December 22, 2005

despite my attempt to finish the first part of my new sequel "To be continued...", I simply do not have the time to do so before chritsmas or newyear. I am a persistent cliffhanger....

Anyhow: have a good one.

December 19, 2005


I walk into the nearest cafe. The chair seems to low, I almost sink into it. Order a round of chilli con carne and ask the waiter to cook it up with some dark chocolate, a squirt of lime and to serve it with bread and a beer. The cafe is filled to burst. I wait more than 30 minutes for the food to be served. I notice the girl sitting a the table next to me drinking indecisive from the a cup of cappucino. She has a servere handicap. To fingers at her left hand makes it out for one and ends in a big nail. Her face, her eyes, all out of proportions. A dark and heavy wintercoat is covering her skinny body. A sommerdress, torn and dirty, creeps out from under her coat. Silvercolored shoes and white socks and a dandruff way round the collar of her coat.
Between our table a german sheppard is lying, tied to a table, calm and behaved, it belongs to two other women at the next table to ours. She seems nervous about the dogs, talks in broken sentences about fear, a mumble more than words.
"Dont worry" the owner of the dog tells her. "You know its supersweet...."
The owner talks on to her friend at their table about another friend of hers who traveled to Jylland over the weekend with her membershipcard for TanStudio, and that shes really annoyed about it including the fact, that she had gone there - to fucking Jylland, with her ex boy friend, even though she just two days ago had him over for brunch.
My chilli is served. I eat it slowly. The dog is quiet, calm, but the girl with the cappucino is frozen stiff at her table. She is clearly afraid of dogs, and the friends at the third table knows it, they know her. They know her, and she trust them blind to help her.
Halfway through the chilli I pause to have a smoke. I break a piece og bread and secretly I feed it to the dog. Another piece of bread I smear in butter, put five whole jalapenos, break the bread, making a small sandwich. The dog eats the first bite in one go. Unnoticed I tease it with the second piece with the chilli, then pause and then go again. I let the bread fall to the floor and with my foot I push it in reach for the dog. It swallows the bread aggresively.

December 18, 2005

at "notes of a second rate poet" I will, following the context of "why this ...doenst love big business" and the somewhat more unfortunate attempt "the anthropology of cars" launch a new attempt called: TO BE CONTINUED...

Alas, here we go:


November, december, january gone. But the nights hangs in. One on top of the other, next to each other. Hand in hand they come, only divided by day.

I wait for her in newly fallen snow. Its very cold. Its dark. I stand next to a big bubbly recycle container for used bottles. Four men, all walking a dog seems to have a rendez-vous at the container. The upscale dresscode do not fit the energy they put in to slamming the bottles down the container. But it fis the neighbourhood. I doubt it if I do. The sound of broken class stresses me. I am waiting and I am stressed out.

She is not coming.

(to erase any doubt, this is where it is "to be continued...")

sweet. one word there for the work of jenny holzer

December 17, 2005

driving home from Randers just around sundown, the sky was lit up by orange and blue frost clear colours. About 5 miles from Viborg I noticed what could look like a big mushroom sky towering over Viborg, which led me to associate:
Well, that was it. The city is gone and I was glad. Somebody had made the choice for me: staying is not an option. The choice had no consequenses pointing back at my rationals.

I, the lucky sperm.

yesterday, working at the studio
I had a sms from a friend in Copenhagen. He wrote that he had just been out shopping when he saw this written on a wall:


I found that pretty haha funny and it made me think of the heydays working with Lennard making visuals for seniorrockers SPOKE.
We had among hours of films, what we called three minutes of animated "textfilm". One of the texts stated:


I answered my friend with the same statement, pointing out that he should not forget going for the root can be a mindblowing pleasure.
Which eventually led me to paint a new pix stating in bold 3 inch letters in my mothertongue, danish, the language I control, the thing that makes me worthy, my mental legs and intellectual arms, the power rest in me, not to embrace, but to strangle...well. The new painting?

fuck it, I just want to get shitfaced with jakob ejersbo and lennard grahn.

December 15, 2005

m odernity e nds t oday a nd s tarts t omorrow a nd e nds

l evel u nder sanity t reating o ngoing j okes e nd k now t he
e verlasting s occulent c unts a pes p ursue e verything g o o n a nything t rue

v ery e gomaniac s uite t ransforming e verything r ight b ut e venso r ightfully g one

God, I miss The State.

December 12, 2005


December 10, 2005


Again, Søren Krarup in DEADLINE (DR2) on friday night and in fridays papers was send up front to defend the danih goverments newest move. A total devaluation of the diagnosis POST TRAUMATIC STRESS which useually occurs after years of torture. PTS can among other things result in serious lerningdisabilities, and it has shown to be the case in Denmark. It has been really hard on these individualls to learn to s p e a k danish, which is a demand to get danish citizinship.
Søren Krarup and his siblings however, do not a c c e p t the consequenses of PST, and will not pass on danishsships to victims with PST who can not speak danish....yet. No, Krarup says, the citizenship is to be considered a gift (!), you have to be w o r th y..., he says. What makes HIM fucking worthy is a puzzle to me!

sorry, im crying here, but can noone stop that man and his DAnish Peoples PArty. We are how far from fascism, not only in the US, but here in our ugly little pond too?
I cant fuckin believe it. And I cant wait to read the papers today expecting there is someone outthere with the abililty to cut Krarup down and fire me up with arguments and rationals for not doing anything more drastic.
But you are pushing me Krarup, hard. And I really hate that.

December 09, 2005


Ive had it with welfare. These days, after the danish WelfareCommision handed in their paper on the future of DK and DK welfare, a slight panic have surfaced, understandably. But what really gets to me, is the fact that socalled experts the media drags out to relate to the work of the WelfareCommision, only relate to one issue: economics. And as I sated in an ealier posting: Its Still The Economy Stupid, I now refrase it to: Its Only Economy Fuckface!!!! Economy and social darwisnism.

The future is set with only room enough for a few winners of which you can say that they are inexpendaple, and: A human is only of use for other humans, as long as he or she serve the purpose of consuming, and the social thrashcan, the natural endgoal for the outcasts and the subhumans and the new underclass, is the natural endgoal for those who doesnt fit the tapestry, who asks question or raise a fight against exploitation. Thus: Survival is the mere core of human coexsistense and survival basicly revolves around surviving the others, and thus welfare is a matter of survival, and nolonger something you should expect to be a common good. The basic democratic principle of "the strong shields the less fortunate" has been wiped of the blackboard.
And so it is: unity is an illusion, equality likewise: Brotherhood and freedom I do not need to mention it.

So tell it like it fucking is: Its Ony The Economy you fucking looser.

December 07, 2005

oops, forgot this link to some great fractal-shots. tune in...

a tough day at the st st studio. an ongoing battle between discipline and s.o.c. well fuck it, its all part of the proces.

a comrate situation

a little quote to kick of your day. Trying to conceptualize my newest paintings and artsiefartzy attemps to disclose unfortunate consequenses of religion and capitalism, I stumpled upon this amazing book from 1975.
Though written in 1975 by american anthropologist Marvin Harris it offers a good many solutions and answers to the perplexing question of why people behave the way they do. The titel however"Cows, Pigs and Wars and Witches - The Riddles of Culture", caught my eye before the actual content.

Harris writes:

"Ignorance, fear and conflict are the basic elements og everyday conscoiusness. From these elements, arts and poltics fashion that collective dreamwork whose function it is to prevent people from understanding what their social life is alle about."

