During popping a bunch of ideas and tossing them away I wrote a text "I AM", lining out the characters within the voice composition. The text introduces different point of views within one and the same person; a shattered one divided in to a collective of characters working on coping with and putting themselves back together as a whole.

The background to this piece, and to The Garden The Gardener and I, is the terrible loss of my mother, her magical garden and what at the time felt like my last piece of innocence and faith.

LYRICS

We…
We try to put it to bed; say goodnight and farewell.
We want to tuck it all in, leave a kiss on its chin.
Let the past be gone; provide all – of those dreams we once hoard but in oblivion sank…
Let us find them again! Let us find them again! Let us find them again!
– Oh pretty please show me mercy!
– Teach me how to go on.
– Will I end up same way?
Oh, stop it! We will get by! Oh, stop it! We will get by! Stop it! We will get by!

We have to put it to bed; say the final farewell.
No more drowning in tears dehydrated by fear.
You can’t die nor give up, feed us love, interrupt.
One could think peace would come – I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know - no.
Now – blow the limit for how far we go. Go! Go – to survive and find out adequate sorrow – Source might be hidden just under our skin.
Your skin baby so soft and loose. What kind of flowers will feed off your mould? Forget-me-not: Scorpion Grass – I see them scatter, taking over my headquarters!
We fight a blue ocean of horror vacui – where trust is no word anymore.
You left us, the garden: Your holy confidante: Your only confidante – and fled your fear of fear. – You fled your fear of fear.
                 
We have to put it to bed – that you tore us all up – give the garden away.
We seek forgive your betrayal.
We fight off traces all day long – but wicked heart plays your song – its roll and rocking our ground: roll and rocking our ground: its roll and rocking our ground: roll and rocking our ground.
I don’t know where to turn! Spirit smashed to the wall – speeding merry-go-round.
When the shit hit the fan, when the shit hit the fan: Well, the shit hit the: fan.

We had to put you to bed, place a stone by your head.
Heavy hearted and free – What is left out of me?
Hundred years made of war left your warriors soared with blindness for their supernatural love-force, supernatural love-force, supernatural love, supernatural love. Love! Love is the antidote able to knock. Knock. Knock! Knock us out of this spin drilling holes in the door leading in to purgatory-life. Our lives – sister come squeeze it out! Not a drop in the ocean refused. Bad attitude – disbelief your divinely love-filled cool creature!
We fight a wrath ocean of horror vacui – where faith in this world is misplaced.
We search for a garden: A sacred confidante: A vital confidence – to fight the fear of fear. We fight the fear of fear.

Fight the fear of fear. Fight the fear of fear.
Fight the fear of fear. Fight the fear of fear.
Fight the fear of fear! Fight the fear of fear!
Fight the fear!

SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST - CONCERNING CIRCUMSTANCES
The exhibition Survival of the Fittest was created to celebrate the 10-year anniversary of artist initiative Studio44 – a non-profit art gallery in Stockholm, Sweden.
The curators Jannike Brantås and Susanne Högdahl Holm invited eight works previously exhibited at Studio44. Five of the invited artists in there turn got to invite five current members of Studio44 to initiate a "conversation" and exhibit in pairs.

To Will Life was invited and presented closely together with Suspension of Disbelief by Debora Elgeholm.