Successfully aborted in the 16oo's.

Me and Ape have been in class together many times, but never voluntarily so. Drawn together in high school, we were struggling just to survive to lunch break or the end of the day. There were moments of extreme joy, no doubt. But the feeling you get when you choose to study something out of pure interest and inclination and you find yourself doing just that, and now together with a friend, is frickin' awesome.

It doesn’t matter that the current lecturer is best described as a person who seems to be making a bad impersonation of someone with an absolute lack of charisma and authority but really, and sadly, is only that. We had two goals as we entered the classroom. The first was to convince the class that reading Woolf’s Orlando was a good idea. The person without charisma proved helpful in this quest and we soon won great success. Our next goal was to get Wednesdays for the Woolf-group. We got Tuesdays. Why? Because the Aggressive-Sixties’-Feminism seminar group wanted Tuesdays and we didn’t feel like picking a fight with this lot and thus risk reviving certain tedious and old-fashioned preconceptions. We’re unbiased and we’ll stay unbiased. Tuesdays.

Actually, we sort of had a third goal going on as well. We thought it would be appropriate, almost expected, to dress up like “feminist classics”, as it WAS the name of the class. Turns out it wasn’t. Expected. But we still felt strangely appropriate in our light versions of butch/femme outfits.

............................

Lecturer: So, any more suggestions…? Yes?
Cuba boy: I want to read something a little more modern. Maybe social constructivist…
Ape: Judith Butler.
*Mousse looks at Ape with terror*
(...)
Lecturer: Judith Butler is a good idea.
Mousse (silently): No, it isn’t! *hits Ape*

The world bends to your will.

I've always known this, but it feels as if this is the first time I've really understood what that means. The world quite literally bends to your will.

I've been working again and that always leads to excessive thinking and after a brief conversation with my younger sister it hit me. Right between the eyes. You create your own world.

The scary notion with this though, is that nobody will ever be able to experience your world. And if that's true, which I really think it is, how will we ever be able to live together in anything even close to harmony?

We won't, will we!?

Vi snackar inte tidelag.

Att JAG ska bli anklagad för att vara ”politiskt inkorrekt” för att jag kallar en paraplyaralia för benjaminfikus! Jag vet inte om det har gått überinflation i begreppet PK eller om människor (inklusive jag själv, kanske) nu slutgiltigt tappat allt vad naturlig relation heter när det kommer till den till flora och fauna.

I sådant fall gör det inte så mycket. Inte idag.

På väg hem från en sedvanlig impulsshopping på systemet finner jag mig helt plötsligt i mitten av en halvt euforisk folkmassa. De står utanför den udda ingången till Forumgallerian, den tvärs emot Jack & Jones. Förklaringen till deras spontana gemenskap finner sin upprinnelse i vad som sitter i trädet precis utanför gallerian. Det kanske är en asp. Hursomhelst, jag följer deras pekande fingrar och kameror och får syn på en fjäderklädd figur med svarta ögon. Jag vet ju inte exakt vad det är jag ser, men det är någon sorts storvuxen, uggleliknande fågel. I vad jag antar vara vinterskrud har den slagit sig ner där ovanför gågatan. Och dess uppenbarelse är uppenbarligen beundransvärd.

Den är så fin att jag också börjar le. Folkmassan.

Literal Voyeur

Some like whiskers on kittens and mittens, some of my favourite things on the other hand, is to find old library receipts in books you've checked out. It's such a simple pleasure, but for that moment when you are reading it you get to peek at the life of a stranger. A stranger that through the fictional world you have shared almost feels like...a friend. You are connected through such a simple thing as shared influences. It's a rather amazing feeling.

And now I feel the need to check out more books from that person's list to make our connection even stronger. Plus from now on I think I will start leaving things in all books I return. For I am not only a voyeur, I'm an exhibitionist as well.

In case you don't know what to read, here are a few suggestions from the Unknown Sharer. Whoever the person is, seems to have very good taste.