December 06, 2005

Over the weekend,
I attended the same special event Lennard mentioned yesterday at his blog at Not only did we attend the same event we are also running teammates over the last three years.
Allthough, in this duration, with only one noted victory, we are, what some would say the Onthologist of the mob. In other words, the rest of the mob are moons around us.

One thing stood out during this years Grand Pop Quiz. From the usual 40 sq. feet reality of popmaster Puttes Copenhagen crip, we had, by the means of St. Sigurts persistent work, moved the event to more tranquile settings in Lumsås - as told.

And it was indeed a weekend to rember. Though we lost again, perticularly cheered by the fact that BOBO did contribute to his team not winning either, it was a very mature and conflictfree weekend. Walks and memory in the sand, soccer on the beach, excessive amounts of dope and booze and everything with it, mysterious lights in the sand and so on and on and on.

I was the last man to leave the house on sunday night. Two hours after everyone had left I got up to leave, disconnect the power and hide the key. Everythting pitch black, silent and cold, nonetheless: But never I say, never, have I felt this mantra so hard:

You can be lonely but you are never alone.

December 01, 2005

o jikes....december come. allright then - light me up like a chritsmas tree and I ll burn out before I fade away.
Exited though, as I this weekend will travel to the danish village of LUMSÅS, famed in the 80s for being hit by an stray stinger missile which blew away 5 or 6 sommerhouses...well, thats were I am headed to meet up with 10 friends to drink, dub and compete in this years GrandPopQuiz 05, hosted by Putte- I strongly expect to take home the tacky trophee...again.

November 29, 2005

with the rest of the world frozen
this guy gets my undivided attention

the cutest boy in town

igen på dansk.

Følgende tekst er et direkte afskrift fra en flyer, placeret på et bord på en lokal cafe jeg nødtvunget frekventerer, fordi der kun er to cafeer i den her by hvor man kan holde sin slim latte kvota i top og altså deltage i følgende arrangementsrække. Af frygt for repressailer holder jeg cafeens navn anonymt, selvom det i sagens natur ikke kræver meget at gætte rigtigt - for en local....nå, til teksten fra flyeren lyder:

Cafe ... har skabt et modstykke til dagens cafe.
Cafe ... afholder klubaftener med DJ`s under navnet ...
Tiden nu er til DJs som har fat i folk og til klubing, hvor musikken er midtpunktet med et tempo der ikke tvinger folk til at danse, men som har elementer der groover. Klubing er til det man vil. Om man vil danse, hygge eller snakke er op til den enkelte. Musikken skaber stemningen og går ikke på kompromis. DJ`en bevæger sig varieret og bredt, men samtidig forstår han at trække en tråd gennem hele aftenen. Det er en oplevelse at høre DJ`en vandre rundt i musikkens genre og gøre det han er bedst til. DJ`en fletter genre som bl.a 60s og 70s, Funkybeats, Jazz, Chill Out, Disco, soundtracks sammen til en højre enhed- ... starter kl. 22 og slutter igen kl. 4 mens lysten til mere stadig er der.
Man bliver opslugt af stemningen, som skabes gennem aftenen. DJ`en har touch med stemningen og befinder sig tæt på publikum, så intensiteten øges.
... er Loungestemning, som giver folk muligheden fir at læne sig tilbage og nyde DJ`en trylle pulten.
Midt i dettet mekka af lyd og lys befinder sig baren som en oplyst helhed med bartendere i sort og hvidt med butterfly.
Det essentielle ved ... natcafe er stemningen og herunder musikken.

tak for kaffe...

November 28, 2005

its official
and this posting in english, to ensure the world market an oppurtunity to employ me

its official
im unemployed
I asked to get fired
and got fired
like I have been fired
from every fucking job I ever had

morally corrupt?
me? never...
its The Conspiracy

November 27, 2005

et motorsvejsdigt, mens denne andenrangs poet overvejer om han konsekvent skal skrive på dansk på bloggen selvom han på den måde frasiger sig potentialet for et gennembrud i verdenssamfundet.


frisk luft på avedøre havnevej
jeg prøver at tænde en smøg mens jeg kører
med nedrullede vinduer
en dårlig lighter
siger jeg og spørger hende
om hun gider at tænde

daddy can concentrate on trucking right
men det er svært
siger hun
giver mig smøgen igen og beklager at filteret er blevet vådt
det er svært
siger hun
at sluge med hovedet nedad

November 25, 2005

h e e ngulfs i n d ominant i rrationals

at work
I will quit. My anger, thus is over, just in time for christmas. Aint I the lucky one?

November 24, 2005


jeg er så fuldkomment illumineret af vrede, og iaftes fik den ansigt.
SØREN KRARUP. Dansk Folkepartis hofideolog, den altid paternalistiske og farligt velmenende SØREN KRARUP. Du er en kræftcelle, du er en seksuelt understimuleret facstoid badebillet - SØREN KRARUP, dig og dine, I er nogle anakronistiske fjolser, I ødelægger landet fra jeres skyttegrav, I er de egentlige terrorister....I er det stupide og hule ekko fra folketdybet, I sidder i ligeså meget middelalderligt kviksand, som de - de fremmede, I ved, I anklager over en kam, for at ville os det ilde, kneppe vores koner, nedbryde vores nation, bombe vores institutioner, skamfere vores børn og alt det der.

Men, skal det nogensinde blive anderledes, siger SØREN KRARUP, hvis vi kan få DEM til at læse HC Andersen, og ikke FØLE men FORSTÅ, fordi det har ikke noget med hinanden at gøre, sagde SØREN KRARUP i DEAdline i går aftes, så bliver de bedre mennesker, hvis bare de kan referere til handlingen i Den GRimme Ælling, saa er alt fint, det er med andre ord KANON.

SØREN KRARUPS sygdomsbefægte molykulære struktur har defineret danskheden med rod i guldalderromantikken, og nævnte ikke med et ord de væsentelige, ikke en eneste, kulturradikale strømninger kræfter eller personligheder, der......nej, stop mig., for i mit efterfølgende mareridt hørte og så jeg danmark med fuld rejsning på klaphatten appludere hans afstumpethed

SØREN KRARUP, du er et mentalt selvmordsbælte....

November 22, 2005


November 21, 2005

...this i s the new beginning knocklehead...its too late. you guys started it now deal with it...

November 20, 2005



November 19, 2005


November 18, 2005

You are such a reluctant ghost you fucking lucky sperm!


November 17, 2005


November 16, 2005


November 15, 2005

November 14, 2005

It is still capitalism you imbecile fuckball!

November 12, 2005

It is still the economy stupid!

November 09, 2005

at work,
I bled. In three weeks I will be sitting down to take a piss. Assimilation.

November 05, 2005

the egomaniac strikes back: after one year in abstinence from painting, I, as of yesterday moved into a new studio in beutiful surroundings framed be the local art-museum, Brænderigården, Viborg, DK
Builed upon the covered remains of some the oldest city-structure in DK, dating back to 800 AC, the ambience of this almost 250 year old building is stunning. First a prison for women, then a mental instituion, and later a breweri, the ghosts and inspirations are many, the studio it self: I mean, I can drench myself in paint, take a shower next door to it, running water, hot and plenty of it, and then scoope on to one of my three jobs, and be raped by doubt.

