Claiming land.

As my romanticist soul needed fodder I decided to avoid the capital this weekend and spend my time in the countryside; walk in a fairytale forest, fall asleep to the sound of birds and bumblebees and wake up with a bad conscience for getting up way too late to really make use of the spring morning. To repent my horrible sin of sleeping in I took the decision sometime after lunch to crawl up into a flowerbed and dig my fingers deep into the dark dirt. Half nude in the sunshine I encountered plants, worms, centipedes and a thousand yellow ants. As time in the flowerbed went by, I felt the boost of making difference. The difference consisted of me tearing apart homes, exposing roots and insects to the scorching sun and meting out punishment for the plants I found to be weeds and making room for the ones I considered flowers. I felt the omnipotence of my sheer fingerwork and I smiled to myself, excited by my recklessness, feeling the gentle pressure of dirt under my nails, carressing the lovemarks I had inflicted on the ground and despising the weakness of the weed plants spread out around me at an arm's length.

Naturally, the humanist in me is ashamed and frightened. Which only makes the satisfaction more intense.

And what will Lindsay Lohan think?

For months now, I have, from time to time, been detecting an ill-boding and unidentifiable smell. Since I cannot seem to find its source I have had to assume it stems from me, and possibly from the back of my head. This because I cannot reach there with my nose and thus not exclude the possibility that it is in fact the back of my head that smells. I am just waiting for someone, somewhere, someday to give me an awkward look and a “Hey, I think the back of your head is rotting.” And I will have no other choice but to reply with an “I know. It’s been going on for months.” And at that point, I won’t exactly be lying. In a way, it might even be relieving.

But until that fatal day when the world is exposed to my rotting skull once and for all, I will make sure to wear my beret whenever I go out. Naturally, I curse the spring heat.

Music: LCD Soundsystem - Drunk Girls

Om du var vaken, skulle jag GE dig!

I currently obsess over the band Kite and my approaching midnight deadline. It's an OK combination. That time when I obsessed over cheese and jelly candy was a much worse combination, according to some. Or that time when I obsessed over having my left foot removed in combination with buying leftover right shoes to some highly affordable prices.

Anyway, the above video is to be watched as a tribute to me and tiny's dream version of our time in Paris back in spring -07, with the introducing line "wake up, you fucking dyke".