• Sacred Games by Chandra
• Heart-shaped Box by Hill
• Kom I Form Med Balansboll by Nymann (so okay, everyone are allowed to have literal transgressions)
• Saturnalia by Davis
• Rain Dogs by Waits
• Fingersmith by Waters

And her manners proved pleasing.

- Do I look fat in this?
- God no, that’s just… how the dress looks. And it looks amazing!
- Do you really mean that?
- Yeah, you’re looking good! *thumbs up*

What the fuck can I say. I hate having to convince unknown women outside fitting rooms that they look good. I have no problems zipping them up, however tricky the little zipper happens to be. I would never run down the helpful muscles. But when she comes rushing out of her cabin for the second time, now asking me how she looks, and I find myself convincing her that “you don’t look fat at all” I am slightly disgusted with myself. And as I later, for the grand finale, drop the overly encouraging line “Buy, buy, buy!” and get a smile from a nearby shop assistant, I know I deserve poison in my food.

Don't think I didn't know I was a capitalistic and girly product. It's just that I thought that maybe I had reached the point where I know when not to flaunt it.

My only capitalistic and girly comfort now is that she did look great in her dress and that she got it for a damn good price.

three hundred posts and babbling

Serves me right. I diss psychology and it disses me right back. It’s a proper butt fuck. I failed! A whole test! For the first time in my life! It feels strangely releasing. I think, if someone would really piss me off now, I might be able to kill that person. Because I have failed in school I am now half-way to becoming a juvenile delinquent. Or wait, am I too old? Because if that is the case, it would mean I’d just embody the pathetic student who can’t deal with problems maturely. And that, dear Oddballs, would be the opposite of “Newsflash!”.

Where am I going with this? First, let me present to you my conclusion, however superfluous: Just because you hate something (psychology) doesn’t mean you don’t think the knowledge isn’t worth anything. To many nots? I do not disagree. Anyway, stay with me! I’ve been watching the first three episodes of Whedon’s Dollhouse that Ape gave me. And I have got to say, I was a little disappointed. Maybe Eliza Dushku isn’t the right person for the job. She is also the producer. Weird, no? I like her, and she is a good actor. But in this context, she’s not doing it for me. The first episode was ok, like, I think I might be liking this, give me more! The second one was good. The action! The beginning to crackle of the Echo! And then there’s episode three and I am on occasion downright bored. What is this? I had not expected this series to be so excruciatingly mainstream. Everything about it breathes déjà-vu, and not the eerie concept kind but the been there done that kind of DV. If it had just breathed a little more Whedon. This only breathes pleasing the masses and gaining little or no nerd-respect. But mark well, I have not yet given up on Dollhouse.

To move on, I was now supposed to elaborate on why I think psychology is made interesting when watching Dollhouse. Like how they approach the concept of personality and its psychological, biological and cultural components. Or how they don’t. I don’t know, I suddenly lost my inspiration. And I have also reached a higher, much better level of my previous conclusion. So basically, I’m just going to drop the part where I argue for my cause and skip ahead to my final and possibly incomprehensible words:

Just because you are disappointed with something (psychology, Dollhouse) doesn’t mean you don’t think it isn’t worth… Nothing? Funny, I’ve always pictured myself master of negations. Turns out I’m not. But then again, I never pictured myself failing a test.

I go now…?

Pristine Pipes

Sealab 2021

Lately Very Hungry II

Studying psychology sucks. There is nothing challenging about it whatsoever. Not at this level anyway. I need my mind to be fucked at least once a day to function properly

and I ain’t getting anything.

I can provide you with stunning statistics, I can estimate your IQ to be hereditary to an extent of about 70 %, I can I can tell you exactly why I almost had a panic attack just from having to go to school too early and I CAN draw a random graph where the variability is: high. I know the name of Freud’s daughter. I could point out Pavlov’s face among a hundred. I can perform an experiment on you and tell the world something mildly interesting about your working memory. I can probably - amateurishly - diagnose each one of the Oddballs within seven minutes.

But none of this satisfies. None of this makes studying really worthwhile.

