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".

Rot.

...
I indirectly blame Ape's recurrent, delirious and positively outstanding Cara/Kahlan subtext-posts for my somehow coming across and enjoying this song and video. But seriously. How is one supposed to be able to study when there is so much YouTube filth to surf!?

I'll live my next life as a male Bollywood star

And if I'm not able to pull off those moves (1:25, 1:56, 3:33, 3:45 etc.) plan B is to become a dancing Indian condom.

One of these days, honey...

This blog is dangerously close to being put on ice. A highly defrostable ice-state. But ice, nonetheless. We will hold it wide open during the “put your year in pictures-project” but come January and we’re still experiencing blog post desert this blog will be put on hold. Outspoken abstinence might encourage creativity. In any case, it will be an experiment worth trying.

Until that day, I will keep on living my life as I know it. Lately, I can’t seem to walk anywhere without imagining myself falling. Everything I walk by that looks stumble-worthy; a sidewalk; a rock; a small child, I picture myself tripping over, falling headlong, dropping everything I hold in my hands, leaving my body spread out on the street as an animal shot. People stare and I usually hurt myself badly. By the time I reach the imaginary hospital, I have since long passed the initial obstacle on my way to wherever. And in between, I imagine walking into signs, and tree branches, only to destroy my eyes by ripping out the cornea. My dad, who earlier this year underwent eye surgery, claims that the cornea is one of the most pain sensitive areas on your body.

Other than that, I spend hours each day reading about sexual violence, mostly in the form of rape. Rape in woods, rape at home, rape in history, rape today and rape as an instrument of war. Some days, I take lonely walks in the dark. Funny thing is, I never do my mental falls when it’s dark, which is more or less obvious, since all the obstacles are hidden in darkness and I am busy contemplating sexual abuse.

Today's music: The New Pornographers

Instead of Lindsay Lohan's take on nipple tassels...

After a hard day’s work in school, I find it highly rewarding listening to this song. Because, contrary to facts, it makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something. Bryan Ferry might not be the prettiest puppy in the petshop, but his voice IS smoother than sunshine. And since the sun’s been hiding its ass for over a week now, Roxy Music is my substitute.

On a darker note, Halloween’s coming up and I might’ve promised hosting some kind of black-spandex-red-lips party. Somehow, I find that thought highly depressing right now. But that’s probably just my heavy workload talking. Can anyone be so kind as to inform me of the cancelability of that specific event?

And finally, tiny, remember that time when we were at that awfully trendy club somewhere close to Champs Elysées and that horrible guard insinuated that my awesome dress was too coat-y, simply by asking if it was a coat and if so advised me to hand it in to the wardrobe? And I was like Man, me and my dress are are as coat-y as this place is ghey! Of course I didn’t say that. What does that even mean? No. Instead, I felt strangely exposed, almost naked, when naturally, I should‘ve felt the opposite. But - and here’s my point - apparently this kind of conformist shit happens to other people as well. And I swear, I didn't even wear turtleneck that specific night.

Mer musik.

Yesterday I learned that apparently, I drink more alcohol than 63% of the Swedish population.

Today I learned that Patrick Wolf has released a new album AND that he can pull off blonde. Am I late?

Tomorrow I will learn about Poland. And how they can't pull off the blonde.

It's okay. He's just admiring the shape of your skull.

This has been sort of a bad day. Why? My king-size, super nice glass frame lost its grip and fell and broke and now my wall looks nude. And if my home is wrecked (although mildly) my soul is too. I feel like throwing myself on the floor, in fetal position, and with my head as a center start spinning on the floor, kicking myself around with the help of my feet. Faster, and faster. In theory, it would look cool and give me much comfort. But I lack the muscles needed for such an exercise. Instead I read up on nationalism, and listen to The National. An unintended combination, I swear. But I have got to say, Benedict Anderson’s theory of the nation as an imagined community goes pretty well with The National’s “Fake Empire”. Once again, my unconscious genius outshines everybody’s shoeshine. But to what good? The below posted video is pretentious. It shares many features with the music video Stewie Griffin made to impress on Joe and Bonnie’s newborn. But as I am as drawn to pretentiousness as flies are to malnourished children I will not refrain from posting it. Because this is how I feel when something falls and breaks. In my home. A Monday afternoon.

