the end of 2006, every year the small apocalyptic feeling of another year passed.

Like every christmsmas is basically a rerun of emotions, rituals, consumerism and urban tales I join the corps of howling wolfs with a 2004 tale of poverty, which I intend to do every chritsmas for as long as I blog: Through repetition to create a plausible cultural narrative.

Merry Christmas


In the first days of december I was poor, and that in it self is a very good reason not to be head over heels in love with Big Business.

I was poor and poverty is embarrassing and paralyzing. I was poor and I was out of cigarettes. Two things that is not a sociological surprise in The States; being poor and a passionate smoker, but nonetheless: I needed my smokes, and I’ll be damned not to get them.I had about 3 dollar and 75 cents in coins, that’s about 140 coins because I was down to counting one-cent and five-cent pieces, and 2 dollar 16 cent, sitting on my debit-card. I took the car down to the local Seven Eleven Foodstore(!), on the mercy of big business reluctant to shop there, but that was as far as the car would take me, running really low on fuel. When you are poor, it’s hard to uphold your principles.Once in the shop not wanting to disclose my poverty to the afro-American woman at the register, I asked for a pack of American Spirit Lights, and ran my card through the slit.And no surprise to me: the display says: “Declined”.“Let me just try again” I told her, and I did, and it did. The card was declined again. “I don’t understand. I’m awaiting a transfer from Europe, and it should have gone through…like…days ago” I lie in total self-denial. I’m ordering the transfer tomorrow, and only threw in the Europe fact to deroute the focus of my situation.“You know what, let me just run to the ATM-machine on the other side of the street to see if it looks different.”I actually did it, and I almost believed that it would look different, but I knew very well that it didn’t, I was in other word HOPING that it did, knowing that it WOULDN`T and it didn’t. No tengo dinero!The three dollars and seventy-five cents I meticulously had counted before leaving and left in the car in a plastic bag, were just waiting to picked up and spend. And so it goes: I picked up the coins in the car, which I wouldn’t even call money, and went back into the shop.“Well, the money hadn’t come, but if you would be very patient with me, I’ve got my parkometer coins here, and I think if I count them, it’ll pay a pack of smokes..”“No problem” said the clerk, and I emptied the bag on the counter, just as about a group of people entered the shop, and lined up behind me. I had counted as long as 2 dollar 80 cents, and piled the coins up, when the sweat started to drip. I looked at the price tags under different pack of smokes and saw the cheapest, a pack of Gold Coast: 2,79.“Allright, give me a pack of those” I said and pointed to the Gold Coasts.“Which?” says the clerk, and brings out a pack of Chesterfield, 3,89 dollars, from the rack next to the Gold Coasts.“No, no, the ones left…”“Oh, the cheep ones…-of course…sorry” she says.“No problem” I reply, as I get the pack and scrape the rest of the coins into the bag. I leave the shop stumbling, pushes the door instead of pulling, though it says PULL on a big sticker. Once outside I rip the pack open, not having smoked for hours. The smoke is good, but loose, and disappears in 6 drags. A one-minute fag to ease the long pain of being poor.

A week later when the money had finally come through I went back to the same shop to buy more smokes and in that sense expecting to prove my credibility to the same clerk: I`m not poor. It was a freak situation. But she wasn`t working.Instead it was this incredibly fat, toothless woman, who almost took my craving for a glassy donut and a cup of coffee away. On the counter lay a laminated pricelist stating the many prices of different donuts, which I by accident push of the counter with my coffeecup. The woman then picks it up places it on the counter again and with a smile saying.“Oh you guys! All you wanna do is to see me bend over….”

I havn`t shopped there since.

It comes highly recommended:
On Sunday I watch the documentary SURPLUS on DR2.
With great originality and insight it portrays the face and consequences of modern day consumerism, and focuses for a larger part at the struggle against it, represented for exmaple by John Zerzan and Kalle Lasn of Adbusters. I especially found the soundediting of the production cutting edge, and with good reason. David Soederberg of LUCKY PEOPLE CENTER (link) had done the sound design. The production as such came out as a very new breed of tv-montage slash/documentary.
One scene stood out: Steve Ballmer of Microsoft, opening a Maicrosoft employee rally, him, taking to the stage as Mussolini on PCP, sweating and screaming like a mad man, then opening his speech with four words: I, Love, This, Company.

some links:
http://www.atmo.se/zino.aspx?articleID=382 (the movie)
http://www.yelah.net/articles/lpc0607 (lucky people center)
http://www.adbusters.org/home/ (adbusters)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Zerzan (john zerzan)


however, the saddest and most elitist shitnews I read at Politkens website just five minutes ago: Ruth Evensen buttkissing for special treatment at Nørrebro. Just days after literally every dansih poltician stated there is no political solution to the Ungdomshuset issue, this one rolls out:

http://politiken.dk/indland/article217064.ece

If that isnt a politcal solution I dont know what is, and if that isnt the most uncharming surface of danish politcal culture and mangement since joining the Iraq war I dont know what is.

Disobey.

Steven Spielberg, man of many movies and the stigmitizer of many of my personal fobias and director of my early teen-hood favourite movies, such as "The Duel", "Jaws", "Close Encounteer", and not the least the first Hollywood director, to direct a genuine blockbuster ("Jaws") turns sixty today.

Congratulations.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steven_Spielberg

Waking up, at Nørrebro, dec. 17th:
Riots clearly always have a flipside. The disappointment when I see demonstraters from Ungdomshuset trashing cars, bikes, babycarriages and what not, using them for barricades and setting them ablaze: the violence becomes nothing but symbolic and a lost case. Or: it could be any case, and my sympathy crumble.

But which means are left for the squatters, the autonome movement, when politicians, in this case Copenhagen Citycouncil literally have sold out responsiblity? And what are the means when the same politicians let the proprietary right define a highly democratic problem?

I am frustrated, it is frustrating to see in year 2006, a good 400 cops in battleuniforms and dutch-cars occupying the neighborhood of Nørrebro, it constitutes a huge democratic problem, to let it happen time after time: it is nothing less than arrogant and senseless that the citycouncil sees them self free of responsibility, to see one the richest societys in the world not being able to solve the problem (which was infact solved by handing the house over to the squatters in 1982).

The agenda from the politicians seems as clear as they deny to take any responsibilty for the riots. By not dealing with the problem, they get the violent reaction from the squatters that becomes their ultimate argument for not neglecting any alternative solutions. Alas, they get what they want: away the unwanted, and their hands are seemingly clean.

Though I loathe violence, who can truly be a pacifist? I dont have the words to describe the utter rage I feel of living in a neighbourhood that have become a battlefield because of the clear-as-daylight incompetence of a few local-politicians.

two words though: no pasaran!

The following add I found under "personals" in todays edition of danish newpaper Information. Hard to translate, I will give it a try.