Edit: What I MEANT to say with this post was that this shit affects my whole life. Without the challenge, without the mindfucks, I get nothing to work with. I have nothing to rest my mind on. I need a constant flow of new frameworks to help nourish my own weakling of Creativity and I don't have the power to provide myself with the tools. I'm spoiled rotten from earlier studying, and the reality of psychology is slowly killing what little self-grown spark I have inside me. I'm drowning in reason and I'm not allowed to scream. I picture myself older, and seemingly satisfied with just this, and I want to strangle that me with a chain.

Because everyone are talking.

I've been bombarded today, it's everywhere. So I thought I'd do my duty and blog about it as well. But instead of using my own words I thought I'd just post an amusing comment I found on YouTube.

Not that hate is amusing, but...sometimes it actually is.

And who knew, the trainer dude isn't a mute. Too bad, I was kinda hoping for a mute prince. Would have been nice...and very Swedish.

Mina damer!

Vad? - Kalas!
När? - 090225 klockslag kan diskuteras, I'm all yours.
Var? - Där Sala Backe-flickan bor
Klädsel? - Ja. Inledningsvis burka, därefter cocktailklänning.

A little something for Lolly

Seeing how she's on her way home, it felt appropriate to dedicate a post to her. Therefore, the following vid is for Lolly. But let the rest of us enjoy it was well.

le Café - Oldelaf (english subtitles)
Uploaded by Boebis

'Although rectally applying eardrops might be classified as bad...'

"...obedience to an authority figure is inherently neither good nor bad." (Passer & Smith et. al 2009:617)

Yes, I am studying. And according to the book, society would face chaos without obedience. That slightly superfluous information got me thinking about Ape, naturally, and why it is such an excellent idea of her to start a bdsm club. It would be order in chaos, her own tiny cosmos. However submissive, she would be God. And thanks to that, I now finally comprehend the concept of a "humble" god. It's all so clear now. God just wants Its ass spanked.

On a brighter note, and to keep on the never inexhaustible Ape track, Monday was PayDay and I got store-bought cinnamon buns.

On a yet brighter note, Lolita will be home on leave next week and we will celebrate her belated birthday.

On a not so bright one, Little Lemming (Marty) has lost the ability to send text messages. And she's been facing a lot of poop lately, although that delicate info might well have been classified.

Today I'm listening to Indian Thriller and my thoughts go to all you children out there who are proud to be harelipped and do not try to surgically correct yourselves. In other words, Val Kilmer, Joaquin Phoenix and Therese from my old class are absolutely not in my thoughts today.

Power to the hare-people!

Nudity -- it's subjective.

When I said yes, this is what I meant.

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

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.

Saltmannen!

http://www.saltmannen.se/

Notera hur många gånger Teddybjörnen Fredriksson är med. Det kan bara metyda att Lasse B sluddrar och troligtvis var full (eller kanske har ett talfel?).
Mystik!

Jag fick ett brev idag!
Det handlade om Afrika och det var en teckning i kuvertet. Jag ska nog sätta upp teckningen i STEXet. Den passar här tillsammans med PartyRäven, Wunder Baumen och Hallonalmanackan.

The latest from the viral world

Meet 7 year old David. This is his 15 minutes of fame. And oh how he'll hate his father once he grows up and understands this. But in the meanwhile he is strangely relatable in this post-dentist video. Possibly because of his Oddball behaviour, if you disregard the drugs.

For I am also a woman of my words.

For I am Samson.

Lolly matches her uniform, Mos is pleasantly brown, tiny is playfully blonde and I am...



...robbed of my strength. Very much of it.

Den där veckan när jag fick en burkha på posten.

...and everything kept coming back to religion.

My week began on a rather lovely note. As I went to get the post I had one of those surprises that makes an entire week (or possibly quarter of a year). There it was. A parcel with Afghanistan as a return address. Already I was giddy as an opiated sheep, things only got much much worse as I opened it to reveal a beautifully bright green burkha. Life was wonderful. And the wonders only continued as I put it on. In an instant I was transformed into a highly politically incorrect mixture between Barbalala and Superman. I roamed through our house looking for Lois Lane who had been captured by Talibans disguised as evil sheep. Just as I was to embark on a heroic rescue my sister stepped through the door and my elaborately constructed alternative reality disintegrated into a million little dust particles.

