FREDRIK SCHEIKE

So there she was, posing, smiling, pouting her lips and acting all cool. Pulling up the victory sign and pouting her goddamn duck lips, laughing as there was nothing wrong with the world whatsoever. Her friend is laughing too, taking a lot of photos, making sure that every pose and every twitch of that smile is well documented. No selfie can be complete if not for another 40 takes. You have to get the right one in order to be perfect. And I'm on the other side, watching this whole spectacle, feeling my stomach churn and turn, with huge amounts to just go berserk at everything that is going wrong with this world. I'm on the other side, not wanting to observe, but I do. I cannot divert my eyes from this continued perversion of human ideals, and as another flash pops, finally my train comes to the rescue. The girl, the lost little teenager who's trying to get just another like for her Instagram/Facebook/Twitter page is oblivious to the fact that the poster shes' p...

You win some, you lose some. You learn to handle the losses and you learn to really accept that you sometimes actually deserve to win. One is easier than the other, guess which? I just had an audition for a British/Spanish miniseries and I am grateful for having done it, for having been called in and for having truly worked as hard as I have to accomplish doing it. Even though I'm fairly certain that the audition and the part is off to someone else, I did my best to keep my nerves in check and put my head down. But my selfconsciousness probably shone through the empty facade that was my terrified face. So why be grateful? Well first of all, it's about the fourth actual major fictional audtion that I've done here in Spain which in itself is pretty amazing, but it's also one of the auditions that I've prepped the most. Let's face it, I know myself and my craft fairly well, and I have this tendency to get lazy while preparing, I know I do, so to actual...

Oskiljaktligen gör döden ingen skillnad på oss,                 men ändå skiljer den oss åt. Likgiltig, rädd, tacksam,   befriad, fängslad, road,                döden skiljer sig för oss alla,             och döden skiljer oss åt. Gammal dikt från 2011.

You are not restricted, limited or bound by your past. You are, today, completely free of your past. That's what Saturday's (although I recovered it today) central thought for my meditation was. Now what does that mean? What does "being free of your past" actually mean? As I was meditating, I of course kept reciting the mantra to keep my mind focused, but I've also learned that you accept the thoughts that pop into your head, because if you actively ignore them they will only grow stronger. So I felt sadness and I almost started crying when thoughts of my past came into my mind. Why is that? I don't really know.  I've always believed that your past is what defines where you are right now which in term means that you are a product of it, not that it holds you captive. Your present day and moment are all products of what choices you've made in the past. Everything, no matter how small or big has lead you to this moment and all your choices a...

I don't know. I wanted to write something with meaning, and I wanted to write something constructive and personal and something that could touch and be reflected upon, but instead I have an enormous block. I guess I don't really recognize myself at times. Maybe the time of blogging for me is over and the time of diaries has just begun. I was gifted a beatuifully hand painted text book that I take with me almost everywhere I go and in that I've been writing both stories and tiny observations in the past couple of weeks. It's great to invent and make up stories and have the opportunity to just put it down as soon as it pops up. One of the reasons why I wanted to write today is because I woke up from a "nightmare", well let's just call it a lightmare, because it wasn't as if I, or anyone I know, was dying or chased or anything like that. I was in the middle of an exam, and everybody was there and I mean everybody. Teachers, friends and family...

And then it suddenly it me, in regards to my previous raging post, I'm no better. Just as I "was brought up to believe". Not saying that my Mom diminished my sense of confidence or self value, it's just that other people might look at what I write, and what I do and refer to it as completely lacking talent. My best might be someone's worst. Now that's food for thought. But I still reiterate the core of the my previous post as something that still ticks me off. You still have to have some sort of consciousness and self-awareness about what it is that you do. I'm not racking down on one's ability to create out of one's best, I applaud every attempt in making something artistic. Perhaps what I'm trying to say is that I envy the lack of need for things to be perfect, and I'm referring to the most minimalistic things such as typos or syntax errors, I just can't let those things slide. Now I know my best might be someone's worst,...