Umbrella is written to my project on Dog/hip-Roses.

* The name in the lyric is not related to my life in reality, its just one name that I thought could be used when writing about kids hanging out in a neighbourhood. This lyric is also written to comment how unfair life is, when aggression wins.

*And how awful it is when someone have you on tape, in a movieclip, or use your lyrics when you are too young to say no, and loose yourself when suddenly everyone know.

The Boat n Nervous Song/ version II


his head explodes

(in flowers)


as the summer goes


hasnt seen it,

her dress against,

against his legs,

I know,

some women vibrates,

in evening glow,

as others grow silent and alone,

this boat to the island,

of nevermore,

she who liked him,

cant but see,

that they slowly agree:

he is more handsome,

more handsome than

than she is to he.-


is he in distress, so 

I cant but care:

that he is choosing

this that awkwards me.




Satisfactory it is,

to me,

in this garden,

to lure them small,

they have no breath,

beneath weed,

and yellow bleed,*

potatoe, small & great.**

Small gardens,

they dont live without friends.

so hello friendly inside,

I do know you are there,

eight or ten,

fourteen, maybe older,

you once had a girl as friend,

whou you always treated well.

*yellow= note on a song, of course.

** similar, but on small & great, a a  small collected


Bluebird, bluebird
 Every Problem has a Limited Lifespan!
Søtnos! Klipp fra Donald Duck.

^From Her point of View/

Portraits, Små Portretter fra 2013

























But Why , Ungdomskilden:


the worst thing I think, about traumatizing experiences in your youth, for those that happens to, is grief at being changed, forever not to be who you once were, feeling absolute lonely, and living in fright that those you care for could experience the same as yourself.

On me:.

I had no language for my experiences. Except to try to guard myself and those I loved. But then, I started writing, and to try to reach those I loved through lines. My lyrics I did put almost everywhere in my youth, and I gave away my lyrics as well, but I wont say I suceeded in my reaching out though(wich is what I actually tried to do), partly because I was so secretive about my lyrics. Still, my rhymes and lines are out there,  for someone to see. That again, is also a bit typical for someone like me to do, to reach out without being seen or heard, and is also why people with traumas live with a heart that is open to them that gets it, or else it keeps silent. This is my words to you as my reader, not to you as someone I know.

©Tonje Høydahl Sørli




On tapestry: I do a project now on Dog/hip-roses/ Nyperose, those you find north in Trøndelag, where I grew up.  Look:


This Spring

they say

with windows open

little is to fear,

but you know

the truth:

There are nothing more dangerous

than words,

in the bar their eyes gleiten

they want him to switch

just to have proof

if he muttered,

no but he wont:

I will never greet you as

the old friend you are

I know your gaze, posture

and hand

I remember a sentence, the shock

and smells,

in the bar their eyes gleiten

they want him to switch

just to have proof

artists learn skills noone else does

they play with genders and feelings

and become what others are

its not the same as

being a man.*


* To explain this lyric I write this: Many female artists and writers have done this throughout the history: taken a mans name as pseudonym, or tried to write or create with the "gusto" of a man. This because of perspectives and expectations of women, both now and then.

Perhaps this is also why summers become strange and foggy for youngsters in May:

Men før det, i bilen på vei hjem så hadde de en samtale som var omtrent slik:

Hun: (fortvilet) Hva sa jeg, altså jeg bare, sa jeg at jeg hadde skrevet en Monsterhit?

Han: Ja, nå har det snæppa for deg altså, ALLE vet jo dessuten at det er jeg som skriver låter.

Hun: Herregud så flaut.

Han: (stille)

Hun: Kanskje jeg bare et lite øyeblikk skulle ønske jeg var deg, var i dine sko. Ja, tok noen av dine eh..ja du er jo så vellykket..ikke projeksjon, hva er det, attribuerte noen av dine karaktertrekk?

Han: Godt mulig, du er jo i en fortvilet livssituasjon.

Hun: Ja,*


From Outer Space in a Livingroom,


Summer in my studio, and this struck me.

 I chose Only


i work alone

by heart, and head alone,

and my hands,



Tip. Daniel Kvammen, , LINK to his music video.

Bluebird. Bluebird. Bluebird.
Bloom & Jolly Future!

Environmental written 13.03.2019


its just this,**

its not into, not anything, to me,

but living, and try living like nthing got into me,

and pull him with me on a sky in my head,

and that string, with two,

in opposite ends,

I cant meet someone caring

when he is within, is within.

Awhile I make amends,

the world is slowly turning,

turning on us all,

with heat and no bargain,

no trust, just leaving afraid.

little bee, and acres,

the smallest little things,

for people to realise

we are not living when living too scared .*


*Yes I know this looks like doom and nothing else matters, but this is what I care about: our living in harshy environments and unliving guests. This is my finger to myself and everyone

in my surroundings: this time isnt for fun, its for living with care and thought for other lives.


Tender Plants to Grow This Year

Im the

bid me

but I

I am


they make use of my

but then I

I never show

I never show

you know, I never show

Im little little


lights and movecontrol

waking up in fright

keeping out of sight

see their gardens growing

blooming, taking over

greens and yellows

flowerbuds and watery leaves

--- .---

I hid in your mothers

behind bushes

she telling me to leave

oh please

I begged,

let me have a face

but Im little little,


lights and movecontrol

I never show

I never show

you know, I never show*


* When to have a voice and be part of. and to participate in change is my project, and then losing my anthem and favourite lyrics or works, getting nothing sold, just given away.. this will change you and your interest in this world. To this I will add that this project was not mine anymore, after I lost access to the computer it was written on. Loss of passwords is also sth I have in mind.