Nontheless: thinking of danish writer Søren Ulrik Thomsen, my october boulevard lead to and open november.
In other words: positivism, science and beliefs?

the man
the mueum and thier current show "bad ceramics":

October 30, 2005

Not at least because of the lunch we were invited to at renes place, the in fact stunning view from their patio of a declining forest under a bursting sun...the conversation at some point ended up on memorylane, or excuse me for being tacky at october boulevard, as conversations tend to do with old friends, this one on long forgotten but still living early german techno-bums DER PLAN, who with albums like "Fettere Jahre" made a stunning impression on me in the late eighties.
So this posting only a incouragement to visit their website at and check out the videodownloads from their 2004 album, fx. the tracks "milka kalb" and "copyright slavery".

I also strongly recommend a visit at Rene`s website at

October 27, 2005

bliver jeg nød til at skrive på dansk. Jeg fandt en annonce forleden i den lokale ugeavis "Viborg Bladet". Under overskriften "Forskellen mellem muslimsk og kultur" (jA!) inviterer Foreningen til oplysning om dansk kultur til informationsmøde på det lokale bibliotek på mandag. Første reaktion på annoncen: jeg var ved at kvæles i af grin i mit dhan-brød og indiske linsesuppe. jeg kunne simpelthen ikke vente med at få forkellen "mellem muslimsk og kultur" uddybet. Grinet stoppede dog da jeg søgte lidt videre på nettet for at se hvad det var for nogle Fætre der stod bag.

tjek det selv og nyd sangen

October 26, 2005

october. gosh. havnt said a word for a month. maybe because october means another year, another bitrhmark. 42, i am now only months younger than Elvis when he died.

September 29, 2005

these days nothing but calvinism and pathology.

thursday 16.14. the unfortunate genpool of the welfaresociety are eating birthdaycake. somebody is turning 24. nursing the system. it works and the pleasure of working should be boxed in, but..

September 21, 2005

did I already write the canvas is dry and did I also write that she replied: "so am I"?

strange days in small town trauma. though the town have grown considerable larger, so it seems, has the ghost and the machine. or a mere selvverstaendlich observation, the joke will run out in a month, so will the perspective of occupation. forgive me for nagging and not spilling the beans and the details, but the world has indeed imploded to the size of our patio.

from here to everywhere.

September 07, 2005

its been a while, a homecoming drama queen and a second rate poet now with a steady job and income. the club bore, the sweat is in your face, the reward is in heaven, all between is love and hate. ill bet theres more sides to it, but for now: trabajo, trabajo, trabajo.

thats spanish for work like squirk is english for a noise u can be without but cant escape.

August 19, 2005

reentertering the ghost orbit. awakening a sleeping cell, or falling...the reactions are many, one is blinding: My God, Its so WHITE!

August 12, 2005

the idiot is back on the road called straight. the reoccuring dream, another round and then another...

July 20, 2005

thursday its goodbye santa cruz. from this point, as a feeble measurement of movement, our car has covered 6591 milies of californian soil. thursday it LA, monday San Diego, the big question always once you`ve hit the road, is: why stop there?

so from thursday untill we land in DK utter silence on this blog.

July 17, 2005

July 13, 2005

after having acknowledged the assimilation, a daytrip to a local highligh The Mystery Spot, reinforced my beliefs in life in outer space. Moreover it is a classic example of americana roadside culture, worth a visit, and not the least, the mystery remains unsolved.

Dont walk into the light man, dont walk into the light


July 12, 2005

the nadir is gone. 23 days before liftoff, assimilation is complete. I am.

July 11, 2005

a steady beat:
where did it go-o, where did it go, where did it go-o, where did it go, where did it go-o, where did it go, where did it go-o, where did it go, where did it go-o, where did it go, where did it go-o, where did it go, where id it go-o, where did it go?

July 09, 2005

the words of albert camus springs to mind these days. "killing an arab", surely seems like an easier thing to cope white that the killings of caucasians. the news of london have been on now for more than 24 hours straight, more and more it seems, because they can. it leaves me with questions: is it in fact because western medie per se has more acces to such catastrophies that the coverage tends overkill or is it an expression of how they value life, code ethnic?

I guess there is so simple answer, but thinking about how 17 iraq cicilian got killed in one airraid over the weekend, and how it was mentioned by a short notice in NY Times - no TV - and at the same time, US official question the victims by placing them under suspicion for maybe having been linked to insurgency, draws a picture.

Alas, the harder it is to be a pacifist.

July 07, 2005

London: Again the war on terror strike the domestic turf. Saddening as it is, it should be no surprise, that a declared war takes casualties on both sides. Innocent as the victims in London as innocent are the numerous civilian iraqies and arabs killed on a day to day basic down east, but o we lucky ones, are spared of the gory and graphic details of their annihilation, that this moment are filling every news web-site on the london-bombings. I can say only this: If you join a war, and promote the proud idea of why and the will to fight to the end, dont act so f...... surprised of the consequences.

So from the bloom of summer and an american president in Denmark: this is what the world looks like: the third world war is at hand. Squirt or swallow.

July 06, 2005

I think most people, having been there or not, would agree that one of the most outstanding characteristica of Sna Francisco is that people do in fact walk. And it means stuff. It means stuff to me now that I found time to actually walk down Eugenia to Cortland in Bernal Heights and sit down at a cafe and pause. And it means stuff that whoever you left behind is ok with it. And it means stuff when the walk down is actually a farewell, yes, its super nostalgic, but this here city is winning for every stay and this stay being the last for years ... you see where I am going? Stuff thats means stuff.
I have walked down from the highest peak of Bernal Heights, a 1500 feet knoll though very visuable, it seems kind of secret or deserted. The view, a 360 degree turn, San Francisco at my feet but under my skin, the many colours of diversity, I decide that his city wins by a hair over Los Angeles, laughing at the choice, crying for where I am headed. The long farewells, the hardest ones, like an impossible choise between love and passion.

July 02, 2005

off to San Francisco and fourth of july weekend, fireworks of vulgar patriotism, alongside with El Presidentes visit to our little turf, sealing the unfortunate alliance with a kiss.

Globalisation kills your Gods but up your darlings. The car runs smooth.

Another daytrip to Pinnacles National Monument. The heat was reaching 35 celcius, and the climb up with Carl on the back made me stop 300 feet from the top. But still, the view, the grandeur, the soaring turkeyvultures, pfffffffff. 23 million year old rocks still moving north. Alive but the stillness.

Decline, the parkinglot. I drink a lot of water, have a smoke in the shade of my newly fixed jeep, joy and pain. Conversation with an elderly french couple, visiting The States for the last time. The man, though the lousy toupe, had worked for 20 years in the filmindustry in LA, I could see him boogie in a red verve vapor room, with go go girls and free lovedrugs. But the town grew too hectic so they had retired to live their senior years in Paris, but...wanted to see the scenes the moviebusiness kept them to busy to see.

Adieu, we said and drove off. July 1 2005.

the bird

June 29, 2005

I wonder if my own aggresive pessimism is the real jinks here, or if somebody outthere has cast a spell on my car. I fucking hate it, today the radiator blew, a 400 dollar setback and it blew two days before we planned to strat crisung the state....nobody deserves this.