"Bullying, paedophilia, prostitution, violence as such, can very easyli be removed from our schools and society. I blame the priests. They are ultimately violent in the house of boredom where life is notning but a complaint. The culture is rotten to the core and alcoholic and rests on clay which smell of shit, also because it kills, calculationpapers and chaos, cultural politur (meaning either a figure or? noasrp comment). Politics and prostitution is not craftmansship, they produce poverty and nothing and in particular impotent pigs scream in the air, faque, laziness. Interested in change, call: (two phonenumbers)"

I leave it open for interpretation. The work of a bright mind or a lost soul...?

"ART WAS ARTIFICIALLY REHEATED BY THE HYPOCRISY OF BOURGEOIS CULTURE AND FINALLY CRASHED AGAINST THE MECHANICAL WORLD OF OUR AGE. DEATH TO ART!"

This contructivist sentiment is one of the opening phrases in I. Yaskinkayas book "Soviet textile of the Revolutionary Period" (on which I only googled a few commercial links) that I raced through while the host of the 40th birthday I attended on saturday, lay paralized with hangovers and kid-plague.
The book covers first and foremost, as the title states, the textile production of the revolutionary period, but also through the introduction it frames a very interesting picture of art-contectures as a public mean of control.
The conflation of art and ideologi as presented in the book shows the early marking of very talented market strategies.
Moreover the textile itself is stunningly welldone and, in retroperspect, pretty enteraining. Imagine your 3 million kroner flat with wall to wall carpets picturing woven patterns of tractors, collectification, militarization, buildingsites, factories...

klikken sie hier for a quick impression and with me on the rise of a new Utopia let us celebrate the death of Augusto Pinochet, a true enemy of communism. Lets hear the roar of The People celebrate! Klikken sie for a quick glanse inside the bedroom of spacepioneer Gagarin. And lets hear the Roar gain.

http://bellsouthpwp.net/r/u/ruzwyshn/HTMLFolder/Bedroom.html

flying to norrkôping over the weekend to celebate friends 40th birthday. and a quick glanse at this:
the swedish skærgården

lies

farewell sweet. its early morning, and its too dark. its cold. the day has reverted. i willl wrap it up, take it back to the shop, get a refund. its not that it didnt work, it was just to overall consuming. 1 2 many.

mean uturn sister love includes not going

one month into winter: every forest have a tree with a name carved into it. Ones that make you stop and rethink history, and calling out strange names and get no response. You make no connection, it can not feed you but you are hungry.
One month into winter, every year the same: You get jaded like you where on percripted medicine. You jade and the distance sneak in between insticnt and time, and in this cold, in this first month of winter, every year, you bump into the same, the selfperpatuating mass-organ: litlle jaded canisters.

xcuse me: its christmastime and I get annoied very easily. A jaded little canister.

ON YOUNG GRAFFITI AND OTHER STUFF THAT MEANS STUFF...

“I read and grasped your connections between the forest, prostitution, and immigration..are Danish you as politically astute as you are suggesting? But my question also has to do with what you raise in your newest posting about graffiti/vandalism. On what level is the penis imagery meant to shock? Also, as you know when tagging became hugely popular in New York in the '80's there was much angst expressed especially by local government, fines were given, and massive clean-up projects were put in the works, especially in the subway system. Where and what impact is the graffiti/vandalism you are photographing having on the Danish social/political psyche? Is it being noticed? Is it out in the open? How are people and/or local government responding to it?”

This was a comment posted on my flickr account, asked by Kim Cameron, US reader and sharp minded friend. Ill try to my best knowledge and answer it.
!) Astute? After I found out what astute means, I can definitely say: yes. They are astute, if you mean shrude or calculating…but is it not a quality in political culture, that has become more of a necessity than a problem, even though the outcome is often highly questionable. That astute not necessarily means talented is another issue.
Let me exemplify, with the newest caper from the danish government: Minister of Foreign Development (thirdworld-related) Ulla Tørnæs, has launched a new initiative, more or less leaving it up to 5 famous danish individuals to decide, which development projects (in the third world) to support. The project has cost 7 million Danish kroner to create. Of a fond counting a pathetic 12 million kroner (that’s approx. 2 mill. US dollars), 5 of 100 projects will finally receive support, accordingly to the decisions of the famed person. In other words: Denmark has introduced a third world policy based on reality TV concept. The media partner chosen to cover the “show” is no less than infamous Jyllands Posten, known in particular for its role in the so-called Mohammed-Crisis, a newspaper also known as one of the most uncritically enthusiastic supporter of the danish rightwing (and US lapdog) government. Astute, you bet, talented…well. As the popular answers often goes: “We will leave it up to history to decide.”


1) On what level is the penis graffiti meant to shock?
I don’t know, that’s why I only conclude it to be pretty young. I don’t know of a lot of people who will find it shocking….maybe the size of it?
2) The Impact?
That’s a tough one. As I wrote yesterday, the conflict between the two is pretty persistent. I wouldn’t say though that it’s the talk of the town. A lot of energy is put into cleaning walls, and from time to time the media burps out stereotypes, that can keep the fear of writers at hand. Statistics shows two things:
That graffiti and tagging, as you write, create a sense of fear especially among the 60plus generation, but on the other hand they also shows that writers as such are NOT to be considered violent or criminals. Give me a day or two and I can dig the source of the information out from my moving boxes.
But of course: If you are caught with your hands on the aerosol can doing a whole-car, the fine is massive, and can be followed by imprisonment.

One local politician from the city council of Copenhagen, suggested that the council as such should sublet “public space” for giant commercials, billboards etc, to pay for the expenses they have on removing the graffiti. That juxtapose, commercials in public space versus graffiti, have raised a debate though, as to who owns public space, and what is the real difference between commercials and graffiti, and that I welcome.

ON YOUNG GRAFFITI, see flickr-link.

In many ways you could say that every wholepiece, throw up, tag or doodle you encounter on citywalls, trains, busses, cars and so on is to be considered expressions of graffiti, and also young graffiti, as most graffiti-painters (or writers rightfully as they are refered to) I know of is under 30, and in western civilisation below 30, is young.
The pieces I have sought out over the last month or so, are, with few exceptions, mostly tags and doodles, defined by their somewhat naïve and primitive graphic layout and textual messages, which I have found more than enough to conclude, that these were made by considerable younger painters, than those of more classic graffiti whole-pieces.
What I in particular find interesting about these young graffiti doodles and tags is not so much the semantics, as it is the apparent messages.

The never ending discussion about graffiti mostly revolves around two issues, namely: Is graffiti art? Or Is graffiti vandalism?
Firstly: Graffiti isnt only, either art or that, vandalism. It is two highly different conceptual terms which finally defines partly graffiti and partly vandalism. None the less a very persistent conflict exists between the two concepts, because graffiti as such, also questions the cultural consensus it literally lives upon, the right of private property, the proprietary right, which again serves to define graffiti as vandalism.
You cannot use the proprietary right to define whether something is art or not: graffiti is in one way vandalism if a whole-piece is done on a subway train, but does it mean that it is also NOT art?