 Still I think this is a changing world, but we have little to give each other when every other human is giving in vain.*

*added 21.10.2019, Sørli

Wipe, comic, page 1, written and drawn by me
Wipe, comic, page 2, written and drawn by me
Wipe, comic, page 3, written and drawn by me

Walking With Roses


^Pamfletten over skal være første kapittel av Luskende, og er del av et prosjekt jeg startet på i 2015 om musikk, relasjoner og glemsel. Postet her og skrevet kun for denne nettsiden. V 


Inntil videre er pamflettene Luskende, Waiting og Den Eneste Moren fjernet herfra. Dette fordi jeg synes de trenger et bedre format. Men de er mulig å lese i papir på kontoret mitt

Se viktige serier og filmer som Skam og Hva vil folk si



Numbing and Immobility

they say this movie

is a eye into someones

world, elsewhere,


I think we make too many a girls life a struggle

living in Norway as well,

stimes its like this world likes to think that shame and family first dont exist in white middleclass



if you find yourself in offices or in schools with silenced and frightened youngsters, help them



This three page comic I once made to a friend. It has references to music(to ie. Cold Mailman).

When Grief Comes, this piece was stolen from the exhibition in Ask in 2016.

The Ferry is Gone


you know nothing about what i just did,

and its not with subtle irony you stand there,

with your hand done to fist around strawberry jam,


me: i used to hold things,

and i used to stroke,

just to be here and to keep in touch,*



* For those that struggle with aftermaths: Hands are essential. To hold and to have in your hand sth, as a stone, a cone, anything, will help you to stay in the here and now.

When Color Run
See My True Shadow! Its for clothes, hoodie, whatever. You dont have a shadow? No? Come on! Everybody has one. Mine is not out walking at night. She is, if at all awake, writing.

Christmascard on Thereafter.              

Or Choice of Words in Need of A Melody:

                                                              written by me, dec 2019

Ill take that one

he says,

with eagerness,

as I pass them,

this couple and a child,

buying their first christmastree, perhaps,

and for us, the story thereafter isnt what I hear.


But me, everytime I get a tree,

and I carfully carry it, till Im on the Tube,

and there it looks like, like I hug it, the tree,

like we are a couple, almost, sure,

and thats a thought, just, because this has happened:

For the last years,

yes every f year of my single mom life,

some man has given me this very cross look,

as I hug the tree, though its just me, holding a tree so it wont fall to the floor, and get stains or whatever, flares perhaps, even.

-A man, is he so grumpy, I ask, -That he has to give me looks.

This tree, always answers -yeah, and though as a Norwegian Spruce,

this tree will also let me know:

-the man that I obviously offend by my graceful gesture,

thinks I am holding hands with "evil in me", as a last thing.


And isnt that fun, and isnt it strange,

to be a tree,

soon in the yard discarded of pine,

and happily over hugging me.

-H. Sørli


Elana, Spind 1982

she in the cottage,

walking into water with her, feet,

it was little toe, and then the hand,

she hug me and I saw her as friend,

she read to us,

in her kitchen,

the book of Ferrante,

but me a a a a ame me only a child,

till I got to her door,

where she had turned her face down,

she said she was another, another,

than herself,

and I saw her head when,

when we passed as neighbours in the street.*


* This lady was my neighbour at Sørlandet, where I lived for four years. She told me people thought of her as crazy. Though she wasnt a friend I must have trusted her, 

En liten tekst om hat og elsk, feb 2019


vi holdt oss sammen,

på grunnlag av hav

og av et norsk slaveri

hvor tekst kjøpes,

og selges for ingenting.


det blir irriterende

når enden på visa er,

at ansvar og møter

gir andre informasjon

og endringsintiativ.


skjerm gir lys i sjelen,

ikke sant, men krøkes

det  virkelig tekster

i verden, det er

mitt spørsmål

i teksten her:



På bakgrunn av avstand fra meg til deg når jeg er skribent: Er jeg nå forfatter av et dikt som ingen forstår som annet enn hat. Uroer det deg da at navnet på forfatteren er tatt bort senere og erstattet med et annet, så vit at det aldri handlet om møter med vennskap i bunnen.

    Det er lite i dag som engasjerer mer enn debatt om debatt, men hva ventet vi oss som ikke er blitt hørt som den vi var. Forelskelse og elskede er ikke meningen bak vers om hat, det som er der er vel heller fordummende tøv om noe som ikke engang har vært levende. Og nå: er dette noe jeg skrev, eller er dette skrevet av deg? Eller hun? Han? En rekke bøker ligger der og har ikke blitt lest en gang.  Men hva gjemmer seg mellom sidene annet enn noe som burde blitt lest uten at hat var lagt til grunn for forståelse, at innsikt da forsvinner er åpenbart.*

*teksten er skrevet som en slags kommentar til kommentarfelt-debatten..

We Dont Know what the Little Bird Sings!

*To sympathize with the aggressor= In relation-ships: simply said, to, out of fear, take the perspective of the one who scares you instead of the one friendly.



Kommentar til sak i media fra oktober 2019 om selvskading og

trigger warning:


Noe trist er skjedd med norske medier i det siste.

De er blitt slendrianer og gir sjikane et ansikt med sår.