The week continued with suggestive comments, English speaking, more religion in the forms of both Allah and the vengeful sodomite smiter usually referred to as the Almighty Father. Not to mention mishaps at the sperm bank and kick-bike adventures i Kulverten. Then there was also 5 minutes when I considered becoming a nun.

Now I'm standing on the dunes beyond religion looking out over the vast sea of weird human behaviour feeling a strangely acute sense of compassion. Which in turn led me down the internet road to RFSL and apparently I might be doing some volunteering, and if I am I do expect all of you to stop by and support my pamphlet pushing during Uppsala Pride.

I really like how Ape works, gets money and buys me candy. I do not only like it, in fact I love it. It is an arrangement possibly descended from heaven. I wish the world would always look like this. And yes, this has partly to do with the fact that she got bruised from cleaning the sperm bank while making said money.

Sometimes, life makes so much sense it hurts.

Lösnäsan strikes again!

Denna gång har lösnäsan påtvingat mig konst!

Jag gillar inte att bli tvingad till saker, speciellt inte till att lyssna på någons favoritmusik, se på JÄTTEROLIGA (yeah right...) Youtube-klipp eller titta på någons favoritkonst (och då förväntas tycka om den).

Detta har lösnäsan klarat med bravur. Jag har uppskattat allt det han, likt en buffé, erbjudit mig.

http://www.banksy.co.uk/

Den där dagen jag fick en burka på posten.

Det är så den här måndagen kommer förvaras i mitt minne. Att jag åt solrosbröd till frukost, att jag lärde mig om emotioner på morgonlektionerna, att jag fick en superhemlig lapp av Anja som sa att jag var snygg, att jag spenderade lunchen med Amanda, att jag bjöd mina klasskamrater på citronjätten på eftermiddagen, att jag hälsade på en Patrik i köket eller att jag åt fiskgratäng till middag - allt det kommer blekna.

För idag fick jag en burka på posten.

Tack Rebecca – vår flicka på fronten - som trots reellt krig och eventuellt armod har tagit sig tid att skicka en sådan fin och överraskande present.

Jag och min burka.

9000+

So I asked my brother for a youtube clip and got this.

Yeah. It's pretty intense.

Yet another famous Oddball

Dolly Rebecca Parton
-- How appropriate.


As I’m reading a biography on Dolly Parton it becomes very clear why she holds the fascination she does. Or at least to me.


A hyperactive kid. A self-proclaimed outsider. A storyteller. A genderfucker. A humanist. A dreamer. And…not what she seems. And as if that wasn't good enough, she's loud and cheap as well. She fits like a ball in the odd-glove.



Anyone want to go to Tennessee with me?

ps. And what is it with 1946 and famous honorary Oddballs? ds.

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.

'Glöm att du fick det här samtalet!'

Min mobil ringde igår.

- Hej, det här är doktor X från läkarmottagningen i X (min hemort).
- Jaha. Hej.
- Känns det här ärendet bekant?
- Ja...
- Ja.
- Eller förlåt, jag menar NEJ!

Intresseklubben antecknar.

girls and boys and full frustration

Oddball update (tediously refreshing or refreshingly tedious?)

Today I thought I wanted to go out, drink large amounts of alcohol and dance my brains out. But as the Ape was out of money and tiny doesn’t do too well in public (for all the best reasons) the Oddballs spent their Saturday night indoors, almost sober.

One would fear that the night was only that – cocooned and dry. But nay! The Ape had brought her “bag of tricks” containing this:

a large bottle of flat Coca Cola,
a deck of cards,
a book on fortune-telling,
a Vampire erotica-film,
a bag of popped corn
and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon with a label featuring Elvis.