Graffiti is generally considered vandalism, which it also is, but is also generally described from the approach: How can society win the fight against the destructive and beastly paintjobs on public and private walls, trains and so forth.
It’s without any doubt a relevant approach on graffiti, but, it is not the only one. The proprietary right cannot rule out the aesthetics and cultural links that graffiti expresses, from which also a very commercial and lucrative culture has developed.

The young pieces I have documented I think adds another parallel, not to the discussion as such, but to what kind of tool graffiti can be, and also a statement about which informal room they occupy.
Of a good hundred pictures taken I can almost guarantee that not one is made by the same painter/writer. And it hasn’t been hard finding them, therefore I easily conclude, to nobodies surprise I guess, it is a very common way, to “get it out of the system”, so to say, and therefore also is to be considered a very contemporary picture of where a large part of teens are.
And I have, as an old fart of a dad and in terms of social work, times over and over, experienced, that if you want to be even with teens; if you want to see them at eye-level as the cliché goes, one crucial starting point, is being able to relate to their informal moves and ways, without a patronizing approach. In other words: As art often is, these doodles are to be considered as resources, a way of independent interpretation and relating to the reality they inhabit.


“Wheres the line between what is up for sanitation and freedom of speech or what is destroyed cultural values? Who would dare sanitate the lines and of the Vikings, the catacomps of mideveal churches, Cy Twomblys or Keith Harings drawings? Who today knows, what in the future will be consired valuable or not, chosen from what is to be found on our city walls?”

Staffan Jacobsson:
Den spraymålade bilden – graffitimåleriet som bildform, konströrelse og läroproces.
Aerosol Art Archives, Lund, 1996.

...a little voluptious, but he he has got a point.

The Forest















Today,
I had considered writing about the more or less sudden re-appearance of trees and forests in contemporary Danish painting, represented in particular by Katrine Ærtebjerg, Julie Nord, Fie Norsker and many other artists born somewhere between 1968 – 1975. I had the discussion with a Swedish artist lately, and we both agreed, that it seemed to be an absolute tendency among modern danish painters. As to why or how, our thoughts blurred considerable more:
The forest as an introvert symbol for the subconscious, as the ladder part of the scene has become very intro-vert and self-containing, self-perpetuating? The forest as a metaphore of the world/reality as a dark and mysterious place where the definitive control is really beyond us, as the passing seasons is nothing but life and death: the loss of sense, purpose and control?
Or is it that the new born naïve and somewhat infantile art lingo, the lines, the colours, the tendency to thrash the objects in mind, is an excuse for actually not being able to draw or paint and are they just copycats riding a trend that obviously is selling art? Or are they turning to God in nature, the Nature of God, as the golden age romantics did?

I don’t know, but I know what I see, and I know what I read, and I stopped considering writing about it, as I at Politikens website today read that more and more danish families now are buying one Christmas tree per kid per family. There`s a reason. If the forests disappear, we can paint them, before we stop remembering what they looked like, and thus finally I can get lost among pink wheeping willows.

But what also changed my mind was two other things: Yesterdays edition of Information and Lennards posting at DAMIJWH today.
Under the headline yesterday: “You cannot count annula rings on a human being” (the trees again) in Information, the story goes that four Nigerian females (underaged) lately were arrested for prostitution in Copenhagen. Their age in mind, they constituted a major problem to danish minister of social affairs Eva Kjer “in-equality is dynamic, dynamic means mo money” Hansen.

As they accordingly to a UN ruling (which Eva Kjer Hansen has co-written) was to be considered minors, they had RIGHTS, and Eva Kjer Hansen, couldn’t, with a blink on an eye, put them on the next plane to West Africa.
However, the minister have now received the results of a test performed on the Nigerian women in question from Forensic Institute @ The University of Copenhagen, which concludes that the women is more likely to be considered 20 – 21 years of age, instead of 16 – 17. The tests performed by the forensics included:

1) An overall medical examination, focused on the psychical development of the body, and especially on the growth of pubic hair.
2) X-rays of the teeths and bonestructure of the hands and wrists.

Eventhough the forensics states that such a test must be taken with certain reservations, the problem of what to do with the four girls is off of the shoulders of Eva Kjer Hansen. The girls are now placed in the adult asylum center Sandholm, on the mercy of Danish minister of immigration, Rikke “sympathy doesn`t count and I wouldn`t piss on you if your face caught fire” Hvilshøj, and are without doubt awaiting deportation.

So again the real problem of trafficking, poverty, slips out of focus, and we are back to normal.

symbols of migration

the exibiton "symbols of migration" opened on monday in viborg. a link here to the local newspapers article on the project, which I hope will appear somewhere in the vicinity on Copenhagen early 2007:

the article is...ofcourse...in danish

http://www.viborg-folkeblad.dk/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20061121/VIBORG/111210256/1076/VIBORG

I have said it before and I will say it again: There is no free lunch.

klikken sie hier
http://nationalpriorities.org/index.php?option=com_wrapper&Itemid=182

today, 2 things:
1.
Under the headline "Velida wasnt thin enough" in todays edition of Politiken, Rikke "sympathy doesnt count and I wouldnt piss on you if your face caught fire" Hvilshøj, elaborates on the deportation of 30 year old Velida Cekovic. Elaborating is maybe saying too much. She basicly says what I refered to yesterday, that she cannot personalize sympathy for single-cases. Or: had Velida Cekovic had a bodyweight less than the 84 pound that is the case, that wouldnt have help either. Velida is now straded in Bosnia without relatives, but with her kids, no medical care, and is accordingly to Politiken: "eight pounds from dying..."
Does helping her really demand sympathy? Maybe not, but dignity could be a nice try...

2.
My photo-documentary from Thailand "Symbols of Migration" is opening next week:
Feel free to join the opening at monday 19.11 at 1400h @ the Teachercollege, Reberbanen, Viborg.

We will drink wine and eat pretzels and choke on the historic conditions.

sympathy for the devil

Once again, on the news (TV2) last night (my days of not watching TV is fading) Danish minister of integration Rikke “sympathy doenst count and I wouldn’t piss on you if your face caught fire” Hvilshøj was being interviewed, in front of her yellow brick villa in the charming surburb of Greve, about yet another case of a troublesome deportation from Denmark of a kosovo-albanian mother of two. I didn’t get all the details of the case in question, and that isn’t the point here either. The minister answered with the exact same phrases as when 15 year old sri-lankian orphan Rem, about three weeks ago was faced with deportation. The public debate got heated over his situation, and to no surprise he was granted permission to stay. Which he absolutely deserved, as does the kosovo-albanian mother of two.