Dette er ikke for dere med trigger warning, men for

dere som tror media kan hjelpe unge jenter i utrygge situasjoner.

Dette skjer med selvskadere: de mister oversikten,

de møter lite varme, de er for ensomme, de liker ikke seg selv.

Synes du det høres godt ut? I det møtet med deg selv

som en ingen liker, er det dette du gjør:

du skader armen din, eller hånden din, ansiktet ditt også.

At dette er jenter som ingen ser vet du vel kjære media.

At du skal gi dem et ansikt er ikke greit, og

hvorfor er det for voksent det du gjør? Det finnes kun få

som gjør riktig i møtet med vold mot en selv, og den

riktige måten å ta det på er å si:" jeg vet du har vondt

på grunn av noen eller noe, og det er ikke din feil.

Du må ta hånden din og gi deg selv en venn,

den finnes inne i deg og er der ikke for at

du skal dø for egen hånd som 14, 15 eller 19åring."*

* Å henge ut jenter i media og gi bort alt de har for seg selv er helt grunnleggende feil strategi. Det gjør deg trist at jenter vokser til å gjøre skade for dem som gir dem bosted, støtte og hjelp, for det er vel det som menes? Det er såklart smitteeffekten det tenkes på, men at media er komfortable med å henge barn og jenter ut sånn som det gjøres nå er ikke ok.*

* Må og få forklare at denne teksten er skrevet for dem som nå drives ut av Instagram av norske medier. Og det er jenter som skader seg selv fordi de ikke blir sett, får god nok hjelp der de bor, eller har noen som vet hva selvskading egentlig er.


Waves of Guilt,        15.03.2019

Friday Morning


tried to start the day

with Pretty Pimpin,

by Kurt Vile,

then I turned to

Closer My God,

of Mikko Joensuu,

just to remind

myself of how the thirties

slowly changed to forty,

n cant anything but say

we always used to

see things in a humoristic way,

but then crosses come, right,

n as we are turning grey,

most of us rightly closer to a god,

but then, this morning, we started to sing,

with a little musicly guilt

One uf Us,

one of is,

yes, always in love.*



* Musikk gjør livet bedre, men hva gjør du med musikken?

Den burde jo overstrøs som krymmel men blir bare hufset vekk inn i ungdomstid og selvforakt. Men her i mitt hjem, sang vi i dag, også gikk vi til skole og jobb med roser i kinnene tross alt.

Bloom & Jolly Future in Holburne Museum, Bath

Sth I care about:        (rettmessig innehaver av diktet er meg Tonje Høydahl Sørli, som skrev det):


chloroform isnt for a

fourteen yrs old,

lipstick neither,

and if she wanted be a woman,

she did also think he cared,


but in the toilet god.

see stains of coagulated blood,

a child always taken away,

n this is evil in me you know,


why living girls is this our world

why living girls is this our world

why living girls is this our world


in the car so quiet,

and where to drive with he,

then without a towel in the stairs,

to drain her from this life and veins,


she did think he was a vet,

the oldest in this town,

to get the curse and shame away,

she was wanted and a child with child,/plenty,


why living girls is this our world

why living girls is this our world

why living girls is this our world


n this is what they say:

willing and without shame,

when truth is threatning (he was a man) and she: a girl who tried to be kind.


why living girls is this our world

why living girls is this our world

why living girls is this our world*


This lyric is my thoughts on abortion and pregnancy in very young girls, and older too of course. I believe, in Norway, we like to think of ourselves as a country that treat women and girls well. Im not to say I think so. The shaming of girls is still alive and living in this country. This perhaps isnt true to you, or perhaps it is. Myself, I believe that very few think of feminine values and virtues as important today. So listen: What is life in a stomach but to be a child, however who wants this or not, if she wants it.


Thom Yorke striking in London*


this is a a a

this i i i i i sis


evening boost

my tapestries in row,

on on oh its on


being small vs big, or strong,


what makes he

not greet me,

but, before I go,

to claim I am leaving

as Anna,

when I came as

myself, artist and mum,


Anna leaves, oh

then Anna leaves,


then to take her little hand,

earlier they had gathered, twenty dark youngsters at Walthamstow Central,

the speaker screamed:

this is evacuating alarm,


we found a sign to

the gallery and me

as always pretending

that everything was fine,

buying icecream,

and the riot disappeared,


Anna leaves, oh

then Anna leaves,


waking up without sleep,

they shrieked past my window all night,

the smell of

garbage and London

built on the old,

so then I listened to the

neighbours talk.


I did pretend to be them,

them with the talk,

of couse,

till our flight was


and I rebooked and

then we left.

Wave then to this,

remembered stillness

in a friend:

He gazed behind,

over his shoulder,

as I once did,

oh Dear Yorke, this is,

why do we do this work,

like this, its nothing but pain, is it.


Anna leaves, oh

then Anna leaves.



* I used to have names.  And I used to be proud of them. So this

lyric is written with a

thought on that.




    So, this I have written on this page: Do: catch the tone and tune, love, satire, humour or sarcasm, in a text or lyric. 

    I write this because lyrics are easily to misunderstand. To instance I once wrote a lyric on tools you use in workshops. This lyric some found strange to say it without the right word. This lyric had layers that wasnt read: to instance that on abusive relationships. 

    Also this is the reason I dont share my lyrics anylonger: To have intentions on sharing to change how people treat each other, and be one of them that use words to do that, isnt longer what I will or want.