And so, this second rate poet slides into oblivion for....who fucking cares?

thank u for laboratory aids.... what can stop this verbalizing piece of shit, satans unwanted daughter, the white and stranded beluga? its sick, he is sick, sad old men in religious suits and religious uniforms , its sick, its sick sick sick. its sick on one side and its sick on the other side. these are the last proofs of an idea that have never really been challenged, hence the virus, it just grows on you. and hell yes, we have the democracy we deserve. this is how it looks like. the jesus diet...

im outta here

klikken sie hier, but dont stop it

Panic in the US. A major chinese offshore oilcorporation has offered 18.5 billion dollar to purchase the american oilcompany Unocal. A deal that at first hand seemed to be kept domestic as Chevron had allready made a bid, but alas, the chinese are on a shopping spree like the japanese was it in the 80s and are slowly buying up american companies with the vast amount of american dollarreserves - the largest holding beside the american. It has selbverstaendlich caused a major commotion within the US, but El Presidente cant seem to find out which way the wind the wind blows as going against the bid would be a very un-capitalistic move, but on the other hand being bought out by China is about the worst thing that could happen to the soul of America.

Ill follow up on the progression in the matter. For now, only a bittersweet: first come, first served, ha!

June 27, 2005

10 years after my first blast of a LSD 25 microdot I dropped my last acid on a rare warm winterday 1994 somewhere north of Copenhagen DK. The lasting impression was the chequered sky. Little squares of blue and white like a chessboard I could move around at will.
Weeks later I discovered it was 1995 as I one night had to acknowledge I had lost my finer motoric and could no longer handroll a cigarette.

June 26, 2005

Airports, the epiphany of transport: God they are strange though contextualized by a tight logistic, they are out of this world, almost unnatural. The end of stories, the beginnings, the need for the displacement of the masses. I`ll never grasp, I will never love to fly, though I have an abillity to not be where I am at, to escape before I arrive, I the machine, I the airplane?

The frreway at night, the lights coming and going. Riding the snake, the river, so pitch black, it all flows together, the airport, the people, the freeway, the transport, the ships...noone is really there

June 25, 2005

another movie titel all in the makings
"The Big Day Out"

Work them terms honeymonster! Both cars fixed and running smoothly a week ago over three days but sold in less time it took to ... fix them. Thank God for Capitalism, suplly and demand.

Lighter, but now facing a nostalgic ghost ... leaving. More things and more actions becomes the last things and the last actions on these terms, more things become things that means more stuff.

June 23, 2005


a word to the loyal and fired up readers of this here blog. From saturday june 25, I am retreating for holiday activities. Offspring and family from DK is touching down for a three week vacation, and we will set out to look for America, firstly, we will get out of the State of California, most likely we will hit Oregon, Nevada, Arizona, Utah and Colorado and maybe a trip south of the borde: Viva La Mexico.

Therefore, today: This summers last part in ASK THE BRAIN, which I have been negleting, this one being part 10 approximately.

Here we go:

In the movie "Pulp Fiction" (1994) by Quentin Tarantino, in the scene where John Travolta and Samuel Jakcson is being hosed down by Harvey Keitel, after they have cleaned the car where the blew the brains out of some guy, they are being dressed up in very anti-gangster outfit, shorts and t-shirts.

The question is:

John Travolte is pulling on a t-shirt reprensenting an american university. Which university is that?

June 22, 2005

more on the F1 farce on sunday: but finally some sense. Minardi boss Paul Stoddart wants to look into the matter and not the least, he wants FIA boss Max Mosley ousted for his buttkissing Ferrari boss Jean Todt.

And I know, you cant choose your parents, but MOSLEY, does that ring a bell: If I say that Max Mosley is the second son of Oswald Mosley? Are we there yet? Sir Oswald Mosley? No?

killen sie hier

June 21, 2005

the farce continues: now the teams that didnt participate in the F1 race this sunday are facing charges from FIA. The Teams - not the company that produces the tires for 17 of the 20 teams in F1!

The one reason the teams chose not to start in the race, was that the tires of two cars - the BMW and Toyata - blew up during practice resulting in serious chrashes, why the rest of the teams driving with Michelin tires chose not to race this particular weekend, in solidarity with the other teeams, becaused they feared a major chrash that could injure both drivers and spectators. And now FIA wants the teams to pay.It doesnt make any fucking sense! Apparently no responsibilty seems to be placed on Michelin and niether is is discussed whether or not the points that amongst other, FIA-darling Michael Schumacher scored is to be considered just and fair.

Talk about amputating a sport. Get a grip FIA.

In the summer of 2003 I thought I was taking up golf as a leisure activity, but after a couple of visits to golfcourts around DK and being given the nickname "Indiana Jones" due to my constant digging in the expensive turf, I had to seek out.
Before I did that however, in an attempt to loose the nickname I started practising my swing on different turfs in Copenhagen. Not having enough money to buy the proper equipment I borrowed a 5 and 7 iron from a friend, and had a brilliant offer to buy 1500 golf-balls for 150 kroner: Another friend of mine, taking the consequence of poverty, but also the fact that golf is the fastest growing sport in DK, had for a year now - at night - been driving around DK, with a wetsuit a lamp and a net and collected lost golfballs from the ponds on different courts. Thats innovation, but also one of the reasons I pulled off of the turf and took up tennis.

let very last bit I could have for formula one driver Michael Schumacher evaporated. After the farce at Indianapolis Motor Speedway yesterday where only the three teams driving with Bridgestone tires let the cars start, Schumacher in an interview in NY Times today says: "I have won 84 races, I can afford to have one strange one"

One strange one? Theres been a lot Michael. But fuck them you the most wellpaid sportsman in the world. Not only did you through this race sneak up to third place in one of your worst seasons ever, you also be-shitted everything bit of solidarity with the other teams and drivers and spectators. Michael, you are Satans un-wanted daughter!

June 20, 2005

We walk home - together. I am smoking more than one cigarette. She says smoking causes cancer, thats all she says. I say I know I can read - to be alive causes death and aint that just a bitch.
Her apartment is so small theres no room to talk. The mood has changed. From the fourth floor I flicker another cigaretbutt out the window and watch how it races through and thin and fine silvery rain and burns on the ground for a second before it dies out.
I turn around, she sits on the bed with a giant bottle of lotion and she lies back and I through myself in her.

one name: tom kristensen. 7 victories in le mans, of those the 6 consecutive. a legend born. no less.

June 18, 2005

the third time in a week, as I enter campus through the west gate after shopping, a hawk flies over me with a goofer in its claws. Very zen.

Besides that, an immensely shaky week. Chances are now 1:20 that the next shake will be the "big one" says an otherwise disagreable scientific community.

was my oldest sons last day in the american schoolsystem, the pretext to the hegonomical structure evrything is tought overhere.
The day started, however as it usally does, by me dropping Julius of at school, and I diverted to Safeway to buy a thank-you-card and some lillys for his head teacher Ms. Flora. With that done I paused for a minute in my car with a to-go coffee and a cigarette, when a car pulled up besides me at the parking lot. I specifically noticed it because the license-plate read "MORS DYT"... and with an odd old couple in the car, I assumed they could only be danish, but an odd couple I had to talk too. I waited in my car untill they got out and then approched them, and quickly established the fact that they were in fact danish. I am not the kind of dane who make an joyous gesture each time a spot a dane abroad. I more tend to crawl back in my hole. But these, their age, pointed to a ... story. They presendted themselves as Erik and Marna Sørensen of Kerteminde, Fyn, but had been living in Santa Cruz for "...some 4o years" said MArna, but Erik corrected it: "No, Marna, its sixty years this year." Erik had been a sailor during WWII and had somehow ended up on a two week vacation in Santa Cruz, had gone back to Denmark, married Marna, and then immigrated to US.
Yea, nothing big or fancy, I got nothing more from them, but I still drove off feeling...better.