However, the cases constitutes a problem, that in particular points back at the media-machinery. The TV2 reproter, Cecelie Beck, kept hammering the minister with one question: “Is it humane? Is it humane? Is it humane?”, to which Rikke “sympathy doesn’t count and I wouldn’t piss on you if your face caught fire” Hvilshøj answered, as always, that one law, one rule, applies for everyone, and that theres is no room for single-cases. Bullshit I say. Every case of a potential deportation is a single case, and the answer just shows the government lack of political will and tendency to treat these issues with the generalizing approach: One size fits all.

On the other side of bad news for a good story, sits 600 iraqian rejected asylum-seekers in Danish asylum-centers in total limbo. Politicians from the opposition is trying ease the pain for them, by introducing law-proposals that will allow them to work while they await a verdict, while the absolute horror, I think, goes totally unnoticed: Not one politician, or media, and in particular TV, seems to point out the dilemma of sending 600 iraqians home to a country in which Denmark is very active in war.

But the case is clear: sympathy doesn’t count. Close the door.

501:

Rightfully also celebrating the outcome of theMidterm election in the US which turned out to be the landslide, they had coming. Also celebrating stepped down DonaldsRumsfeld with this little collection of highly enternaing quotes mirroring the depth and shallowness of a powerfull Warlord:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/6130316.stm

500.

"Corporations are racing to stake their claim on the consumer group formerly known as children, and what was once a preview of a few entertainment and toy companies has now escsalated into a gargantuan multitentacled enterprise with a combined marketing budget estimated at 15 billion dollars annually (2004: US figures) about 2,5 times more than was spent i 1992. Children are the darlings of Corporate America: a new kind of paedophila."

Well, what should have been another small celebration here at NOASRP, as this is my posting number fivehundred: That is equal to 19, 23 postings a month, which equals 0,6 posting a day over the last two years and some days, (yes, I am a sad little self-celebrating cocksucker),
turns out to be another aggresive and somewhat pessimistic posting. The link to the article today only serves to elaborate and emphasizes the quotation above, sampled from, yes own blog on november 29, 2004. (yes, I am a selfcelebrating little shit).

The Citizen has become The Consumer. And consumptiom on top of every bill of rights.

http://politiken.dk/indland/article197503.ece

yesterday I went to see Alejandro González Iñárritu new flick BABEL. Having seen more of his work, of which I especially enjoyed AMORRES PERROS, I was slightly disappointet with BABEL. Clearly 30 minutes to long, it, in spite of the issues and personal downfall in the movie, never really got to me. It seemed too contructed, and the paralel stories to easy, allthough the story of the deaf and numb girl lost by lack of communication in Tokyo came out really good, closer to me, but further from the movie.

Anyway the photage and the soundtrack was great, but bacisly it was more movie that confirmed the states of things than putting forward provoking og controversial interpretations of the state of El Mundo, which I definitely expect from a 135 minutes production.

mixed message








four headlines in different newpapers made a lasting impression on me over he last week.

1: a recent pole shows that one in every fifth dane now is pro capital punishment, aka: the mercy seat.
the positive attitude towards solving the crime issues with DEATH, was predominantly distinct among the ranks and voters, for and of DANSK FOLKEPARTI, the lesser educated, and readers of danish tabloid Ekstra Bladet. That itself didnt surprise. The surprise is the actual number of people pro-death. Over a period of 5 years it has more than doubled. The bitterness, the animosity just adds to the picture of a country, of people imploding in them selves: Close the door after me, I have what I want.

2: that more than 50% of DK population seems to agree that the coming execution of Saddam Hussein only just fits the crimes he commited. Its gonna be a stunningly hardhitter, once the the happy slapping of Saddam hits the internet... Remember the aired freak trial of Ceaucesco?

3: Let him rot in jail for 40.000 years, which was the official verdict on the convicted Madrid terror-bombers. Understable, the rage in mind, but do-able? What strange sense of justice.

4: the reoccuring massive headlinelines on tabloid newspapers BT and Ekstra Bladet, which in particular refers to the TV2.dk primetime show VILD MED DANS. How the f... can two adjascent newspaper with just a little ethics let references to a f...... tv program to make headlines? And how it applies and goes down well, I refer to the abovementioned (1).

I havnt seen BORAT: The Movie http://www.boratmovie.com/ yet. I plan to.

But have you seen this, the real mccoy?
http://www.istanbul.tc/mahir/mahir/

The Clayton Brothers: The Most special day of my life.













today,
three immensely positive newsflashes from the past week: my days of social nadir has definitely evaporated. This week I attended no less than two movie-premiers. That’s like…so much up the ladder, the height is almost frightening.
On Wednesday, by rubbernecking on the means, tolls and networking of Swedish novelist Jakob Ejersbo I attended the opening night of Ole Christian Madsen newest film, “Prag” starring Stine Stengade and the omnipresent frenzy of Mads Mikkelsen.

The film: Christopher (Mads Mikkelsen) has been summoned To Prague to bring home the corpse of his deceased father, with whom he havnt had any contact for 25 years. Simultaneously his marriage with Maja (Stine Stengade) is running dry, as Christopher confronts her with the inescapable fact, that he knows she is having a very intimate affair with a younger man.
Shot on location over 24 days in Prague, the city serves as a perfect kafkaesque backdrop for the narrative that unravels. At first impressions it seems that Christopher is willing to do everything to save their marriage, but the closer he gets to the full story of his father life of which he knew nothing, and to which he is caught somewhere between indifference and hate, the more he seems to acknowledge that his marriage is over, and that he wants it to be over as much as Maja. It doesn’t go about without intense drama in really well played low-fi scenes, and the dialogue is as tense, honest and emphasizes the absence of choice, except for the final break up.
Stengade and Mikkelsen are playing each their character with great integrity and credibility, and it is clear in the direction of the movie, that O.C Madsen has great and equally sympathy for both Christopher and Maja. It stands out that the director knows the story well and it is told with the twists, dilemmas and desperation that I can only imagine is the cold reality of a break-up and he clearly avoids the clichés at hand.
Also I find it clear that he states that The Modern, do offer an “afterlife”, and that there are reasons not to underestimate and respect the family structures and cultures that emerges and constructs, following the rising numbers of first family break ups.

http://da.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ole_Christian_Madsen

On Friday I attended the premier of four movies at Cinematekets sneak bar. The first 3 were not the best I have seen, mostly they came out as dramatized jokes, that all were 17 minutes too long. On the other hand, the last movie of the night: “Hvordan de danser” (How they dance) by Jesper Ravn came out clear as daylight.
An almost anthropological short-film depicturing four average danes, chosen among hundreds, to perform a dance to their favourite tune.
The performances of a slightly overweight 34 year female old school-teacher, doing booty-shakes and hard choreopgraphy to a Beyoncè Knowles hit, the 50-something year old male århus-based gartner and American doing a spectacular anachronistic dance in flip-flops whilst undoing and doing his ponytail to a latino-up beat tune, the 35 year old male writer and in many ways bookkeeper in a crossover between electric boogie, elvis-moves and just pure emancipation in top shined shoes and footwork to Desmond Dekker`s “The Israelites”, and finally the 17 year old female from Århus, doing it in front of flames to “Relight my fire..” was nothing less than a brilliantly sympahtetic and honest film.

http://www.dfi.dk/cinemateket/Cinemateket.htm

Then this morning, the long awaited package from Amazon arrived with the Book (see picture, top): “The most special day of my Life” by artist brothers Clayton.
The Clayton Brothers do very narrative, autobiographical, surreal and ethereal and subliminal paintings: From memories of surburban decay coated with irony and humble truths.