^Pamfletten over er andre kapittel av Luskende,  

Thirteen, Seventeen, 1996/97/98



crybaby see


what are they,

I cant see them human, please,


my brothers back on the bike,

and his frightened rushing,


while this agent stood in the stairway,

he told me in childish words:


how difficult it is to drive all this

fucking way,


yesterday he had droven into the coast,

between Nærøy and Vikna, yes almost blind,


but the lyrics please?


I told him it was written by hand,

and had been sent off with someone else:


"he came by last week,

with a stringent look and a occupied mind,"


and with a laugh, yes he





come, lets bike, its autumn,

we will find a way to grieve,


yes this is us blinded,

and we lost again, *



* This lyric is on writing when young and trusting. And also on how it is to see those you love in distress.


^ Pamfletten over er sjette kapittel av Luskende. Siste versjon.

  Do: catch the tone and tune, love, satire, humour or sarcasm, in a text or lyric.

I am not ironic here on my page though,



When Color Run/Bleed

Hukommelsessykdom sies det av og til om noen bieffekter ved traumer. Det er ikke en god forklaring. Og

minnebroer lages ikke av slitne kommentarer, men av vennskap og gode relasjoner. 


Oslo Spektrum 6th June 2017

Alle Ble Flaue/ Aa Bb Fau

Aaa Bbbb Faaau

(efil ym fo flaH)

(half of my life I fooled my loved)

Thoughts on daydreaming and a concert,

writing then as some strange lady

amongst audience,

and how do we listen to noise,

its in the background,

and what I hear is on

men in a row

they love(hope that you) it when you choke,

happy to serve you, was he,

Thom Yorke and every true musician,

no glam or glitter,

but knowledge, warmth and a strange glare,

some affects perhaps,

moves o a girl I cannot see,

she moves her body and Thom

does too,

sweetfaced ones that

we all can love,

thats whats happen when

you think youre in place,

perhaps a future in a song,

creator has a kit to make

an identity to come forth

in a once loved,

sadly, Groundhogday makes

no way,


no, truth will mess you up,

the true tale of your life will mess you up,

him a grey jacket, that hair,

always a new door, endless corridors

and then the sudden smirk.

All this just to say:

lovenlove to Radiohead.

Random Call 1

In 2013 I lost a hard disk/drive  with lots of lyrics, ideas, photoes, manuscripts and also ideas for exhibitions on. It was black, shimmery, and  also grey in color, and it disappeared from Kampen Slott where I lived. Seen it? Leave a note (sigh)*.

Random Call 2

In 2016 my piece When Grief Comes, with bluebirds, music, hammock ++ was stolen from an outdoor exhibition in Ask, outside of Gjerdrum community house.  My favourite piece!  Seen it:  email me.

Brittle Little & the Brutal Truth, now shown at Wiliam Morris Gallery in London

Sailing in Stripes*

uniform at sea

it a salty eye and candyme

sayin you are my only friends,

made me feel sorry for all of us,

and then as always someone faked a traged death

me crying then to pier

and lay lifless as always too

in printed summerdress

and then you lifted your glass

evil and unmature

or was it me imagining your


salty eye, queen and Anna(e)

salty eye, queen and Anna(e)

king and all the rest

cowardice was to never tell the truth

wood, wood,

I see your mother

And now I am scaring you.

©Tonje Høydahl Sørli

This is why, With a referance to Bakhtin and his thoughts on polyphony, I Write and Make Art:

Industriell Rock.

industri med bismak., liten tid til treff i helga. gikk forbi i 5 minutter. mistet røyken. mistet umbreroen. gikk mot henne i 2 minutter. gikk inn igjen. mistet tiden underveis. gikk pervo på pcen hennes. tok ansvar etterpå, og lot være å gi henne filene. dro på ferie. gikk langt på ferien. likte mange bilder på insta. gikk tur med bøfler også gikk jeg ikke mot henne etter det. etter det ble jeg liten og bortgjemt. så gikk det bort alt sammen. morsomt med musikk i livet mitt. det liker jeg. men så er jeg musiker egentlig. ikke sånn som du tror. istedet gikk det ikke. minsten ble redd og så gikk det ikke bra. han lot være å si ifra, til det er altfor få likegyldige og derfor har jeg mistet fokus.*

* Slik som dette skrev jeg for 16 år siden. Ikke her på nettsiden, som ikke er eldre enn 4-5 år, men inn i et skjema for bilder til en utstilling. Senere mistet jeg teksten, som ikke er helt utrolig til meg å være, siden jeg alltid skrev, men som du likevel vil se av nettsiden min

formidler jeg at jeg savner tekster og manus, som ikke er i mine hender lenger. Blant annet derfor har jeg skrevet litt om Mikhail Bakhtin, og hans tanker om ytringer, og det å bli sett og hørt. Det jeg liker med tekst er å være min egen sjef, uten å ha noen som involverer seg eller bestemmer hva jeg kan si eller ikke. Derfor mener jeg også at alvor er der, ikke ironi eller avvisning. For hvis jeg ikke kan si, hvor står jeg da som menneske? Dette og da med Bakhtins tekster om respekt for den andres stemme, og ulikhet, i tankene.

Music. innskutt. setning./snurr film /hestehale/hodefoting

iiii messages

i i messages


Id do it again

Id do it again

I I I I messages

I I messages

you me

me am you

its you in me’

and you me


I I I I messages

I I messages


Id do it again

Id do it again *


* your voice. your thoughts. your feelings.