Later at Julius school, his class was giving a show. He hadnt been to exilarated about it because the hip-hop dance act he and some friends wanted to perform had been turned down, because they didnt want "teenage-music played at a 2nd grade party.." thus inclining the subversive character per se of black culture. Instead, they did a squaredance, a mexican dance and a hebrew dance, and so everybody was happy, dancing to the tunes of clean cut cultures.

Anyways: Julius did it. He went through the hassle and did a year in an american school, he tought the language, he made friends...he rocks.

June 16, 2005


One of the nearest days, maybe already from tomorrow friday, the FLOTTENHEIMER site is closing down due to outsourcing.

After having worked closely with Lennard from 1998 - 2003, we have decided that this project is now more a ghost than actually a working and productive unit. As I am moving back to my hometown for a year or two it seems like the rational thing to do.
It is not without feelings I wrap up this collaboration. It has been cutting edge, fun, serious and giving, and I will miss the late nites at Lennards crip fired up by his wit and I will miss dipping our pale bodies in a lake in a swedish forest listening to dub from under the surface. Sob!

However, both of us will and continue to work: Lennard will post from his embellished mind at
and I will continue this blog - of and on over the summer - at a little fired up earlier today and left out an important point: what I also was trying to say was this: the displacement of focus is radical: The Jackson trial, the tabloid good-for-nothing press ups the sales....its the massive denial I am after: If the Iraq crisis is a crisis, the killing of 60000 kids over a decade and 30000 "genaral" homicides a year, the domestic situation is nothing less but war: but does it make headlines? No! The republican Noisemachine have got the media under perfect control, hence the steps on the narrow road too fascism...

Ya Basta!

June 15, 2005

I join Lennards outburst at DAMIOWH today, about the verdict of Michael Jackson. Beeing guitly or not, being a freak or not, the case on Jackson have never raised a public debate of the increasing problem of paedophilia.The focus have merely been a celebrity thing, a 3 month farce with an unproportional newscoverage, and the verdict per se is up there with OJ Simpson and Kobe Bryant, maybe in a feeble attemot to say that the system treat blacks just, or more likely: The juridical system works differently for celebs.
What can be done to take focus of issues as mentioned, and The Iraq Crisis (thats the official name, not war, but crisis) is being done, and the public swallows. Over the last three years salenumbers of pure celeb-zines as US Weekly, National Inquirer etc. has skyrocketed, TV is dominated by reality and make-over shows. The narrative: forgetttaaboutit!

The US have the highest number of kids living under exteme poverty in the industrialized world. 60.000 kids have been killed by hand-guns over the last decade...many more than US soldiers killed in Vietnam, and in less time...a healthy democracy? A rolemodel?

If you look closer I would say this country shows all the signs on the narrow street to fascism.

Look me up in ten years end tell me I was right.

both cars running nice and dandy. i am as free as michael jackson and only a little less white.

June 14, 2005



What really started this weekends suffocating focus on cars, was the hike we planned june 7th at 2000h with Andreas and Christine. The trip would have taken us to Pfeiffer National Park and some offroad driving, which made me think, now is the time to change the plugs, and get and oilchange on the Jeep, which I had neglected.
Friday I went to this weekends first stop at Kragen Autoparts, and bought 6 Bosch sparkplugs for the straight powerful V6 engine. Plugs that they sold me a dollar and nine cent a piece.
Back home, I let the engine cool off before changing the plugs, while calling up a mechanic to set up an appointment for the oilchange.

Plugs 1 – 4 went in smooth, at 5 I had to lift and turn some hoses and wirering, and as I pull the plug out from the socket, I notice that radiatorfluid is dripping from a hose leading to a gadget of the car. I curse, I spit! While spitting and cursing Andreas and Christine comes by our flat as agreed to run over the who-brings-what for the trip routine.
I quickly explain the problem with my car, guys under the hood, advices and great thought only lead to the conclusion that after trying to decide what the function of the hose and the gadget, I take a picture with a digicam of the part, dig out the manual. We then jump in Andreas car and race down to Kragen, my second visit that day, to get some help. We get there 5 minute before closing time, Friday. There is very help, no patience, conclusion: they don’t have the part. We walk away emptyhanded, me disappointed, Andreas a cool alpine breeze, being an Austrian. But we acknowledge the fact that we cant leave, there are no second cars to borrow and rent is not an option, som basicly its fucked: Andreas is fucked because he cant leave and I am just fucked because I hate car trouble, the trip I can be without at this point. A stop at Safeway where Andreas has some shopping to do, and while he is shopping I read the manual frantic, but under the sun I get frustrated, I cant concentrate, and cant find anything in the book that resembles the gadget.
Back home we agree to cancel the trip – in other words, we are letting the wifes know about it. I dismantle the part and decide to try to borrow a car for some hours Saturday to drive down to some junkyard near Moss Landing and find the gadget.


our small residential community is buzzing with life. The second gathering of the masses, this Saturday being The Graduation Day. Campus as such crowded with parents in massive shining SUVs, topshit outfit, presents, enthusiasm, positivism, the future at hand, step up o ye faithful: picture perfect Saturday, and I am with them all the way, except for my car. Anyways: At 11AM, I succeded to talk my neighbour, geological graduate Andy, into letting me borrow his little Nissan. I borrow tools from Scott, get Julius to join me for the ride, the perspective of seeing tons of beat up cars fires him up, so off we go.
It’s a 30 minutes drive to Moss Landing. The Nissan operates with stick-shift, which makes me miss Denmark and thinking of my Volvo sitting in a garage, just waiting to be fixed up. But I forget about it again as we approach Moss Landing – a strange location. Dominated by the massive Pacific Gas and Electric Plant placed in a landacape which used to be a giant river-delta, now a flat salty marsh, a slough and not the least a strangely lively scenery during earthquakes, as the mud and soil in the marsk tend to “boil” during intense seismic activity.
The junkyards I heard of lies a good three miles inland. Four junkyards, surrounded by a huge and battered aluminum plate fence, looking like a fortress in a apocalyptic scenery.
Entering the first one I was told that you would have to be 16 to enter it, because they stack the cars in four and five layers, and entering as such was on your own risk. So I had to leave him behind in the car, and a intense 45 minute search on all four junkyards gave me no result. No thingie.
I would be basicly good and fucked by Monday if the car wasn’t running, so outside Watsonville we pull in at a gas station to refresh and think, when I see a sign for another junkyard. After downing a coffee, we race up there, and met by a very helpful guy who lets both me and Julius into the yard where Julius spots an old Cherokee, and in it: The Part, but broken! We walk back into the office, I show the same guy the part I pulled from our Jeep, we walk back to the yard, to dobbelcheck the position of the thing, and finally the guy can dfine it, he gives me a name of the part. The heat controller valve. And he not only gives me the name, he calls up to shops in Santa Cruz, to hear if they have it in stock, which they do. I shake his hand, thank him, and we race back to SC, just to find those two store closed. I spit, and I curse. A final desperate attempt, I drive by Kragens again. They are open: Now they have the fucking part, all they needed was patience and a name, I buy the f…… paying 29 dollars for that and three feet of 5/8 radiator hose.
Back home I wack it in, not without spitting and cursing, but it works, the car starts, it drives, I take her for a spin listening to Bob Hund, relieved, smoking, singing, and spitting.
SUNDAY: The phone wakes me up at 8.30. I just recently set our old Mazda up for sale which I should have done months ago, but I didn’t, and there you have it. It’s a buyer, she wants so see the car, she is bringing cash, she will take it of my hands if she likes what she sees. She will be here in an hour. I am too tired to stop her, as Saturday I ended at Andys graduation party and for once I drank. I hang up the phone, and it hits me: the car looks like shit, its needs a quick wash and a vacuum. I run out, still halferect with a bucket, our vacumcleaner, throws it it the Mazda to drive up to a spot in our small residential community where we can wash our mulitude of cars. The fucker doesn’t start. Not a click. Not a light in the dashboard. Nothing. Dead. I try to jumpstart it, nothing. At 9.15 the buyer calls me and says she will be coming an hour later. I say nothing. I call AAA at 9.18, and they say they will be here within ten minutes. I give the car a quick run over, it looks okay, but nothing…fancy. Put it up for sale for 1500 dollars. A “as seen” purchase. AAA doesn’t show up, but the buyer does. At 9.48. Half an hour early, me under the hood, I don’t see her come. I have never been that honest. She circles the var for ten minutes, and to my surpise she doesn’t run away screaming. But she leaves, leaving me her ceelphone number. AAA turns up at 1200, after I call them the third or forth time, but the cant start the car either. It seems to be an electrical fuckup and that’s where my talents stops. I call Iggy, he comes down, we fuck around for an hour. More guys come by, lean in under the hood like some secret meaning. Advices and anecdotes, but nothing solves the problem. Conclusion: the battery could be totally drained.