The site
www.claytonbrothers.com

good fun for a boring day at the office: subtitle your own movie at bombay tv.

klikken sie hier
www.grapheine.com

now its dark, and winter came with the precision of a neurotic arctic clockwork...

When the idea surfaced publicly some years ago, I thought of it as a joke. But then Israel started building one, and soon thereafter the speculations in the US gained foothold, and now: the money has been granted, they are gonna build one too:
A wall!
A wall, stretching for the Pacific through California, Texas, Arizona, New Mexico: A 1200 kilometer long wall, to keep the Mexicans out of the US. 6 billion dollars approx. is the price, and still it leaves a 2000 kilometer gap open.
“Mr. Gorbatjov, , tear down this wall” said iconographic Reagan in 1987 visiting Berlin, and basically Mr. Gorbatjov did, and for a while there in the early nineties Europe looked prosperous.

And for the States? Instead of spending the money developing the countries from where the illegal immigrants originate… I mean…jesus...or making laws against hiring illegal immigrants, on building a economy that does not include modern slavery…I mean…
Poor Mexico, So far From God, so near the USA…

ÔBERG OF SKI FI SKANE IN DEVELISH POSE...




Went to see SCI FI SKANE on friday, and was in no way disappointed. I never actually saw BOB HUND live by which I am a big disappointment to myself, so my expectations were high, and as you can read from the first sentence my expectations was met. SCI FI SKANE is a more electronic outfit than BOB HUND, but hold the same energy and strange soundscapes with references to old scifi and horrormovies and also owes a lot to the twangrock era featuring names as The Ventures in particular. So one word really covers the gig: vuf!

One sad flipside to Copenhagen Musicweek (as this gig was a part of) leading up to the MTV music awards this coming weekend revealed itself over the week with some stunning paradoxes.
Copenhagen CityCouncil have supported topdollar corporate-cocksuckers MTV with almost 7 million danish kroner for the MTV Award show, with one demand put forward, wanting to secure that the MTV concert held at City Hall Square should be “open and accessible to the people”.
MTV on the other hand spend the week handpicking the young preppy juniors at a week-long audition, where you, if you displayed your loyalty to different brands, maybe could be granted a front row-ticket for the massive covered media event. The pictures from the audition had a striking resemblances to those from born again Christians, the youngster doing exactly what was expected: when MTV says jump, they do not reply: “Why?”; no they ask: “How High?”
Anyways, I hold absolute no grudge towards the people participating. It’s a chance for a free show with the topshit line up.

What is more saddening is the fact, that this was also the week where www.ungdomshuset.dk apparently have lost the battle for survival, by a pretty definitive court-ruling and the persistent NO to the offer the new owner, The Fatherhouse, told the wellmeaning people trying to buy the Ungdomshuset.
The problem with Ungdomshuset I think is that the issue havnt been worked out years ago. Ungdomshuset have a immediate need at about 200.000 dkr per year to keep services up and running. And though the CityCouncil per se have handed over responsibility to let the issue be solved otherways, it really only points back at them. And the more than willingly hand out to MTV, I think puts it in a sickening elitist perspective.

In the (Swedish words) of Thomas Öberg, “jeg kryber under filten I min pereferi.”

now its dark

the remains of swedish post-punk rockers BOB HUND: SCI FI SKÅNE are playing yet another gig at RUST in Copenhagen tomorrow. SCI FI SKÅNE is still charectarized by one the most talented and contemporary scandinavian lyricists and vocalists, Thomas Øberg. His groundwork as verbalizer for BOB HUND, I think, is some of the most precise words ever uttered on modern life and losses.

I intend to be there.

meanwhile, check out this little hymn and video from there website:
http://www.scifiskane.com/film.html

THE LUXURY OF DOING GOOD
WORK
KIDS
FAMILY
FRIENDS
ENEMYS
ARTS
ISMS
OFFENSIVE INSTITUTIONS
SIDETRACKED COLONIES
SEX
AND OTHER DOMESTICA
MI CASA CON MEDICO
LOVE
CONSTITUTE
HATE
THE CONSTANT ON
THE ESCAPE FORWARD
TO A NONSMOKING FUTUREMANIA
IT MATTERS NOT WHO YOU ARE
IT MATTER WHO YOU WANNA BE
BEST KNOW YOUR MEDICINES
AND BE FREE TO QUESTION
SPECIFY TREATMENT GOALS
THE PRECISION OF TEHCNOLOGY IS MORE APPEALING THAN THE UNCERTAINTY OF SOCIAL CULTURE

I have four tatooes. One one my left shoulder, and one on the backside of my left wrist. They are both symbol of a somewhat divine character. I had them made on my left arm as an overall symbolic action. Me left arm is out of control, and moreover, I cannot control what I cannot see, I cannot see, I can only feel a random presence of divinity. Always on my left. Always out of reach.

On the backside of the right wrist, I had A depicturing of a spaceinvader made. Growing up in the seventies, I had a strong feeling of the world being very motionless amd without any stories to tell, at least that was the static feeling the place where I grew up. In spite of wars, the dawn of disco and punk, I never connected to anything, until a spaceinvader slotmachine was placed at the local grill-bar in 1980. That did the trick. It led me on a path into the world and beyond. 2 years later I ate mescaline for breakfast.

I have a fourth tattoo on my right ringfinger. It is a wedding ring, pitchblack and already scarred, though it is also the newest one.

Then I have two more that really doesnt count as tatoos but still burns. The fifth tattoo is being someones friend, the sixth is being thin.

yesterday,
in the dark silence of the local cinema i notice: god, i stink.
or: god, i didnt notice, it just passed me by, that it has soo been okayed for men to boys to have odeurs like cheap whores, which however doesnt change the fact that i stink. but not nearly as much as the movie i watch. i found it hard to seperate the three.

FIRST AND FOREMOST

After having celebrated the 2 year jubilee of this here blog, I suffered an overall technical breakdown. More than a week without an internet connection or a fit and running pc proved two things.
One: acknowledging and recognising my dependency of digital gadgets and the information highway, is actually worse and more annoying than actually not having access to the net, the pc, my mental appendix.
And two: it is quite pathetic to be an individual with certain digital needs, without actually being able to fix them yourself when you loose control, and I find only little comfort in the fact that I am not alone, prize idiots stampeding in the pen, an incarceration.

On the fourth day of the block out from young Carls kindergarden, it occured to me that I started blogging exactly 2 years ago. 483 postings in two years. The discipline surprises even me, from blabber to hearthrobs, hate, fun and longings. I intend to go on. Make new friends and get thin.