Bakhtin is my refernce on this,

Post It Girls!
Itsa Girlie in Me


laugther filled

but then you are

an instrumentalist

to the core

my hand against

your neck to

put the collar right

your comment

on this

would be

already you are

correcting me

my hand against

your neck to

put the collar right

it my grandma

hands in move from

inside me

and I never questioned

it to be anything but


© Tonje Høydahl Sørli


* and I still think it is: an act of care.

Blatant Ego Game!

Reverse in Hand & Backwards Give

oh why

dont give me

whats mine,

50 000 from my

solitary fund

and she wouldve

had a room on her own

did he regret it

as he stopped

my reverse in hand

no dont do this to me

I I I  that wrote songs

and verses from my

little town

we sat on the beach

and he fell in love

with any other than me

piles of books and him

perhaps as south

as any man

in north can be

so you lay me down


if you dont behave

your belt lit a light

till I scratched myself *

left marks

on my chest

didnt I

him road

was a backwards give


did you hurt yourself

or me


* This lyric is written to describe retraumatisation by violence, and self harm. To inflict self harm is a way to control your feelings. Its a normal reaction to/after abnormal experiences or abuse, but often scary to  witness for those you love. If you know anyone that inflict self-harm, know its a language thats about outer harm turned inward. Help him/her to get calm, help him/her get out of harming relations, and in the length he/she will also need help to place shame where it belongs.

Dissociated Gaze*, To Those that Stay Inspired by Lyrics on Trauma:




you a true

should not

stand in line to mock


frozen gazes,

dissociated states

frozen gazes, 

and x5


oh ah I am a true believer

but in justice no not anymore


your hand without blood

and arm swings

from the carrying of you

body without any feeling

how then to defend



well, I will tell you:

The real trouble is,

you cant,





we all have faults,

but what of beliefs


later you ask:

why did you not



but people in frozen states

and immobility

dont talk or fight

and later

that colors everything


*Dissociated gaze:/stare Dissociating is a mental process that causes a lack of connection in someone’s thoughts, memory and sense of identity. Its a sort of  disconnecting from reality or feelings that are overwhelming. Dont laugh of, or mock someone that struggle with dissociation after trauma, instead I suggest you give him or her a hug.







Committed By

Ordinary Canary, Salute

its a sad

he said

youll never recover

so they put forth some road

a bar, night, oh its commitment

to remember oneself

through new versions

thrown all over

helpfull, please see,

what if your own moments

walked right through me

might I render them,

and put em on instagram,

but I am not you,

I forget to mention

your inner feel,

proud or sad,

some gutfeel that say:

this is all so wrong.

it was me, leaning back

I was proud,

some V in my hand

oh back then

I was writer to a band


Kärläkens vånda
Bloom & Jolly Future! Detalj










The Hit & All Offended

She is Lost in Thought

Giblets, Gibbons, Burglar,

My Last Song(2017)

are awaiting

are awaiting

a break down

7 year old

7 year old


20 year million

20 year million


with no friends

in music buisness

its bisniss

they say

she lives in a one room



we want the world to bow

in the hall of fame

we are nothing but burglars


noone will know.

Kärlekens vånda & krigets


Letter too, 12.07.2018

Denne teksten er ment som en kommentar til de som velger å avføye metoo. Likevel er mitt perspektiv at det å offentliggjøre folk ikke burde høre med som en del av metoo. Å sette lys på erfaringer som skader eller gjør utrygg, i oppvekst, utdanningsløp, tidlig karriere eller yrkesliv, var en gang mitt ønske for en metoo-bevegelse i Norge.  Drop-out understreket dette i 2004.


det er lenge siden jeg skrev til deg,

jeg pleide det, Kjære Du, og hilsen:

Evig Din. Du var dagboka mi. Men selv

ikke i deg skrev jeg om sånt som

tidlig skremte meg. I dag tenker jeg

det var fordi jeg ikke hadde et

vokabular om eller en innsikt i

sånt som var motsatsen til det å

være god, som gjorde at jeg kunne

skrevet om det. Det var ikke ord der,

i forhold til de som handlet og valgte slemt, men heller følelser, reaksjoner og handlinger.

I dag står det igjen om megogså på nett,

og jeg tenker noe som forsvinner, og som og bør nevnes

i debatten om hvem som "egentlig

trakasserer": kvinner eller menn,

er psykisk vold. Som er en vold som dessuten

ofte kommer før fysisk vold.

Psykisk vold er det å bølle med,

herme etter, avvise, neglisjere, isolere,

ignorere, nekte å høre på, dominere,

gjøre mindre, true, invalidere, la

være å inkludere, diskreditere, benekte,

kritisere, og kommandere.

Er ikke det da, slik, at den som nekter

å ta inn over seg #metoo, megogså,

som en del

av en virkelighet mange kvinner lever i, egentlig på indirekte vis driver med den samme volden som var med på å kickstarte hele #metoo bevegelsen?

Og hva slags følelser oppstår i farvannet av det å igjen få sitt perspektiv og sine erfaringer avvist annet enn følelser som følger nettopp psykisk og fysisk vold? Som avmakt, skam, redsel, følelse av skyld,

depresjon, pessimisme, unngåelse

og tristhet.

Å leve i stillhet

for å slippe å bli avvist burde ikke

være et valg. Så da skriver jeg til den

som har problemer med #metoo, megogså:

lytt i stedet for å fortsette den neglekten det å avvise andres stemmer er.