I take the Jeep down to the mechanic to get the oil changed and order a new battery for the Mazda. Walk the streets for an hour, and pick up the Jeep and the battery. The Jeep, she runs sweet. I drive home, change the battery on the Mazda. Nothing. Dead.
Tuesday I am calling AAA to get it towed to the mechanic. So it goes…
And somewhere in this mess it struck me that I once had a dream concentrated around the problem that it was impossible for me to pronounce the word "mechanic"...

It also reminds me of a fishing trip I once went on...

June 13, 2005


If the concept anthropology means a contextual understanding of social, cultural, economic (and historic per se) terms under which individuals, groups or people exist - and I am pretty sure that`s what it means being f...... married to an anthropoligical A-student - this weekend have done nothing but setting the terms of my liberty to move, and here the movement, the mobility, is to be understood, as transport, hence: cars.

But I cant, not today, I cant write the full absurd cronologi as it has not yet ended, this posting only to ... post ... in between headstands under the hood of my two cars, and psychic headstands and manouvering between the individuals, depending on their efficiency.
Why is it that every time something stops working, that blaming someone seems to hold the potential solution to the problem?

Expecting both cars to run tomorrow I`ll finish this part 6 off.

June 10, 2005

ELIZABETH DEMARAY, a conceptual artist has unpolstered stones and knitted sweaters for plants as part of a campaign she calls "INAPPROPRIATE CARE-GIVING ACTIVITIES". Her latest and largest effort was a cozy for a 10 ton Nike Hercules nuclear missile.

One word: brilliant.

link to article

June 09, 2005

A day in a life of a second rate poet in 15 minute intervals, wendesday june 7 2005:

6.00. Get up. Shower. Wash of my sins
6.30. Coffee and smoke on the patio. Grey, windy.
6.45. Check and answer emails. First blog-posting. Read on-line news. Nothing shocking.
7.00. Wake up Julius, shower.
7.15 Breakfast. Whole Grain Cheerios with banana. More coffee.
7.45. Pick up Harvey. Take Julius and Harvey to school.
8.15. Home. More coffee and cigarettes. The sky is clearing.
8.30. Breakfast with wife and Carl.
8.45. Carl in the hottub. Oh Lordie sweet joy!
9.15. In the bank, take out 1500 dollars for rent.
9.45. Pay the rent at Hanh College on campus.
10.00. Bay Tree Bookstore: Buy “Vitamin P – new perspectives in painting”.
10.30. Rent a cap and gown for wifes graduation Thursday
1100. Home. Tug Carl in. Write an abstract for my exam in the fall.
1300. PlayStation 2 “Toca Race”, levels 5 and 6.
1330. lunch with Carl
1400. Pick up Julius and Harvey and Ameer. Drop off at afterschool-program.
1430. Downtown, postoffice and bookstore. Buy “Pretty Vacant” and “Rollerscate-craze”.
1500: Coffee and sandwich at Zoccoli`s.
1530: Dramatic encounter in campus forest. Step on the breaks to avoid hitting deers.
1545. Home: domestic activities, cleaning, reading and writing.
1800. Taqueria with Julius, Carl, Sine, Kim, Harvey and Edgar.
2000. Planning a weekend hike with Andreas.
2045. Tennis with Scott: I loose. 6-2, 6-3, 6-2.
2230. Shower. Wash off defeat.
2245. shopping in Safeway.
2330. PlayStation 2, level 7.
0015. Smoke, patio, the moons out. Owls.
0030. Flip through “Vitamin P” – Oh Lordie I have to paint more stuff.
0100. TV, zapping, Fox News, its more funny than depressing.
0145. Sleep.

June 08, 2005

from the flottenheimer dictionary part 6:

procrastinate: (verb) to keep delaying something that must be done, often because it is unpleasent or boring.

first we stole them, then they stole our women and now they steal our music! there is no justice!

the african kraftwerk...

June 07, 2005

Travel? travel light. Keep a 3 month perspective, everything else is an escape forward. Keep a 56 hour option per every two weeks for domestic ressurection and keep your fingers crossed cause travelling also means coming home putting in the hours, acknowledge the presence of ghost, get over the denial and filing out the gaps.

Is what she told me. The odeur still hits the dream.

June 06, 2005

from the flotteheimer dictionary part 5:

self-perpetuating (adj.): having a system which prevents change and produces new things which are very similar to the old ones.

June 02, 2005

just this very egomaniac intern joke only to be understood by few of the proud people of


June 01, 2005

this morning,
it is finally done. I dont exactly feel wiser or more educated this very moment, just...lighter.

May 31, 2005

I didnt blog, as I am writing the last 3 procent of my bachelor. Coming to think that I have paid 25000 to get the education, last week week I decided to put a little hrumpf into the ladder part of the proces. Tonight at 0300 pm I hand it in electronically, a proud little fucker am I, and I am done and dope!

something strange happened. My neighbour knocked my door and asked if I could help her boyfriend get his car started. Why sure, so I went down to the parking lot, where I met Nick and his pimped up Cadillac. He had just installed a powerful stereo that sucked his battery dry everytime he started his car so he needed to get jumped. He popped the hood, and there in the shaft of the airintakes sits a RAT, a big sucker with a short tale, that looked like it had been cut off by mishab, It stares at us, the rat, then flees the scene. Thats what rats do.

I then backed my car up, attached the jump-cables and fired up, so did the Cadillac. Some roars, some friendly exchanges later I walk back up to our flat, and sit at the pc, from where I have a view of the parkinglot. I see Nick at the car, I hear him cranking up and down the stereo as he backs out, and theres like a squishi sound and he stops. Walks out and around to the back of his car and he goes "jikes", jumpes in the car - drive forward, and there I see a small but distinct bloody pool. I cant help it, I run down cause I here him laughing. And there flat on the parking lot, we are sure, lies the same rat, that only minutes before was under his hood.

no morals here, just - poor rat - how unlikely was that?

May 29, 2005

from the flottenheimer dictionary part 2:

roundworm: noun (c) any various types of worms with a round body that can live in the bowels of people and some animals and often cause disease.