And friday it is, I want to celebrate.

On the third day of the block out from young Carls kindergarden, I decided it was time to clean and vacuum our new short term rental, voluptious 170 square meter apartment. I began the task in the kitchen, then slowly working my way through the hall sucking up every dusty grain using on the way using aVølund Major Sigma 1800-series turned up to 1300 watt maximum sucking-ability. In my favourite room, the study, the laptop neeeded a serious dust off, and I thought to myself that I could do the keyboard with the vacuumcleaner, which I did, lustfully.
As soon as I removed the suckinghead from the keyboard, I noticed with great regret, that I had sucked off keyboard-tabs D, E, H, I, which not only would make it impossible for me to write certain important stuff that means stuff, but also meant that I had to empty the dustbag out onto a newpaper and fish for the missing tabs, which I found and reattached, see: hhhhhhiiiiidddiiiiddddhhhhedddddeeeeeehihihihihihidiiihhhhhiiiieddiiidhdddddeihiihiiiiiiiiiihhhhhheeeeee.

Clean it then was, as clean as these october mornings are cold.

On the second day of the block-out at young Carls kindergarden, I was slightly annoyed that I had not been added to the sms and mailing list informing me that it was still on. My wife called me up 5 minutes late to tell me what I was confronting.
Anyways, I support activistic means. Even more after danish primeminister yesterday in the news combed approximately 100.000 danish parents as "proffesional and organized political hooligans", without elaborating on anything related to the issue but that. Gennarally I think thats constitutes a form much used by the danish goverment, the quick generalizations, black and white answers to non-critical journalists and a press that on a broad scale have rolled over, pissing straight up and eating from the palm of the goverments hand.
Even though I doubt that these actions will result in much change, it doesnt mean that it shouldnt be done. For an ideological liberal goverment it pussles me how far up MY ass I feel them breathe.

When I arrived at young Carls kindergarden this morning, I wasnt exactly surprise about the block-out that a few parents had set up. I mean, it had been all over the news, we had been warned, but in this new-calvisnistic time, I decided to drive by to make sure that the block-out was happening. It was.

It was a warm morning for october, so I decided to take Carl for a ride on my newly purchased Van De Falk bike. In the spirit of the block-out, I decided to show Carl a bit of the class-structure in Denmark. We rode through the Kongens Have (Kings Garden) as a first sure sign of how things also where 400 years ago, allhough the motto of King Chr IV sounded: Regna Firmat Pietas (Piety strengthens the Kingdom).
From there we continued to Amalienborg and observed the anachronistic vastness and emptyness of the courtyard in front of the Palace. The Marble Chruch, The Opera fought for our attention, the adjacent streets with secrets small palaces and luxurious flats and houses.
We continued along the water front to Langelinie, paused at the little Mermaid. She seemed almost restless and sad as we continued to Østerbro and adjoning Hellerup, where Carls attention was slipping away from my teachings to the really cool cars leaving their garages carry the Citizens to their jobs in the city. And he was tired, and I was, and allthough we could have continued all the way to Heather Hill 50 miles up the coast, I had to end todays lecture with a fatherly uplift: "All this son, could truly one day be yours..."

I am classconscious but not unambitious.

“You are the population of the earth, and we need you to save this world from misery”.

A quote from the little booklet handed out as I last Friday entered Signa Sørensen production “Seven Tales of Misery”. And a pretty bold one too. Almost as vulgar as naïve. But from her other productions “Nika is Dead” and “57 beds” I knew that if someone can come up with a plausible solution to such complex questions, she is it. Her productions are.

Entering “Seven tales of Misery” ment a cleansing ritual, being greeted and instructed by a leader: That there would be rules to follow tonight, there was The Law, and would we go by The Law (all that is above is the same as all that is below), we would indeed contribute to free the world of misery. And in a metaphorical setting I for one wanted that: I want to contribute.
Then at the wardrobe, we exchanged our coats for hooded capers, and were lead into the Great Hall where further instructions were given. We would do no less than travel the globe in a matter of hours.
The sense of being part of something bigger, or at least someone trying to do something bigger than life, was immense. The hooded caper disintegrated to a certain degree the identity, the gender and the sense of direction, why most people happily for the first part of the play, followed their leader. But what really drew my attention was that the apparent absence gender and identity, added an immense feeling of an almost ontological presence. We were in this together. Alike.

Then after being led by a Leader (every leader had first name starting with the letter A), I started getting somewhat annoyed, because from her earlier works I knew they really could take off once you throw yourself into them. I got annoyed by the crowd, I got annoyed by the success, the turnout, because I couldn’t move freely, I could not move at will, I had surrendered to The Law of being led.
But then as we crossed the imaginary continents, and met The Refugees, Lady Asia and Lady Arabia and many other of the central players, the resemblance was clear. We were indeed the population of earth, and the more audience they could stuff in that theater, the more real, the more dynamic the thing would have become.

Then slowly as we passed through an impressive consistant scenography, the presence of Der Prince became more and more lucid. Der Prince who had the ability to collect and erase the world of all misery.
And that’s when things started to get really edgy. The construction under which Der Prince could promise to erase misery ; There were only unconditional surrender, there would have to be great sacrifice, and there could be only one love: The love of God.
I felt trapped. It was somewhat like watching a nightmare unfold. There is less escaperoom than there is will to escape. Der Prince then ultimately performed a ritual during which he proclaimed that his mission was almost done, that he had in fact collected the misery of this world, and that it was time for him to leave, which was also a promise of the new Era to Begin.

I left and we left. Not wanting to leave, really. There were parts of the world I didn’t get to see, and misery I didn’t get of my chest, and inbalance where I could have contributed with balance. But we left because it was a play, a production. A production of impressive proportions and spot on precision.
The description of the play should rightfully be longer or not even there. What stands out more important is that here is someone, a director and a dedicated crowd, that have taken a giant leap forward in the world of theater, in the world of arts, and to be honest, here is one of the most competent, sensible and hard hitting contributions to the discussion and perception of the contemporary state of modernity.

All in all very courageous move.

hmmmmmmmm....a ladder step to fascism?

Captain One Eyed Jack is jumping exillerated up and down on his pirate-cruiser Ship Of Fools headed to the fierce and turbulent waters of the East:

"Ohoy shipmates" he shouts from the bridge, "only those with arms gets a piece of the cake..."


http://www.dr.dk/Nyheder/Udland/2006/09/29/034115.htm?nyheder

really clever comparesment. wellchosen metaphore. stunning brainfart. it just adds to the picture of a very concious and persistant, almost stifffrozen and stigmtized debate. Freeze, noboby move!

Imagine...if we moved on.

But then again, why should we? We are so rich we could buy the fucking world.

http://politiken.dk/indland/article178900.ece

new pixs on flickr:
wrapping up yet another apartment I found the missing memorycard with some of the last pictures from thailand...