All this, together with tiny’s wearing make-up, a dress and high heels, made it a great night. We never tasted the wine, but the presence of the King was obviously enough for us to start tell me fortunes (I'm getting married soon), eat thousands of popcorns, dance like freaks and then finally plunge into the gory but subtle erotica of The Living Dead Girl. A subtlety that naturally anticipated dissection and explicitness in this outspoken guild of Odds.

An era has come to an end.

Moa died two days ago. The stupid dog who ate too much, puked too often and smelled badly. The dog who hated other dogs, were suspicious of people and only a couple of months ago attacked and sunk her teeth into a harmless Golden Retriever. The dog who always took my spot on the sofa at the kitchen table. The dog who spent her summers on her back, bronzing her belly in the sun. The dog who I taught tricks and ran around and played with.The dog who’s been around for more than half my life. The dog who I respected and loved more than I will ever do any other dog.

For once, I did not reproach Whedon for making a seventh season of Buffy. There is death, tears, dog death and general misery. I watched nine episodes in a row and cried myself to sleep.

I’m okay, but I miss her.

more for the score

För dig som provocerades av det faktum att vi klädde ut oss till tändstickor förra veckan och har en böjelse för självplågeri:

Mer bilder.

(Och tomrummet ovan är för övrigt en konstpaus och beror inte alls på att jag är html-kodligt handikappad.)

Trick is to get over it, or under it, and enter it.

Tonight we had burgers student style. Ape's was free, tiny's was good and Mousse's was moldy.

During the meal, tiny explained why she chose to spend her Sunday in the company of approximately one hundred naked women's bodies, and why she was "in awe". Mousse taught the crowd how to correctly drink a pint of Staropramen dark while Ape wore butch and elaborated on Lenin's kind heart.

Afterwards, we wrote down words.

We share!

Next time, we'll just podcast it. For the blind and the dyslexic. And the most desperate.

He entered the room. Then he entered a woman. And another one. And another one. And now he’s spent.

Oh! OOH!

He’s back. He enters a woman.

The woman, seemingly mad, stakes him.

- Do not stake while I am staking you, please.

- Oh, I’m sorry, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.

He enters another woman. She speaks no words. He throws his head back and laughs. Why is he laughing?

Because he is entering a woman.

Red hair. A red haired woman is watching him from afar. Across the room. Her gaze is as penetrating as… Suddenly, the devil appears. He’s wearing a cape. Otherwise he is naked.

- Who are you and what the hell are you doing in my women?

- I am a soulless bastard. I like entering. A lot.

- As do I (man appears)

- Superman!? Where is your powersuit? asks the vampire

- This IS my powersuit!

- Oh, I see that. Now. Are you really as fast as they say? the Devil asks.

- Hahaha! laughs Superman

- A gentleman would never kiss and tell…? (Devil)

- I like you, says Superman with a coy and flirtatious smile.

- I enter you! (Devil)

And this is the point when the number one enterer (Vampire) turns to the camera and looks vulnerable.

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.

En fredag utan fisk.

Jag hade nog tänkt mig en spännande och väldigt utvecklande post här. jag var verkligen på G. Det blev inte så.

Idag har jag inte ens lärt mig några nya roliga saker...
Enlighten me!

don't have the heart to live in the fast lane

Du är ju tjej. Du är ju tjej!

Ape lutar sig förtroligt fram över disken,
möter hans blick och framför sitt ärende.

- Solstickan. Tändstickor.
- Vi har det. Men de är dyrast.
- Vi tar dem.
- 4 kr, tack.

Efter Pressbyrån tog vi 811:an ut till landsbygden för att delta i folkfesten där vi skulle socialisera med kattflickor, alppojkar, fjärilstanter, bäbisgubbar, en tjuvbjörn och en och annan shejk. Vi drack madeirakopia ur fickplunta, vi dansade till 90-talets radioplågor och tände eld på löpande band. Shejken påstod för övrigt vid något tillfälle att rochas betyder ”röd” och inte alls ”det ligger skönt i munnen”. Jag är dock långt ifrån överbevisad och hänvisar fortfarande till originaldefinitionen.

