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 there...watch it
http://www.dr.dk/nyheder/udland/article.jhtml?articleID=261722

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!

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.

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

today,
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.

EVEN SECOND RATE POETS NEEDS HOLIDAYS.

Today,
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?

today,
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
http://www.oswaldmosley.com/

today,
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.

http://www.dr.dk/Sporten/Formel1/2005/06/21/145948.htm

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.

today,
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!

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.

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

yesterday,
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.

http://earthquake.usgs.gov/recenteqsUS/Maps/US10/37.47.-130.-120.html

Today,
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.

THE FLOTTENHEIMER SITE IS CLOSING DOWN!

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 www.lennardgrahn.dk
and I will continue this blog - of and on over the summer - at notesofasecondratepoet.blogspot.com

...got 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!

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.

THE ANTHROPLOGY OF CARS part 6, II.

FRIDAY.
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.

SATURDAY
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.

MONDAY
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...

THE ANTHROPOLOGY OF CARS part 6:

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.

today,
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
http://nytimes.com/2005/06/05/arts/design/05newm.html

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.

from the flottenheimer dictionary part 6:

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

http://www.procrastinationsolution.com/2005/05/how-to-procrastinate.html

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

the african kraftwerk...
http://www.pitchforkmedia.com/record-reviews/k/konono-no-1/congotronics.shtml

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.

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.

ouch!

today,
just this very egomaniac intern joke only to be understood by few of the proud people of dot.dk:

ALDRIG MERE EN 15 MARTS!

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

http://www.blackant.net/other/images/peru2002/peru-fluffy-clouds-s.jpg