You're no different than Darryl Hannah

One day I started wondering where the center of my soul is located. As one does. I think I found it somewhere in my head, behind my eyes, in between my ears and not too far from my mouth. Why not in my belly? Why not somewhere closer to my heart? Why not in my index finger? Why this audio-visual-oral fixation when it comes to pinpointing my essence? Probably because, ultimately, having a soul is having a perspective. And according to Science, and my hand puppet Sir Yessir, coordination of perspective happens in my head. So naturally, when I think of me and my soul, and when I try to reach my inner self, I imagine it resides within my skull.

But this is not merely a post about soul-searching, or the idea that perspective is bound to be subjective and objectivity thus nowhere to be found since it has no place in the human consciousness. No. This is, as many times before, a post about Lindsay Lohan. See, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it rumored that the girl lacks a soul. Now let’s assume those seemingly foul rumors are true (very unlike the admittedly foul rumors linking Lohan to theft). This would presumably make Lindsay Lohan the very key to absolute and sheer objectivity. It’s a grand and frightening thought to us mere mortal soulful persons. But at the same time an undeniably tantalizing opportunity.

Of course, she couldn’t share any of this with us soulfuls. Lohan simply wouldn’t notice any of the sheer objectivity since all this would mean she has a total lack of perspective. Oh, woe.

Again, the undying storm named Lindsay Lohan strikes me. As a riddle. The more I try to solve her, the greater a mystery she becomes. And all the more distinguished from the rest of the world she appears.

More or less.

Tag of the week

"Tag of the week" is one of the five brand new features presented below. A while ago. The why is both irrelevant and undefined. The idea, however, is to pick a tag from our quite large collection of used tags and create one or several posts in its honor. And this week's tag of honor is, as expected:

Lindsay Lohan.

Let me add and clarify that there is absolutely no need to wait for a whole conventional week to announce a new Tag of the week. All tag weeks are separate units that can and should exist alongside each other in individual cycles of one to seven thousand days.

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

You know, not everyone has achieved the label "über-skinny starlet" in the press.

But, anyway...

Two cherubs, one cloud.

When did you stop being a bumby bear?

Jambo! as Lindsay Lohan’s character in Mean Girls so delicately puts it. I’m back from that continent that starts with an AAH and ends with FREAK OUT. It’s been two good months. But I also have good hopes for the future autumn. For no discernable reason.

Today L told me of a man who ingested funnyfunny mushrooms. The man then went out in the 'woods' and there he met something which he was certain was a bumby bear. However, the bumby bear eventually turned aggressive on the man and he had to lock it up in his wardrobe. He later realized the bumby bear in his closet was in fact a human being, and a dwarf, at that. That must’ve been weird.

Let’s say that I take mushrooms today. That will probably make me meet La Roux, in this video, but the soundtrack will be this song. I would be very happy. But then suddenly I would stab her to death with my brand new set of BBQ-knives. For no discernable reason. And then I would snap out of it and the dead body would turn out to be the dead body not of La Roux but of Amy Diamond. Phew! They sort of sound the same at times but are, of course, totally different. Anywho. Part of the world would rejoice but I would go to jail in any case. Which I think is only fair. One cannot go around killing people, however pointless their existence. I believe in some kind of basic human value. Yeah. But in jail I would get everybody’s dessert because - generally - prison people don’t like Amy Diamond. And then I would probably regret the mushrooms and write another letter to Lindsay Lohan, this time urgently asking for spiritual guidance.

Edit: I'm afraid I forgot to type down the main purpose of this post, which was: Ape, can you please please please get a La Roux haircut? I can even consider paying for having it done.

Accept no defeat.

Word has yet to be heard from Lohan from Rohan, the dreamlike creature of Hollywood and many vices that holds my heart and controls my mind in her immediate absence and anticipated presence.

And the pity goes on! I spent the whole weekend studying, extremely unalcoholized. But am I non-toxic? No. Because I’m still on malaria medicine. No depression or nightmares yet, but apparently they might eventually cause massive hair loss. And despite said weekend, I might’ve failed to pass the exam I took today. A highly interesting letter from Singapore got into my mail but it wasn’t really addressed to me so I can’t open it. Also, I seem to always be out of candy.

One might think all this I would leave me frustrated. But I keep smiling, contented, knowing my world is a truly beautiful place. And some day soon Jesus may return. Amen.

K'naan - Wavin' Flag

PS. Lately, I have a spider residing in my room. I thought it died when one day it decided to take refuge in the outflow in my shower as I showered. Think about it! It was a truly bad idea! But apparently, it survived. Spiders are remarkable. Maybe I'll name it Cope. Because it did. Plus, it rhymes with hope.

**LINDSAY LOHAN! THIS IS NOT AN INVITATION**

First, I thought of simply renewing my old invitation to Lohan in some fancy and irresistible Mousse-way. Like, I was going to convince her that the reason she released her album “Speak” back in 2004 was because “Lindsay, you possess an honest, beautiful and natural urge to express yourself” and that that was so obvious if you, like me, spend some time listening to her lyrics and not JUST dance away to the awesome tunes. And then I’d tell her that her anorexia looked really, really good on her and not bad at all, like how it looked on Angelina. Ew! Those fat lips don’t go well at all together with starvation! And then I would probably have told Lohan how OK of her it was to have taken drugs and been all alcoholic, since, after all, people like Lohan - the witty and intelligent crew - always get out of those situations looking even MORE intelligent and witty. EVERYBODY knows they’re just doing drugs because they’re simply too deep and creative to have the time to process everything within the limits of a brain functioning in an everyday kind of pace! I would of course also compliment her acting in Dare to Love Me, a film that hasn’t even been made yet and would thus hint that I have THE greatest confidence in Lohan’s future performances. I wouldn’t mention anything about Samantha, not in the invitation anway. No, I would spend the last lines comparing Lohan to a mayfly. Or a sparrow. Or something else as poetic and rich with integrity.