Andra saker hände. Det var polarbröd i en cementblandare. Det var en man som letade bröst på en tändsticka och fick en knytnäve i ryggen av en annan. Vidare var det minst två män som blev nekade att dansa med Ape.

Ape ägnade istället sin tid åt att kramas. Ape kramade B, Ape kramade främlingar, Ape gruppkramades och jag tror även Ape kramade sig själv ibland, när ingen såg på. Själv var jag närapå modest. Jag muckade gräl med färre än tio personer, jag drack mindre sprit än jag gjort när jag kräkts och jag dansade ovanligt påklätt. Sammanfattningsvis tycker jag att både min och Apans oväntade utveckling är högst intressant men tänker inte motarbeta en eventuell regression.

Det var allt.

Och här (märk bäbis)!

Superstars [a rapport from Knutmasso 2009]

The responsibility to do the common Swede's duty regarding "Knutmasso 2009" has fallen upon my stout if somewhat dirty shoulders (the paint spread as I was trying to get rid of it).

After marvelling at our own joint creativity we turned ourselves dark to fit into the winter night. Once not only our faces and necks (ears and fingers), but also large parts of B's bathroom were black we pulled on our home-made costumes, bounced our fluffy hair and set off to the carneval.

With pride we strutted our stuff up and down Gimo mainstreet. We looked good, and we knew it. And thanks to our skilfully crafted matchbox people seemed to actually recognise our effort and more than one "Oh look at the matches" was joyously shouted from the onlookers.

Taking turns holding our matchbox close to our hearts we danced the night away to glorious music and dreamed of the more beautiful aspects of country life. It was truly beautiful, if you ignored the sweat and smell of cheap beer.

As the evening came to an end and turned into night I and Mos hoped on the last coach back to Uppsala. At the back of the buss we let our hair swing freely as we enjoyed the slightly surreal experience. Once back in Up-town we got to enjoy walking from the bus to Mos' place all dressed up while humming with wellbeing (as well as just humming) after a very successful evening despite the apparant lack of rumbling (other than internally). And even though we were unsuccessful at scaring any children during the parading we successfully managed to get a grown man to rather fearfully exclaim "Jesus Christ!" as we rounded a dark corner.

Yeah, it was a good little event. But next time, next time we need quantity. That means you will have to be there as well.

Coming Up:
Pictures and Swedish

Tänk! Hela Sveriges elit av drevrar - samlad i vår skog!

Imorgon är det knutmasso och vi lider bortfall ur leden.

Mest beklagar jag nu att Aqua aldrig fick göra en musikvideo till den här låten.

This Week on Youtube

This is sort of exactly what I wanted to do to Aguilera's Beautiful. The only difference between Jasmine here and myself is that she is a composed professional, whereas I always start to cry.

Practice makes perfect, or less awkward at least

Because I'm practising this entire hugging thing, but I still have miles to go before I sleep. Or well until I get this hugging business under control. Though I still think the world would be a easier place if there was this much clarity in it, but I guess even so I'd still make the same face as the greenish dude.

out

I was rumbled yesterday. Woke up feeling raped.

And this was the song playing in my head. Together with a headache.

Jag är en vampyr.

Min vän lösnäsan spelade en låt för mig, den har fastnat på min hjärna, och jag har tondövt nynnat på den i två dagar nu.
Jag känner att jag måste dela med mig av den, ty Assie uppskattar troligtvis inte att jag spelar den på repeat hela tiden.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yGNvjAWaRhA

"hela världen är så underbar"

Ohhh.

Put on a pair of headphones. Start the clip. Close your eyes and enjoy messing with your brain.

Jag hittade en hundring idag.