Not one original thought.

Every thought there possible is appears to already have been thunked. So why do we keep thinking? Why do we live our lives on repeat? And how come we ever even harboured notions of time being a linear concept?

Also I should start working on a tentative itinerary for my US trip. So what do you guys think I should visit? As long as a Greyhound Coach stops in the general vicinity I'm all aboard any suggestions. So hit me with one.

And in unrelated news, here's this weeks top 5:
Erasure - Little respect
Anders & Putte - Elisabeth
30 Rock - Kidney Now - HD
Knorkator - Try Again-
Seasons of Love from RENT the movie

And this weeks link:
walkingman.org

And the album of the week:
Peaches – I Feel Cream

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.

It's Aliiiiive!

today, i was greeted by a pot in the kitchen that looked like it had something growing in it.

just now, i was reminded of the awesomeness of Detektivbyrån.

to summarize, the day could have started off better, but the ending more than made up for it!

anyone else alive enough to wanna share something about their day/week?

It's an Oddball kinda thing.

Sometimes you come across something that is just so right it almost gives you chills. I've always been a fan of Baba O'Riley, but it wasn't until I watched this performance it fully clicked.

Everything about this clip is so Oddball one has to wonder if The Who weren't possessed by the odd spirit (which was also responsible for each and one of ours' conceptions) during the performance, cause if we had talent it would probably have looked something like this.

sweet meat

Cannibalism is a thing it hurts talking about, as the risk of becoming a cannibal only can increase when doing so. It’s a theory I have, and it might even be a common theory. It all stems from that Russian guy I saw in a documentary, years ago. I think what happened to him was that people were discussing cannibalism in his very grim childhood, because of a severe famine that was… going on. What else can you discuss? Let enough time pass and the memory of the flavor of meatballs is tragically fading and all you can think of is what the starving person next to you would taste like. Doesn’t mean you take a bite. However, later in his life he became a cannibal. So his cannibalism was due to talking. Plus an apparently disturbed attitude towards food (in his case famine, but this could be sloshing or anorexia or some other oddity) or one’s ego or whatever. And I doubt that being an unusually impressionable person would help. I think you all know where I’m getting at.

I hate being the one saying this but for now, if the urge emerges to discuss something clearly inappropriate - as it most often does - beastiality is to prefer to cannibalism. As the general introverts I see ourselves as I do fear eventual endocannibalism. Such is my foresight, however flawed. Nor Jesus was flawless. Or a cannibal! I’ll do more research and come back to you. Now I’m going to go find out the latest on the topic of gender and biology in neural research. It’s going to be swell.

On repeat.

Got stabbed in the back by psychology, again. Nobody should care how and why anymore. Not even I do. It’s become something of a constant. Mere exposure effect and I’m hooked on failure. Yada yada. I said I don’t care, which is part true, but I’m not entirely over it. Not over the fact that psychology wasn’t my thing. Or that I’m not psychology’s thing. I am about as shocked as my dear big brother, who can’t see why a nutcase like his sister fails on nutcase-science. Turns out it takes more, but I'm not the mustarded hotdog that accepts the simplest of truths.

Instead of worrying too much about the necessity of trying to be more than a nutcase, I daydream. I dream of my very preppy croquet tournament I will hold in the Ekonomikum park. I’m drinking copious amounts of red wine and I’m wearing a slipover and a golf cap. And a pair of those oh so trendy chinos. I walk around with a superior and amused-looking face, with my croquet club thrown casually over my shoulder. You're all there with me. I don’t win the game but I am perfectly happy. Of that I dream. Intensely.