But then suddenly I started having second thoughts about it all. Not because I in any way would be dishonest, but because it would put us both in an awkward position where I’m all beneath her and she’s all obliged to me from all my complimenting, which would leave us sitting staring at each other, not knowing what to say, when really, we have LOTS and LOTS to talk about. I would go something like “You look… radiant.” “So I’ve heard” goes Lohan and thinks of that time on Letterman. And then naturally she starts comparing me to Letterman. That would be totally out of place. I don’t want that.

No. I’m just going to bide my time and let Lohan take the first step instead.

Big Win

And just in case you're not already reading it, FAIL Blog.

Read it. Laugh.

Return the next day and repeat.

Also speaking of fail, where's that Lohan post? I think we need one. She needs one.

Dear fantastic Miss Lindsay Lohan,

I hereby invite you to Sweden. You can stay in my room, I have a large bed. I’ll even let you borrow my clothes. They will be viking-oversized but it will only make you look cute. Like a puppy. I wouldn’t force you to actually experience Sweden. It’s cold and dark and hostile this time of the year. We could stay in all day, in our PJs, and eat ice cream. I could get you Ben&Jerry’s ice cream. Or Häagen Dazs. We have those brands in Sweden, even though they’re American. It’s expensive, but I would totally buy it for you. I don’t even like ice cream that much these days, but I would eat some if you would want me to. I might even be lactose intolerant. But for you, Lindsay Lohan, I’d go anywhere.

Please contact me via this blog if you are interested. I know you are busy, and I will not hold it against you if you choose not to accept my invitation. But you should know it’s a lifelong kind of invite. So… Yeah. Just don’t say no too swiftly, ok?

Yours forever
Mousse

BröstÖL

Yesterday, tiny came up with a brilliant idea. I haven’t acknowledged the tendencies before, but that little bitch is quite the little entrepreneur. Basically, her plan is to try and find a way to genetically modify breasts into producing beer. Her current line of business is “Naughty Nurse” and I don’t know if she’s realized that she would have to change…

My god, isn’t migraine the stupidest thing!? Where was I?

Nevermind. One of the concepts that I like about tiny's multifaceted idea is that it will improve the status of older women, since their beer will be stronger. The younger the woman, the lighter the beer, so to speak. The complexity of it! Vodka level will successfully be reached somewhere around twenty five years past menopause. Also, it will somehow put an end to pedophilia. Or at least that is what tiny's strongly going to argue while fundraising. The fact that it most likely will lead to a direct increase of all sorts of alcoholism will be hushed up. Personally, I'm counting on help from Lindsay Lohan. She always knows how to cover and fund. Plus, the girl has an obvious inclination towards boobs and beer.

And lastly, sniffing glue is, contrary to what Vladimir told me, not good for your health. I’m just saying. I just missed a whole day in school for that hour in gloomy heaven yesterday.

Then again, Vladi never seemed to have a school to attend.

We laughed when, really, we cried.

The Oddballs have been out island-adventuring. It was on a Swedish island. The biggest there is, as a matter of fact. Facts are usually of little importance to us Odds, but as I have little to recite, facts are helpful as filling in my blog cake. This is a blog cake. Don't get me wrong, numerous events took place during our stay away, lots of filling, but the words won't come to me. So I'm just going to keep on stating facts.

Who were we and what did we accomplish?

There was Lolita, whose greatest achievement was to arrange free and qualitative housing, various useful itineraries and guide-like anecdotes. Sometimes genuinely interesting, sometimes questionable.

Also, she made a very tasty sausage casserole and drank approximately eight litres of tea. Other things she entertained herself with was go shopping with the very impressionable Ape and exceed our food allowances by bringing home large amounts of chocolate, chips and celebrity gossip magazines.

tiny, or - the one whose name we tend to forget - was also there. We think she enjoyed herself. She wore a dress some days.

Ape spent her days trying to clean herself. I could post a picture of her sitting in an under-sized wooden water barrel in the garden, but it would in no way help us understand her behaviour. Apart from the cleaning, she was very energized, optimistic and playful. She terrorized the Nameless girl with different water-ejaculating weapons. But NG proved a vengeful soul and soon they were both wet. Mousse too, whose interference no one could explain.

The Ape later became ill and somewhat reclusive.

Me, Mousse, played a very important role. First I was sick and whiny. Then I got better, but kept whining. Moreover, I took it as my duty to provide the group with pills. Pain, diarrhea, pregnancy or boredom. I could cure all sicknesses with my personal supply. My lapdog Ape served as guinea pig and got weird.

Then one day we met my Oracle. It was interesting. She happened to be a heavily built woman on a farm somewhere out in nowhere with her very own overpriced flea market. We spoke of my pathetic love life and she told me not to sit and wait for the handsome knight on a white horse to come sweep me away, like she had done, and end up alone. My man might not look the best or even know how to ride a horse, but he will be the right one. I thanked her for the wise words, complimented her very large collection of 70's plastic utensils and bought Nana by Émile Zola for 5 SEK. She said it was lustful. The book.


Things we did together as a group was eating, eating, eating and reading celebrity gossip magazines. I like Lindsay Lohan the most. My friends are not so selective. They appreciate colorful pictures. We were happy together, crowded around a magazine, and that is all that matters.

These are my facts.