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".

Ouch

Ape is gone and all is darkness. Proof of the darkness was earlier today provided by tiny, who were convinced that the sole reason Spotify was malfunctioning was because Ape had left the country. And me, I've been forced to socialize with people who aren’t Ape. It proved difficult. Yesterday night, an *acquaintance* approached me and, apropos of nothing:

- You damn imperialist swine!
- What…? I thought we were friends!?
- That’s only on Facebook.
- Oh.

Oddballs, perfume, curse of the mousse

Ape puts on perfume and smells like one of those sunshiny, flowery, fairytale spring mornings, where clean isn’t simply a description, but a 4-dimensional cartoon, which you can smell.

Lolly puts on perfume and smells like the oriental mistress, whose comforting touch and libido is woven of silky embraces of musk and oranges and obscure passion.

tiny puts on perfume and smells of inexplicable and unearthly perfection and something supposedly ephemeral, for no matter how much you smell her you can never fully grasp its complexity.

And me, I put on perfume, which as it hits my skin reacts, evolves and smells of something sticky, unbearable and ill-boding. Almost like the way you might detect an assertive-smelling smell, not knowing what it is and wonder whether it smells good or bad before you realize it’s rottening garbage you smell. Or zombies. That’s me using perfume. Any perfume.

More conformist shit.

- Reconnect with Her!

- Send Her a message!

- Write on Her wall!

- You haven’t talked on Facebook lately, sen Her a message!

- Reconnect with Her!

- Write on Her wall!

- Send Her a message!

- Help make Facebook better for Her.

- Poke Her!

For what feels like several weeks now, Facebook has been placing a small picture of tiny in the right column of the home page. Never anyone else. The picture shows tiny looking at me from below, somewhat hunchback-like, and Facebook continously attaches subtle messages to her picture. The words change from time to time, but the original message still remains. tiny doesn’t fit into the Facebook Dream. For that I love Her.

And the Facebook shall never know.

Ledsen för attacken. Jag mår bättre nu.

Jag förespråkar dock fortfarande diskret hemmaträning.

Help me help you help yourself. And then let's go public!

So what we did was we put tiny stretched out on a couch, after we had finished a cider & soup-dinner and a delicious dark and white chocolate cake covered in various roasted nuts. Having briefly discussed whether a canapé is a divan or finger food, we quickly identified tiny's very outspoken wish to “become normal” as the key symptom of her disease. With the help of Rorschach ink blots we encouraged her to see genitals where she at first glance had seen nothing but factories and Santas. When she had hugged a pillow for thirty minutes or so, while getting a jellybean for each of what we considered to be the only one correct genital-answer to the ink-blot pictures, we finished the session and watched half an episode of the unfathomable series named True Blood. I think, all in all, we did good, Ape and I.

According to Lisa, in France, all you have to do to work as a psychoanalyst is to have undergone psychoanalysis yourself. Yup. It's what I’d like to call a “Plan B”.

These are tiny's "two santas" that we successfully made her turn into a "vagina"

How was your day?

Yesterday sucked, thoroughly. Or at least until I read a random sign. After I made the discovery that as part of being a nurse comes the duty to scrub the patients' belly buttons before surgery. After that point I kept imagining tiny enthusiastically scrubbing all kinds of navels; old, young, male, female, short, fat, pointy, tall, small. It was a mental imagery that worked as my spoonful of sugar and the rest of the working day flew by.

Also later on I was made aware of the fact that Dollhouse had aired the previous evening. I threw myself all over it (though with low expectations, the trailer kinda sucked) and now wish to be scolded by Ms. Penn. Oh, and also I'm rather excited, because it's the best television I've seen in a very long time. And not just because of the white dress/pillowcase. It's like a philosophy lesson in the feel of an anime with touches of Whedon all over, plus all the eye candy you could possibly wish for.

Fighting mainstream in built up areas

At the central station, last Wednesday...

t: It’s so funny, walking around in crowds. I swear, nine out of ten people I see in the street could be you.
M: That was not a compliment.
t: What? It’s not something bad. It’s the way you dress!
M: I hate you.

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.

The Violence Within

After reading about Mousse's dream I kept thinking about violence. Then when I came home and looked through the pictures on my laptop (trying to fund one for this new treny place called Facebook), it hit me. We have a violent person amongst us and I was rather surprised to find out whom it was. Is it Mousse with her big words? Is it Lolita with her attitude and army training? Is it me with my arrogancy? Nope! It's Tiny.





I was rather amused to realise that in more than one photo she is pummelling one of us. From the innocent face punch, to the throttling and even the fully body pounce. It's too bad I don't have a photo from "Knutmasso", her and Lolita didn't stop until they were both in a mixed up pile on the frozen ground with a million of tiny leek fragments surrounding them.