-Tonje Høydahl Sørli

Sweet Faced Ones

We All Can Love*

as I walked by

her eyes hit your cheek

side by side

in your window

you lowered your head

oh no no

this i thisi girl

is in love

thisi girl

this i thisi girl

is in love




I used to write

I used to write

I used to reach out


all uf us frightened

and only in the teens


but then they turned and smiled

as if I had some evil plan


she had this little dress

and flowers

sth else than me


but then I realised we all

had to go to a mans door


my hand he hit down, down,

into the floor,


I used to write

I used to write

I used to reach out*


all uf us frightened

and only in the teens


but then they turned to say:

I know who you are writing of**



* Why? Hurt is awful.

** Finding yourself in others writings isnt fun. Myself? I actually very seldom

write of people I know.

*** So this lyric is on being young. And writing about it later. And the look people can get when they think youve written about them.,


De er Vakter,

Song om Gjesping og Du er Vakker

jeg gjespet visst,

i i i stad,

akkurat da du sa

at du hadde klippet gresset

og leste 8 bøker,

at du savnet kjæresten og da, i faren din sin hage,

og snart har jeg fri,

men oj jeg gjespet visst,

jeg gjespet visst,

i i i stad,

akkurat da hun var fyr og flamme,

over en match eller noe,

jeg gjespet visst,

i i i stad,

akkurat da du sa hadetbra,

og vi hadde ikke sett hverandre

på sikkert 18 måneder,

og da gikk du litt bryskt,

og uka etter,

gikk visst alle og gjespet,

de gjorde det overtydelig,

og bare når de så på meg,

og hvis jeg pratet

gjespet ikke du og jeg: sammen,

fordi du visste

jeg slet med søvn.*


* knapt en ferdig tekst, og den handler om gjesping og det at noen triangulerer.

All lyrics. ©Tonje Høydahl Sørli



come with me

and lend some warmth in hand

this tsi is some other lovesong

but then the loss of time

wont you come running after me

waking up with green leaves


had the feeling

you stood back there and cried,

tears for you and me



I see his smile

in you


I see his smile

in you


I hear his laughter too

in you



his way,


how are the words he tell

does he whisper,

what does he do,

they owe me

in all their human ways?

Though even Bob Dylan

says winners are not like him,

so we will enter the outside

and walk in mud,

and thats when

we realize:

We always lived our indoor

lives in surround.











Utested, Trondheim, starten av 2000-tallet en gang

han har sett så redd ut nå i lange tider,

hvorfor slenger folk dritt etter han, det er som om det blomstrer opp et hat der han og jeg er,

til jeg skjønner det: der de har forskanset seg rundt et bord i hjørnet, de roper Æsj, og sniktitter på oss som bare tar en øl, Pervo roper de,

han vil så gjerne slippe denne gjengen mer,

så han ler og spiller meg:

litt mer avmålt og kjølig blikk,

men så, etter uker med hersing

klarer jeg ikke mer- jeg snur meg og roper Pervo tilbake til gutta med sleik, Hore skriker de til svar, og ler høyt.

Dette er over 15 år siden, og starten på et liv med avmaktsfølelse, som ofte følger med mobbing.

Pervo var et ord unge i Nord-Trøndelag brukte i oppveksten min. Ble vi sinte og sure var det et ord vi kunne slenge fra oss. I gjengen som terget på utestedet den gangen, satt flere jeg kjente til fra før.

Selv om jeg skrev ironisk da som nå, streifet aldri tanken meg:

at noen kunne bruke en tekst senere, der Pervo var brukt som i

å sette grenser, for å plage noen som aldri hadde «vært pervo» i utgangspunktet.

For meg er og forblir Pervo et uttrykk fra en oppvekst i nord, som jeg ikke ville sagt med

mindre jeg hadde en god grunn.










Bloom & Jolly Future!

Bloom! & Jolly Future!

2. Pressure & Motherhood, this is theme in the piece Bloom! & Jolly Future! 

So This is Where We Have Met,


so this is where we met

some harsh lit in yours

as I say

this is where we met



so this is where we met

a yard, a stair,


truth is


I dont remember a thing



so this is where we met




I dont remember






then mock me


till this ends again


are there really none

that will not turn and whisper as I leave

in the corner of my eye

this what I see:

giggle, say

the guys made me

oh thats what you are

some gang of friends

that have not yet realized

how to greet

the one we love.











They Knew About the Brain

He Disappears in a Cloud of Black Ink! And its the awful truth.

Female Gaze




To turn

around and

there you stood

tan an all


gav ham et manus

dette kan vi ikke lage bok av

sa han


high heels heading out-

I was told to leave a lovers night,

heard him whisper




as I walked,

oh no oh

my pinkerbell,

I that got so many things to tell,

had a folder

with that name,

started in a kitchen 2000,

a sudden comfort

from a man

gave me a secret crush,


I wrote poems

that later accidently ended in all ears


gone, of course,

who I wrote back then

was of a brochy family,

but thats oh so long ago

(17)(or so)

(Later fff* became a off pist web thing, that I lost to someone else.)

(*fff is of course also a song by Bebe Rexha)














but, we dont walk in gold

sometimes we dont even eat x2


artists are poor,

try that,

and youll get the

feeling of true feeling.


and then you can follow me.


But me being forgetful, I suppose that already has happened.*



* this lyric has a referance to 4 Disney/Pixar movies: Vaiana, Finding Dory, The Boss Baby, and possibly Frozen. + of course my inner circle of friends.