May 28, 2005

Onomatopoeia: the creation of words which include sounds that are similar to the noises that the word refer to, like "pop", "boom", "squelch". "squirt"

from the flottenheimer dictionary, a new on-going...

May 27, 2005

I`ve been sitting on my hands now for about 10 months, with all kinds of shit piling up. I have complained that I have been able to paint, I have stated my case against big business, but still I am in a limbo. So yesterday it struck me. You gotta make a movie, you gotta write some manuscripts. You are in the Zone- now go: So I thought, how can I write a movie, I thought about movies I`ve seen, and I thought: I come up with titels, and the movie writes it self.

My work in progress includes the following…

The Wasting Of A Broken Arm
The Spell Of Hopeless Mantra
The Illfated Nun
The Shocking Truths from the Future
The Nigger Devil
The Phantom Limbo Dancer
The Loss Of France
The Sound Of Liberace
The Sound Of Liberace Fucking
The Shaking Of My Hands
The Loss Of Brotherhood
The Subtitle Colony
The Text Runs Out
The Thing That Came And Went
The Final Days Of Rock N Roll
The Field Of Lost Illusions
The Final Diagnosis
The 16 Bit Slotmachine
The Mad Skier
The Great Flush Day
The Great Perhaps
The Son Of Gravity
The Face Of A Smooth Gentleman
The Decay
The City Of Horrid Dreams
The Blonde The Raped And The Tortured
The Things That Do Not Walk Hand In Hand
The Weather In Europe Today
The Problem The Solution The Problem Again The Antisolution The Paranoia And The Destruction
The Ambient The Pure And The Goodhearted
The Things You Like Too Hear About But Do Not Want To Be In
The Funny Feeling Of Being Ditched
The Pleasures Of Imagination
The Oh No Johns
The Mortal Millions
The Art Of Humiliation
The Sweetest Hours Ever Spend
The Long Proces Of Getting Tired
The Fury Of A Patient Man
The Madonna Of The Future
The Secret Of My Sisters Tatoo
The Continuing Paranoia Of An Ex Cop
The Heritage Of Killing
The Boom Alter
The Clash You Might Have Prevented
The End Of Circus Days

And I do not see any reason why each and every one of these shouldn`t be followed by a sequel.

Me mirè la mano. Se veìa vieja, arraguda. Llena de manchas de la vejez. El telèfono sonò. Levantè el tuno y: "Hola, tengo 47 amos. Puedo llevar a mi muejer?" Y la mano desapereciò.

Soy un buen amigo?

May 26, 2005

stratospheric lingua on the first day exploding white dwarf stars rewriting story as it happens. the past is never dead. pills and sympathy adult loosers in welfare and health consumerism feeds the dog and the roots of democracy but it will not make america shot up. trade for the sake of trade. the absence annihilate my superego the loss of sense logoc and purpose in urban sprawl it matters not who you are it matters who you want to be and god cannot lie so get ready cause here i come like a postcard from hell. the devil is a nigger fuckballs! never trust a therapist and never highfive your guru - dont recycle, reload escape forward future mundomania the distracting stimuli its not even the past. more wants more as the stepping stone in to deep space water greed and deadlines floats adrift but free.

May 25, 2005

yellow captain cowboy merged identity with that of this favourite star, lucky boy burger on a jesus diet.

May 22, 2005

a daytrip the epicenter of the Loma Pietra earthquake (10.17 1989 5.04 pm, at which time I was hours in to celebrating my 25th birthday accompanied by the Aalborg posse at 1000fryd with three months of delayed educational support - the wonders of SU... ) just miles off our domestic turf. After a 6 mile walk through the breathing redwoods it was with some disappointment that the trail to the actual epicenter-site was cut off by undramatic mudslides, however so much that I would have to walk in a 3 feet deep creek the remaining 600 feet. However, in three weeks or so, the season will mean that the creek will almost dry out, so I`ll be back.

May 19, 2005

to use the term "anniversary" yesterday marking the 25th year since the death of Ian Curtis , was a mishab. Anniversary in my ears, means celebrating, celebrating means a uplifted spirit, a nice day, something...good. Though he chose suicide as a way out, the ultimate choise, you could say: hey, he did his thing, and this world is all about choises, so why not celebrate? Because its too early, I`d say. Celebrate is something you do hundreds of years after somebody noteworthy dies, like with HCA thing in DK these days. You have all kinds of jerks performing shit in his name, and somebody whips the cream and run away richer but calls it culture.
But not now. Not 25 years. His presence, voice, lyrics still holds a contemporary approach, and celebrations tend to forget the depths of work and up the icon. Which just beasiclly means: I dont celebrate, I sit back, listen to some tracks - contemplating. Concluding in general there is nothing to celebrate.

"Here are the young men, the weight on their shoulders,Here are the young men, well where have they been?We knocked on the doors of Hell's darker chamber,Pushed to the limit, we dragged ourselves in,Watched from the wings as the scenes were replaying,We saw ourselves now as we never had seen.Portrayal of the trauma and degeneration,The sorrows we suffered and never were free."

from decades

May 18, 2005

today, two strange coinsiding 25th anniversaries.

One: the death of Joy Division frontman Ian Curtis.

and two: the eruption of Mount St. Helens.

the strangest thing happened while I was playing tennis. Today had been a warm day, the sun had just set, we had turned on the strong court-lights, and went head on into the game, just slightly annoyed or disturbed by the Valley Girl Lingoettes (i`ll get back to that) playing on the neighbouring court, highpitched voices, long baeutiful legs, tanned and tops.

At first, only a few insects flickered under the lights - thats normal. Then a few more - the same spieces - a butterfly, a moth or a dragonfly, I couldnt really tell, but I consideed it a moth. But thats not the point. The point is that over the next ten minutes more and more - we are talking hundreds, maybe thousands, gathered around the the six lightpoles, some dropping down on the court, sitting on the net, flying around our heads, generally, they were everywhere. The one girl freaked. Sceramed her lungs out and ran, fleed from the site. We just stood there. Stunned. The mass of insects seemed beyond control. I tried to smack some with my racket, hit a few, they almost exploded, brownish fluids, wings sticking to my strings. Stepping on them, like the hopeless attempt of kiling a cockroach, only these...died. And there on the ground - dead, we concluded, they were not moths, they were butterflies, and they would have had to just have left the cocoon, maybe from the laguna at the beach - I couldnt escape the apocalyptic feel, the gathering of the masses, their first journey, the random deaths.

And then more sudden than they apperared they disappeared.

May 17, 2005

respect goes out to Norway for liberating themselves more or less from Danish imperialism.

hip hip

on Lennards side of the blog, I see he went to see The Ramones movie I am awaiting from corperate cocksuckers Netflix, but also from one side of rocknroll to another, it inspired me to post this quote I stumbled upon in an old Rolling Stone magazine (april 5th, 1990) Featuring notorious rockers Aerosmith, guitarist Steven Tyler is asked to describe the band:

"Jerry Garcia says that we are the druggiest bunch the Grateful Dead ever saw. They were worried about us, so that gives you a picture og how fucked up and crazy we are."

What can you say? Too much rocknroll for one hand. Thats a sure 11 guys!!