"We are so rich we could buy the world", said danish minster of finance, Thor Pedersen, recently.
I`ll leave the flickering image of pure stupidity or just humanity, hanging...

photo: courtesy of L. Grahn/ viborg, winter 2006.

"...I once knew these people..." (opening line, Travis (Harry Dean Stanton), in Wim Wenders 1984-movie "Paris/Texas").


Me, I phone people. I talk to people and I see people, I make people and I am people.

But it is old news: stress. What is it with stress that has made it an almost modern qualifiing condition? Stress that I phone, stress, I fucking talk to it, I make it, and I am stress.

What is it about the modern historic conditions that almost states, that if you are not stressed, you are morally corrupt? What is this work-buy-die mantra? Its old news, but what is the blindfold made off, that makes it so fucking dark?

Stress is the foremost symptom diagnosed on youngsters with physcic issues between 13 and 18 years of age, states WHO is newly published report. A link? No, believe the hype.

A shipwreck. The naked propella whipping up dirt from the muddy banks.
Fucked up travel-destinations. Voodoo in the swamps.

today,
an arabic joke in danish, send to me by Ricardo Torres:

En gammel araber har boet i New York i over 40 år. Han vil gerne plante kartofler i sin have, men han er alene, gammel og svag. Hans søn er i Paris, så den gamle mand sender en mail til ham, hvor han klager sin nød:
"Kære søn, jeg er meget nedtrykt, for jeg kan ikke plante kartofler i min have. Jeg er sikker på, at hvis bare du var her, så ville du hjælpe mig. Hilsen din far"
Den følgende dag, modtager han et svar fra sin søn:
"Kære far, hold dig venligst fra haven. Det er der, jeg har gemt du-ved-nok! Hilsen, din søn."

Klokken 4 om morgenen kommer den amerikanske hær, Marines, FBI, CIA og specialstyrkerne til den gamle mands hus. De går straks i gang med at grave hele haven op, endevender hver eneste kvadratcentimeter, men finder intet. Skuffede forlader de hans ejendom.

Næste dag modtager den gamle mand en ny mail fra sin søn:
"Kære far, jeg håber at din have nu er gravet op, så du kan plante dine kartofler. Det var alt, hvad jeg kunne gøre herfra.
Hilsen Ahmed"

nightbreed. escaperoom. time is the ultimate luxury.

I erge you to go see this piece by theatrical wunderkind Signa Sørensen:

Seven Tails of Misery.
http://www.seventalesofmisery.com/enter.htm

Strange how these days go by. After having received the phonecall from Nuuk about Rajuls accident on Tuesday, new of the coup de etate in Thailand started coming in. The first thing I read was that every bank in Thailand had been granted a day off, while the remains of governance was recuperating from the shock and facing devalution. The 1200 danish kroner we send Tuesday morning was by Wednesday worth 200 dkr less.
The only good news in all this is that Rajul is getting much better. He was on the verge of a severe bloodpoisening, at the doctors at Nong Bun Mak had been considering amputating his leg, but had managed to stop a serious infection, so, for now, the worst is over and we are in no desperate need of contributions. But don’t be surprised if you get a phonecall from yours truly one of these days. Rajul will not be able to work for at least two months.

The coup: What can you say? Allthough coups rarely are a promise of better times, there is no doubt that thai-primeminister Thaksin is a higly dodgy character, and foremost a bonafinde hardcore oldschool capitalist. However, at the mercy of globalized economy, Thai economy have since 1997 been booming and have without question bettered the lives of as many as it has ruined.
WTO defines Thailand, not as a third world country, but as an emerging developing country. The question now is, how the free market logistic will react to the coup. Will the international investors pull their dicks out as quickly as they stuffed it there? There is enough open and willingly markets in Southeast Asia, and if theres one thing you can say about global economy, it is this: Fuck feelings! The rules of engagement are way different. You pay not to have feelings, obligations or in anyway be visually and physically connected to the different regions in question.

On the other side of the pond, in the US, I read in danish newspaper Information, that a private PR company are hired by the US government to do productplacement accordingly to pure commercial principles aimed in particular at US citizeins, among which there is a rising opposition against the war.
20 million dollars has so far been posted into the project, acknowledging the fact the the war is way over due and quickly on the way to hell. But what really gets to me, I mean that’s just too fucking democratic isn’t it: They don’t claim anything else. They openly admit there is a massive need for PROPOGANDA, and they by all means are doing the nessecary to manipulate, control, register and what not, to keep a constant wave of positive news flowing from Camp Victory in Baghdad, wher the communicationcentral for starters will wee placed.
In our own pond, Denmark, primeminister Fogh Rasmussen, is sorry that of of his low-profiled ministers, Helge Sander, have appeared in a commercial for Tehcnological Institute. I just wonder how he relates to the abovementioned.

A couple of words:
THERE IS NO FREE FUCKING LUNCH. SUCK IT UP FUCKBALLS.

from the world of strange coincedences:
today, doing more work in the apartment I tore the last door of off the fittings. Clearing the dust and different materials they used decades ago, I found stuffed in the wall a newspaper, or more exact, Politiken, from september 19, 1949. Alas, the paper had been stuffed there I could presume, exactly 57 years ago. Even in those days Systemet Politiken had its way with our minds and ways.

Rajul and Nuuk, with their children.







today, my thoughts go out to Rajul and Nuuk and their two children in the village of Yokam, Thailand.
This morning Nuuk called us up, ridden with tears, she explained that Rajul had been serious injured working in the champingon-hothouses just outside the village.
Working in these hothouses, which are basically tents made of plastic, the temperature often rises to around 60 degrees celcious. More over, the fertilisers used to produce the chamopignon makes the air - with the heat- in tent, somewhat of a deathtrap. And that for a daily salary of approximately 6 danish kroner.
Rajul had somehow fallen in the tent, and ripped his thigh open and are now hospitalised in nearby Nong Bun Mak, where I also recieved treatment for my wounds after the elephant thrashed me in early june. Being a rich white dude, I was pushed in front of every line, because paying the few houndred kroner to get absolutely perfect treatment was no problem to me.

Rajul on the other hand has migrated to Thailand from Bangladesh, and fell in love with Nuuk selling rotis at Bangkok Central Railway Station, Hualampong.
Being a working migrant in Thailand, or being a working migrant in general in the ladder part of the third world, often means that you are persona non grata, wanted, but not officially existing. And with social security in Thailand still has a long way to go, Rajul is now hospitalized having to pay at least 1000 thai-baht a day, which is absolutely devasting for a family unit. You do the math.

And no, they are not pulling us a trick, we lived with them for a month, and I consider them some of the most humble and non demanding people I have ever spend time with.

Tonite we send enough money to pay the hopsital bill. If there is anybody out there wanting to help, you are more than welcome to contact me at mortenalsinger@hotmail.com, call me at +452892 2293, or leave a comment if you want to reach out.