.........................................
My songs today:

Peter Bjorn and John - Nothing To Worry About

New York Dolls - Dance Like A Monkey

LCD Soundsystem - Losing My Edge

Lately Very Hungry

To begin with, and I’ve been meaning to say this earlier, I think it was awfully wrong of me and Ape to criticize Joss Whedon for building the Scoobies’ love and friendship solely on outsidership. I mean, come on! Let us be free to dissect and reject anything. Anything but that. We simply can't afford to lose faith in our loving unity of disunity.

Secondly, I am expecting this week to be filled with anguish over my exam and the fact that I should be studying and that that feeling will in turn not make me study, but at least make me blog and thus satisfy my productive self, however insignificant a part of me. As it is now, I do nothing but eat chocolate. But worry not, for it is but Monday, and this IS actually a post.

And thirdly, today’s song:

Emilíana Torrini – Jungle Drum

Varför jag är kung

Ibland när jag tänker att jag borde färga håret så brukar Nina Persson dyka upp i mitt huvud. Jag tror det kan ha varit när The Cardigans släppte låten ”I need some fine wine and you, you need to be nicer” som Nina i en intervju blev ombedd att säga något till sina fans och hon tittade på mig genom tv-skärmen och sa typ: ”Du har bara ett hår. Jag ångrar att jag förstörde mitt.”

Jag kan ju självklart ha drömt detta. Jag har nämligen, inte bara tack vare mina nuvarande psykologistudier, insett att jag har något av en ”fantasy-prone personality”. Sådana människor har en tendens att frammana livliga dagdrömmar och leva i fantasivärldar där allt är underbart. Hur som. Nina hade ju inte ens rätt. Håret växer hela tiden. Men det här kan jag ju såklart inte ta upp med henne personligen, eftersom jag mycket sannolikt har fantiserat ihop detta uttalande alldeles själv, som en ursäkt att slippa förändra mig. Och jag menar, jag har inte ens följt hennes råd. Blondsprej, över och ut.

girls and boys and full frustration

so why don't you care?

As I was pondering the existence of love and lust in a compatible combination I accidentally stumbled upon Capetown. Now I am head over heels with Mr Telephone. However I am no closer to solve the lust/love equation.



Though after discovering a new love I started wondering whether or not love and lust necessarily have to exist simultaneously. Obviously that's what our culture encourages, but then again our culture encourages a lot of other weird stuff like dental hygiene, reproduction and living the "rat race".


ps. paper clothing is kinda fun, but way uncomfortable ds.

Jo men, snart kanske jag blir kulturminister, så att...

Jag påbörjar härmed min Ulf Lundellupptäcksresa. Längden på detta projekt är allra högst obestämd. ”Hitler intar Paris”-temat pågick ett drygt halvår. ”Jag älskar messmör”-temat höll ungefär två minuter. Mellan tummen och pekfingret alltså. Han är en man jag inte känner, en musik som gått mig förbi. Det är fattigt.

Så ock Youtubes Lundellutbud. Deezers obefintligt. Nåväl. En halvtimme in på mitt megasuperspännande projekt har jag funnit denna låt. Nådens år 1978 och Mister Ulf Lone Wolf Lundell har fått Miss Dancing Queen, Agnetha Fältskog att agera doaflicka:

Because there is only so much ham and Emil one can take before turning to the internet

I do so love Christmas Day. There's a complete calm throughout the entire house. People are crawled up on the couch watching television they'd otherwise never watch. Or relaxing, "playing" with whatever they received the day before. There's no stress, and no need to wear a tie (even though I kinda like it) or an ironed shirt. Today is the day of chocolate and pyjamas. All day.

And for no other reason than that Leisha Hailey is easy to love (especially when she's looking semi-pretentious and plays with a unicorn), I thought I'd drop a few Uh Huh Her vids for you to enjoy. If you're not experiencing that relaxed feeling at least you can watch/listen and pretend you do.