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Here's why I have built this site:

I am sick of talking about myself, who I am, what I have done, and who I want to become. They all say it's a worker's market: jobs are plenty, it's just for you to pick and choose. Yet, here I am, still unemployed. What do they know?

I run for the street, shouting out loud as soon as I come outside the door: "Aaaahhhh!!!!" Then I rush home and make one White Russian after another, using the fine Russian vodka i bought on my last trip to Tallinn.

It's not that I don't want a job. I'd kill for a secure and well-paid position. What's bothering me, though, is that I just can't play my part in the performance.

Maybe it shines through; the detachment that's overwhelming me. Maybe I'm just so off that I can't do anything without looking troubled.

My credentials are really good, you know, I mumble to myself as I down another drink. It may strike you as odd, but it's just the way it is.

As I begin to feel the effect of the alcohol, I also feel like smoking. Then, when I step out on the balcony, the September wind blows into my face and up my sleeves, in under my shirt and all over my body. I gaze into the far distance and release a deep sigh.

Maybe I'd better spread my wings and fly, just leave this busy city behind. I would have no regrets, indeed. Then why am I still standing here?

They are playing tricks with me. They are altering the signals in my brain to make me feel bleedy. Who would've known that empathy would leave you so weakened?

But then, it's not only empathy that they're making you feel. All kinds of feelings are induced through their control over bodily organs.

Take such a thing as love. When you fall in love, it's really like your mind is being hijacked. Only when the ship is deserted are you able to reclaim power over your own body and mind. At that point, however, it may well be already too late to alter the course. That's what some people call "destiny".

Okay, then, what would life be without these "hijackings" of the control room? Cold? Lonely? Or just calculated? Well, of course we can never tell. Better then to talk about something funny like your grandma, who, in spite of regular "hijackings" seems to enjoy life to the fullest.

As for me, I've only got hijacked once, during my lonely years as a sophomore, but I swear it'll never happen again. So what do I do to keep them in check? The answer is that I just try to take care of my body, while loosing myself in never-ending projects like writing a novel or building a website:)

When that doesn't work, I kill 'em with some Swedish pop culture!

By Eric Veermets