I know, the world is fucked up, but sometimes, you just help where you can help.

today,
only this:

The Egosaurus© has landed. Kick, tusk, kneel, head, dead.

today,
I got up early, hadnt been able to sleep right, and somehow I find that early mornings awake, gives me as much rest as a nights sleep. My mailbox had received a hit from El Badkar, compadre superior from across the ocean, way beyonder in LA, Estados Unidos. Among other stuff, he wrote this stuff:

"Welcome homish, though the DK you describe isn't the DK I remember. Shit, it's been like almost 15 years since I lived there, but it seems as if my memories are of some distant HC Andersen fairytale land of ideals, progressive socialism, and liberal touchy feely philosophy... the place where bubble gum pop culture and modern design is the colorful gravy on socially realistic grey potatoes. Vesterbro was a place where the whore named Tivoli got a heroin needle in the neck. It was a place where the problems and outcasts weren't swept under the rug, but considered a by-product of a tolerance that valued Kierkegaard's solipsism above productivity. Now DK sounds like the dawd dammed paranoid upwardly mobile middle material class anxious American nightmare. Welcome to the machine. If you don't bend over on your own volition, they WILL strap you down, and it WILL hurt twice as bad."

That had to make me think. Carl got up, we had breakfast, and around 0730, I decided to take him for a walk at Assistens Churchyard. No need in pointing out how absolutely chilled the churchyard was, because it is in fact always....very calme. We wandered around for a good hour, and just before leaving I tumbled across two stones not far apart. One marked the grave of Finn Einar Madsen, "rebel", as it said on his tombstone, and the other marked that of Ebbe Kløvedal Reich. Allthough I am not truly updated on their full body of works and doings, they have both ment a great deal to the political and cultural agenda in Denmark over the last three decades, and I got kind of sad, not at least because I in my 2 year absence simply hadnt noticed them disapearring.
And sometimes I have wondered if the 60s ever ended.They so absolutely did for me todayere. Things change. But that is as simple as it is true: Things has changed. Things changes Denmark. Kris couldnt be more right.

so to honor their memory, a link
http://www.tidsskriftcentret.dk/index.php?id=427

fashion is more facsistic than democratic. copenhagen summer of oversized shades. girls on granny bikes. only welfare luxury states have retro-trends.

one word: Sydslam®

All Hail The Working Boys and Girls. By Jove. The Pope did a brainfart and we are at it again.
The End will be not be a silent End.

"The security of the United States are won in the streets of Iraq" says El Presidente. That says a lot doesnt it?
What about the security on US streets, the gun-issue, sticking out like a sore thumb: More kids have been killed by handguns over the last decade in the US, than there were US soldiers killed during the duration of The Vietnam War.

It sucks doesnt it, makes you want to fuck a lot more dont it?

today, back to migration-issues and a few words here to put things in perspective linked to yesterdays posting.

The most striking features of globalization are growth of cross-border flows of various kinds, including investment, trade, cultural products, ideas and people, and the profileration of transnational networks with codes of control in multiple locations. At its core, globalization results in increased transnationalism: behaviour or institutions which simultaneseously affect more than one state. The terrorist attack on 9.11 2001 in fact constituted transnational political behaviour, as those perpretrating were aliens engaging in violence against mainly civilian targets in order to achieve a political goal. Al-Qaida can be seen as an extremely effective transnational network, with multiple codes of control.

from "The age of migration" by Stephen Castles and Mark J. Miller

yesterday,
I watched TV. Yesterday, with the volume off and with half an eye I watched the bonding between one of Denmarks finer in print, Henrik Nordbandt, and the always furiously present Pia Kjæærsgård of Dansk Folkeparti - Danish Peoples Party.
What struck me first was the clear physical resemblance of the two. They looked like twins, and they came out like twins having made up after troubled years apart. Evenly pale in the studio, washed and combed, and not at least, very content.
They have been collaborating on a book which basically is a series of conversations on religion and state, and contributing more I think, to a stigmatation to of the "them and us" termonology, than actually forwarding the debate. Ofcourse, I really cant say, we had the TV muted, and I admit I found it utterly irrelevant to listen to them, all full of myself, I waspretty sure of the outcome.

( http://www.information.dk/InfWebsite/FremvisningPHP/TryktAvis/TAvPrint.php?pTAvVis=202078)

And the tacky timing off the interview, 9.11, didnt it make it too hard for Pia Kjærsgård to emphasize for what she feels when she "talks on behalf of the danish people..." as I think I heard her say, when I watched it a little closer, not fearful, but full of hate.
I tried to zap, but on three or four international channels, DR1, RTL; RAiUno, the same TV program was shown, the rooky account from ground zero, I had no escape, nor had anyone watching television. We are whiping our tears, we are whiping our asses in personal accounts from 9.11, up close, the fireman, the mother, the almost victims, in general the (conviniently) most documentated catastrophe in world history.

Two weeks ago I found out reding a book, that US bombers whiped out as many lives in Tokyo as in the release of atomic madness on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And the japanese raped and killed more than 300.000 in NanKing (China), and now both the countries, US and Japan are best mates, and thats just democracy. Should we learn to live with that? Thats the narrative El Presidente Bush stated during in Graceland with Japanese primeminister whatshisname-sato on statevisit not one month ago. Oh yes. We can. We are so, and only human.

So how about cutting us some slack here? Can we forget about 19 terrorists killing 2.986 american citizens in one blow? When will history, or, when will, the foreign policy strategic of The Coaliton make that convinient? What will the narrative become? Because it will change.

And we have TV for that. Narrative changes to fit the tapestry.

diego rivera: flower carrier. you do the math.

http://www.artchive.com/artchive/R/rivera.html

every decent household should have one, and please close the door after me.

http://politiken.dk/indland/article171605.ece

One month ago I stopped watching television. I still dont. Watch.

and when it all gets a little too serious theres always:

http://www.anders-solo-band.com/

today,
saturday morning, I get up real early to bend the hours of a long day ahead. Breakfast and shower with youngest son Carl, before we set off with the rising sun to drive rent a trailer for this days labour. A ton of debris has to be removed from my apartmennt.
The streets are empty but a few early birds at local gas tanks. Of ten cars I see, six of them were renting trailers at the tank.
"Mobility" I think "What luxury" and I continue to think of the new apartment, 2 floors and lebensraum that will be done in hopefully six months. "Mobility and a permanent base".
I most do something right, or: This feels right, and yes, I do feel better, in fact I feel allright.

somewhere in june 2005 I lost count, as it seems the crisis have somewhat hushed. This account however gives every thinkable statistic detail. A sad count though with one serious gap, the toll of lost iraqi civilians, a number, that is still only counted by estimates.

http://www.icasualties.org/oif/default.aspx

formal equality rarely leads to equality in practice. thus, very shrude, the liberal discourse now hammers: in-equality is dynamic.

too black and white?
http://www.natallnews.com/story.php?id=920