May 15, 2005

And when I` m not playing soccer you will find me in a treehouse with some treehugging hippies going through the newest trends. Hey man, we are all voices from the totally radical

man skal ikke snave på den gren man selv står på...eller...

after a few failed attemps I finally joined the oldboys soccerteam. Weather, general business and other terms had kept me of the turf, though I a month ago purchased a pair of state of the art adidas soccer-shoes. The 56 dollars which was the original price in Cross Dress for Less I easily lowered to 12 dollars by ripping off the sticker-barcode from another pair of shoes, which luckyli wasnt noticed at the register.
And the playing was great, the speed mellow, the violence non exisisting, I ran and breathed heavyli, even managed to kick my own left knee missing an open strike for goal. That was saturday, now its sunday...

the with a view

May 14, 2005

it opened, the new Star Wars movie. "Revenge og the Sith" or is it "Revenge og the shit..". I think i wrote that before, but...the sun is drying me out today where I am missing Mads`birthday party in 9000 Aalborg, DK...Mads, the mental mayor of Aalborg. Respect!

and 2860 there is another...

you can be lonely but never alone

May 12, 2005

in the New York Times
under the headline : Thanks to surgery Fashion develops A New Silhouette, an article enthusiaticly embraces the present heydays of new tits for its innovative impact of the design and fashion industry.

From 2001 where around 280.000 american women had a breast-implants till 2004 this numer skyrocketed to 415.000. The 9.11 effect maybe..but the makeover is extreme. States like California, Texas and Florida has the highest numbers tits in the US. These numbers being a major tendency out of the 3,2 million plastic-surgeries made per year in that there country...

it just makes me wonder..The Tit healing of a nation...i dont know, but I think its deranged. Silicon Tit Valley Girls...oh lordie, forgive I for I am a-rambling....

May 11, 2005

in the 80s,
the longest lasting mental down- conjecture so when the drugs ran out we turned to...

May 10, 2005

Viva la evulucion! Oh lordie how I want to go and I will...

May 09, 2005

a little crossdress fun to kick off your week.

May 08, 2005

I`ll hang him on my wa-a-a-a-ll. Once during a key point at the US Open, a butterfly distracted him. Ulrich later mused: "Was I then a man dreaming I was a butterfly? Or am I now a butterfly dreaming I am a man?" Very zen - but boy, could he play...

May 07, 2005

It is that time of the year. Oh Lordie, how I want to go, but can I? The answer my friend...

yesterday is over

May 06, 2005

I think...Anyways, today,

I have been surfing danish websites but havent been able too find the news So ApPareNtLy it TAKES MORE THAN A TooTHLESS mOUTH TO SHOt ME UP, BUT D-JEsuS!!!!!! THIS TIME FOR A GooD REASON....I NO LONGER HOLD ANY PATIENCE OR BELIEF OR EXPECTATION ABOUT a PosTive OuTcOme of THE IRAQ smaller print...The NeW York Times wrItes today that US have mishandled 96.6 million dollars in rebuilding Iraq, that is: money not accounted for, a large part of those iraqi oil-fonds frozen by the US as the invasion happened but opened up so they could be spend before June 28, 2004, where iraqi administration took over that part of the job.
But stories of american individuals fleeing with up till 780000 dollars, and so on, the mess has no end, and as superwoman Naomi Klein stated head on... : it seems a crucial part of corperations working to rebuild or redrain or what ever the fuck they are doing...merely is considering that this option - Iraq- equals fREE MoNEy.
I said before and I will say it again... There is no FREe LuNcH!

Thus I conclude in the final part(50) of WHY THIS secondrate poet DOESNT LOVE BIG BUSINESS. Its been fun,interesting, enlightening, but I am getting...I dont know, my immediate need for tranqulizers has rosen proportionally with the amount of info: The core of capitalism is without regret, consiousness, ethic or moral. There is no control, the money has become invisble, soulless and without a body, thus even harder to love.
And as at any decent funeral I`ll end the thing with a song...or rightfully quoting lyrics from another Bob Hund tune - though here not written in affluent swedish, the point is clear:

så en film på Bio
den var saemra end kalkun
så pråttat vi om penga
vi boerja taba tråden
sen kom jag hjem på nattan i dårlig kondition

May 05, 2005

only this: my postings will untill june 1st be short and superficial...finishing my last authorized exam ever is pulling teeths out by the numbers.

Anyho: From the world of war-mongers: Did you know - I didn`t - that Pakistan was buying misilies from North Korea as late as in 2003, only short time after Pakistan had become the numero uno ally of the US in the war against terror and only a year after El Presidente announced North Korea as the eastern front of the axis of evil?

In that context we are all cunts so...anyone for a facial?

May 03, 2005


Approaching the 50th posting in the ongoing … WHY THIS second rate poet DOSENT LOVE BIG BUSINESS™, I am thinking it should stop at 50, with a grande finale, 50 being a magic number, a breaking point. Though I can not doubt there are millions of reasons to not loving Big Business™, I would say I for now should have made a point. But then what?

In an earlier posting months ago I fiddled with the thought of writing on CARS, and today I`ll introduce the successor to WHY THIS….from here and on under the collective headline: THE ANTHROPOLOGY OF CARS™. I have in fact posted three already, one on the DeLorean and one on the Jensen sportscar and, on bumper-stickers SUVs so this one, today is in fact.... hmmm part four (numbers means stuff to me), and a follow up on the HumVee posting yesterday.

One the most patriotic signals today in America is to drive around in a Hummer, or HumVee, the SUV of SUVs. The Hummer especially earned is fame in the 1st GulfWar , and have become as symbol of American patriotism and craftmantship.
The Hummer have now within the last couple of years hit the streets in a converted makeover, set up to the needs of an over-average soccermom SUV, but still with a clear militant design…
The commercial pushing the saletags up goes “Hummer like notning else” and ends with a clear shot of planet Earth seen from a satelite. Word we never thought of that.

The Irony of the situation is allthough the Hummers engaged in Iraq. Due to lack of proper armor it is said to have been unsuccesfull in protecting the troops it carries, thus resulting in numerous killing of american Gi`s:

It has not been unnoticed especially by the privates. Vicepresident Dick Cheney got caught with his pants down at a presidential rally at an army base late autumn 2004, when a private stood up and asked the trick question: “Why can`t we get proper armor on the HumVess…?”
Cheney had no immediate answers and mumbled something about the “Will of sacrifice”, but could not explain why the GI`s had to armor the HumVees with scrap-metal, and why one Captain Kelly D. Rover had been ousted from the army for taking pictures of the HumVees in which his troops died. And now more than two years into the war the armouring program that did get initiated is not yet completed. The program takes a 33000 dollars makeover of each HumVee being snd to Iraq, and consist of – for the Transport HumVee, a tempered steel plate around the troopcargo area, 3/8-inch thick, which is capable of withstanding 155 mm howitzer rounds, windshields more than 1,5 inches thick and are capable of withstanding AK 47 rounds, doors and side panels, and and armoured undercarriage to prevent damage from roadbombs.

So there you have it: one of the strongest symbol of war, patriotism, and American imperialism are roaming the streets states in – tacky – shining armor, depicturing the the success of war, or the mere defiance, and in Iraq we have the same model, the same HumVee being blown to bits, in a war that I bet looks different from a HumVee on a dusty Baghdad backroad than on any given stretch of tar in America.

I strongly recommend the movie “Gunner Palace” if it ever opens in Denmark.

I would have written a posting on the Hummer, the HumVee, the military vehicle that roams the streets of USA as a pround patriotic symbol, and are being blown up on daily in Iraq, but its 4am, the sun is beaming, I have shitloads to do, I have a choice so I will leave it hanging