Jag är på väg till tvättstugan när den glittrar till från sin placering på golvet och fångar min blick. Det går en kall ilning genom kroppen och jag minns hur jag på Rue Jean Moinon en gång för snart två år sedan var på väg hem och plötsligt hittade en hundraeurosedel vid mina fötter. De är gröna och tilltalande. Jag hade en gång ägt en sådan sedel. Det var tyvärr mycket kortvarigt. I ungefär sjuttio mil ägde jag den, tills det att Air France vid en mellanlandning plötsligt krävde att jag skulle betala för min övervikt. Och nu gick jag där på min gata och såg chansen att äga en grön sedel igen. Jag stannade, sträckte min hand mot den och två decimeter innan jag nådde fram såg jag att sedeln var blank och ett reklamblad. Min rörelse var dock redan förprogrammerad och omöjlig att avbryta. Så där stod jag, med en jävla flyer i handen och ett gäng ligister till ungdomar lite längre fram på gatan som asgarvar åt mig och min naïveté. Förövrigt säkert exakt samma otäcka underåringar som i brist på annan sysselsättning brukade stå och kedjeröka och halsa Explorer i tinys och min trappuppgång på helgerna. Jag tittade åt deras håll, skrattade ansträngt och slängde tillbaka lappen på gatan.

Nå, så då står jag här igen, på min gata (läs: korridor) och känner mig återigen iakttagen och redan halvt grundlurad. Givetvis ignorerar jag reflexmässigt sedeln och skyndar vidare till tvättstugan. På vägen tillbaka fiskar jag ändå upp den i förbifarten. Paus för skratt. Ingen reaktion. Jag ska finna din rätta ägare, viskar jag till pappersbiten i min hand och smiter in på mitt rum.

Ännu har ingen svarat på min lapp i köket som högtidligt förkunnar att jag hittat en peng som återfås mot utförlig beskrivning.

Ack. Jag vet att den kommer förgöra mig om den stannar i min ägo. Den kommer hålla mig ung, men i längden förblinda mitt sinne och fördärva mitt hjärta.

"The carpet match the drapes?"

It is seldom you find something off-beat on television or in film. You know something, anything that doesn’t follow what you’re used to. Something that steps outside of our world. Not sci-fi or fantasy, but simply a world where behaviour is off, but at the same time familiar.

I stumbled upon Strangers with Candy this morning. I had no intentions of watching anything at all, but then something made me stay for two minutes and I was hooked. I simply had to continue watching this gloriously odd little movie. I’ve never seen the show, which apparently is better, but if it's anywhere near this, it had to be glorious.

It messed with everything and was cruel and demeaning of everyone and thing. Still it was adorable. Just because it wasn’t what was expected. It is way too seldom you see a movie that goes against expected behaviour. Basically it was just another teenage movie, but no-one acted like they should. They acted like…like when you imagine things. It was like one of our “stories” only it was film.

It was highly pleasurable.

I only like unicorns because of Tom Cruise

And because they don’t poop, like the other horsies.

The thing I wanted to say was thank you Lola for the scarves. I love them very much, and more and more for each hour. Their fabric is soft and their pattern is pleasing. I was going to paint me a nice and sturdy unibrow to go with my creation, but decided against it. I have great fear of unibrows, and being mistaken for someone who loves unibrows. Being taken for someone who likes to play with stereotypes is a lesser fear. Knowing me, one would think that truth scares me, but that’s only part true.

challa challa, as you run toward the sun, my child

Because apparently some of us likes unicorns

Vi kan inte gå runt det...

Fy fan så obehagligt det var, det mindes jag inte alls.



Vuxna män skall inte ha hotpants och knästrumpor på sig, ifal inte när de underhåller småbarn.

Raw Transition

Last year felt strangely nostalgic. It felt like one of those in-between type of years. Sure I graduated, sure there was loads of way fun stuff happening, but all of them were somehow painted in muted colours of sentimental nostalgia.

This year however feels raw. It feels like this is the year new stuff will happen. Not all of them pleasant, but more...raw.

It's strange that the word of this new year is "förpuppad" (cocooned) when in reality I think this will be the year of birth. I've got a feeling this will be the year when we, I, leave the cocoon. It might be a little painful and it might get a bit messy, but that's part of the roller-coaster. Nostalgia has sustained me, but I am now ready to try life as a larvae.

Looking out across the new year expanding in front of me all I can think of is transition.