Nähe, Thankful Song

Thought On

the ballet Sleepless Beauty,


Oslo 7ht May 2017

Persefone & the rest

it a mans hand on your chest and neck

and me walking into

the foajé

as I say abuse, abuse, abuse

to lay in love

is to have man above

till the mothers eyes

turn sore

blackn white suites

and them holding apartments

for little lovers

without regard to any other

like a child walking into

sleepless nights as her mum

working double shifts again

couldnt that make

a beauty, blackened eyes

till the mountain as a curtain

his finger pointing to th sky

and then they fold

her green dress and possible

evil plans for futuristic towns,

till the end that I loved:

Curtain, drapery, and the

lift of her


he lifted her.

-H Sørli

Girls Under Pressure on Respatex

Visit My Deliberate

Homepage Damn It!


feelings, feelings,

and then you write

friend fiend and brother

wound wound and bother


talk is not

its in your hand and your movement

looking at veins again

is she activated


activating is



struggle and a,

has to save bird from cat


oh so little,


yellow chest and rapid heart


open windows

tell me


ideas ideas and then you write,

wigs and lipstick, vodka plastic

along a slope


do you remember, oh well,

 I dont,


write me how to thrive

while your past repeat your traumas.



Lines, on Motivation, in Norwegian



hvis eg skreiv, verkeleg skreiv og ikkje oppfatta dette med hovudet i skyane og ballongar under føtene så ville eg ha spurt kan eg skrive på nynorsk for det var eg god til på ungdomsskulen der eg hadde verdas beste norsklærarinne er nynorsken min no blitt kavete og rar så var det ein gong ho som hjalp og lærte meg å skrive skildringar eller var det da ho krevde det av klassen at eg oppdaga korleis eg såg på verda for vi skulle skrive ei skildring, ja eit sommerminne, og da skreiv eg korleis det var å rusle opp Karl Johan ein sommerdag alle luktane og lydane, bandet som spelte i gata, og ein gut som kikka på meg og så las ho mi stil høgt som så mange gonger seinare, for klassen, eg prøvde hardt å ikkje bli for stolt, men kvifor, endeleg var det noko eg verkeleg kunne, som akkurat eg var god på, eg kunne skrive, og om det seinare skulle bli noko som ble brukt mot meg så visste eg det ikkje da, heldigvis, det var lenge før folk stimla saman over ein pc på ein fest mens dei kikka spakt på meg og mumla at dei skulle finne noko, vi finn dei ikkje, filane er borte, ikkje sant, ja, men kva hvis eg hadde ein motivasjon anna enn å skrive om det eg såg og hørte fordi eg samla på sånt, så skal eg åpenhjerta nå si til deg at hei, eg har kapsla inn desse minnane, dette hendte meg, og eg har ikkje sagt dei til nokon, og då dei hadde vokse og brunne opp inne i meg til eg ikkje orka meir så putta eg dei inn i ei ramme og den ramma heitte ei forteljing, og hvis du finn forteljinga vil du kanskje klare å se dei øyeblikka som eg egentlig ville si deg men som eg ikkje turde  på grunn av ei trussel om utsletting, og det er sørgeleg men det er menn, dei øyeblikka og den utslettinga  er menn. Og eg skal leve kvar dag med hovudet på denne halsen og ryggen og eg skal fortsatt ikkje vise at det som kan skake nokon inn i ei anonym tilværelse er menn, for så tidleg, altfor tidleg tråkker unge jenter inn i menn, eller er det omvendt, men ja dei har nett  sprunge ut med frekner over nasen og små knoppar av bryst, ja akkurat da tar ei grov hand tak i deg ikkje sant og du skjøner at no for alltid så må eg være på vakt, og det berre fordi du ikkje er eit barn lengre.

Someone to Watch over Me


jeg hører på jazz og katten

ett ullpledd og, da jeg var nitten

sa det hissig i meg,

dro Min Besværlige Venninne

til Italia og ble soloartist,

da jeg var nitten, sa det,

puttet jeg en mann i en

kvinnes sko bare fordi jeg

var redd for ham,

ligger det i nakken

for den bøyer jeg

men som nittenåring,

han hadde svarte øyne

og det kvikke blikket,

han satt på rommet mitt

og var imponert over en oppgave

jeg hadde skrevet om det tidligere

Jugoslavia, en gjest i en gruppe

mennesker fra krig hadde landet

på en folkehøyskole i Norge,

men hvorfor fikk han

Den Besværlige Venninna

med seg, jeg husker ikke,

den selvbevisste og veslevoksne Venninna mi, satt han på et tog, skramlet gjennom

Europa, mens han sølte kaffe på henne?

En flekk her, og en flekk der,

som blåe ringer under øyne,

nei, en gang stablet jeg ham

på beina, han var uten pust,

jeg vet ikke,

mennesker med lyter,


vi gir hverandre lite,

mens vi vet altfor godt hva

verden trenger,


og hvis jeg møtte ham igjen

ville jeg ikke nevne 

eller noe annet,

for jeg har glemt



I Am Another,

shuffled through the streets

a tired santa with

his white beard

came to my door

and said he was

another too

: I am a woman deep

inside, was that

the thing then,

: Just as you are

a man,

his eyes were scared,

so I thought, oh no

I know who sent you

to climb my stairs,

once I saw that in

m m m m m  too,

and to say goodbye to

people that I like,

yes Id rather stand in

a crowd

and see you do well

on stage,

and now to tell you:

I was never a man,

but once, in a moment,

I took a mans best traits

just to survive.











