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.