Fawn Response!

 they say she is gone, 1498


perhaps she is a victim of modern marketing strategies! 




gav ham et manus

dette kan vi ikke lage bok av

sa han


Friends, I have


They Knew About the Brain

Truth Hurts

sorrow lost and sorrow won

did you get

what I`ve been plundering(ja jeg har altså plyndret på dette)* on:

I have

a blooming brain.

(song ref Sun has Gone, Broken Twin)











They Say That in Life You Make Your Own Luck!

The Quilt and the Beggar 1/Woman in Tower

of Song

Brittle Little Meets the Brutal Truth!

When Talking, /Humour and the Spirit that Slipped of the Page or / When I Tried to Stop Being the Altruistic and Anonymous Writer but Failed and Started  a Yearlong Mourning /

When Talking

I didn`t


All lyrics ©Tonje Høydahl Sørli

That is what a text once was about: The trigging everyday life in the aftermaths of traumatic experiences. Be kind.




























 Every Problem has a Limited Lifespan!
Portraits, 2013










Whats the lyrics about? 11 april 2017


This is from me when listening.

Listening then, as a mother: To Wide Lovely Eyes from the Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds album Push the Sky Away-2013.

Wide Lovely Eyes

its Hide & Seek, and a song to a child, yes- I get the impression that the lyrics is written to a child, so:

The mother stands in the window as the father takes their child to child-care. Though everyone does, it feels strange to send the child away all day. As a family they are still working on that: The absence of child to get work done. And the child,

to cope with the absence of mom and dad. The child, with a small childs open eyes, and strides in her dress, waves to her mother, saying goodbye with her hands that still cant wave, instead they look like butterflies with fluttering wings, butterflies bending, and she is waving butterflies into the sky, and her mother answers the waving,  or  does the perspective change here, does she - the mother, suddenly,  see herself as from  a loved ones perspective: His eyes on her  as her brain  implodes and her hands goes up, up, a goodbye to a man, no,

and when she gets to her computer she wonders what world her child now caves into, perhaps a magical landscape that she  herself

has  left, yes through a tunnel of leaves down to the sea, and as grown-ups we can only try to imagine what our children do all day, and how they struggle to cope without their guides in life for many hours in row, yes ,

grown-ups close down the fun fair in our minds, and the the competitiondrive in men end up  killing mermaids and creativity, and so we try to

keep the real threats of terror away by telling jokes.

In the experience of becoming a mum her brain is expanding, growing, the world is full of  worry, and that while she and all organize surroundings to cope, and try to fill gatherings of friends with laughter,

and yes, me, sometimes I miss organizing shoes after shoesize and color and to look onto the world with curiosity.

Or as some girl said,

after she accidently had over-

heard a grownup conversation:

 Næmanæmma died? She  asked

with a serious look in her eyes. And I jumped at her having heard

my words, which were not

for her ears, and  at her

already there to look for

answers I was afraid to

give. So, the world has

changed, I, we know.

And thats what 

Wide Lovely Eyes

reminded me of.





























 Every Problem has a Limited Lifespan!

(its a bargain for lost souls)

too many start

their careers with looking down

Losers Can Win(ref Starwalker)/


Raining Giftful Giving

put page

and looking through appendix

me a

a a a ame

that small pony suits me

and we`re friends, the dog and me,

so pony, dog

any cats too, and a guinea pig perhaps,

cause we`re thoughtful

and now I tell:

listen, pony, cat, dog,

everyone seem to think

they know my inside head



mna a a a

his ex or some across

the table

looked at me with spite,




tree, tree,

use in us


Whats the lyrics about? 

17th June 2017

My Manic And I,

Laura Marling,

Å ha ei lyte/skade

(credits to some that showed me this song) Listening then as someone that once lost a ring, and too as with the writing tendencie to find my

own story in anything:

The morning is mocking

and the birds are singing to calm them down,

My Manic And I

The fairy tale end

noone beleived it,

keep your head up

cse some still have,

of brothers and cousins and

evenings with friends,

others have become the manic,

& stand in trials to tell

that there`s no no illness in me,

no I am harmed by relations

like in the past,

and cse him,

met you with a hardened look,

down by that river filled with ducks,

you girl went too far


one day his eyes were blue,

the next brown,

scorn & silent face,

and the travel of words on you as

a living hell

is emotional abuse my friend

so you dont believe him,

no but what with the confusing feeling of someone

that is hot or cold,

so you become the manic,

their faces filled with anothers

instead of their own,

so who are you then,

someone like Lenü,

but her aspirations in your way,

so he says

this is enough,

we went to far,

this is why we are ill,

and of a sudden

In the middle of the concert

he`ll get the throw,

her words a gift, I know,

with a beautiful voice,

no, whats the point in writing

songs* if noone really

hear you.

*its a referance in a referance!

The Wronged




the shrink said

there are two types of


One is physical,

the other is psychological,

and the psychological

often comes first,

its the silence in between,

the secret smiles and little laughters

its the neglect of feelings, the

public mocking and emotional shield

is the sudden turnings, gaslighting

and no regrets

is the withdraw, the no answer,

you as noone and the other without

dissociative tendencies


To a Specialist, On Musicality

yu were so so wrong(x2)

yu were so so wrong(x2)

yu were so so wrong(x2)

lyrics without musicality

well, perhaps you should try to sing them




I bet you`d get them working then.










 Every Problem has a Limited Lifespan!