So he Club Liar here at NOASRP must excuse for all the wrong spellings yesterday, which just goes to prove that my english sucks. Anyways I continue, like sucking a lollipop with the taste of dick.
...Bangkok, just stood at the feet of the highest building in Bangkok, reaching well over 1200 feet, egtting hustled or trying to. I cant blame the hustlers for trying, but I grow tiresome when every relation or conversation you engage in finally ends up in a question about money. Well things are measured in what they are moving towards, and in that movement it can be diffucult to see to where it really points.

Also found out yesterday, that age in Bangkok is as often measured in a persons height, as it is in the actually numbers of years under the bridge. So well over three feet, my 12 year old son is now considered an adult, and we pay accordingly.

Im leaving this internet cafe now, lost in some small soi (small street) mot knowing east from west, nort from south. But I know forward.

Liar I am, I continue to blog in english it seems, so you are free to discuss if as my blogging is as good or bad as my english, but:  I would rather be the Club Liar than the Club Bore, so... 

Touchdown in Bangkok on friday, an undramatic lift, with young Carl sleeping for 10 of the 13 hour flight. Made me able to keep all the food on the plate.

Picked up on Bangkok airport by wife and perfect shaped katoy (tranvestite) who sang along to the thaipop on the carstereo all the way to Pattaya. And Pattaya: what can I say. i think everyone going thee would sense it as a direct hot to all sense, blinded though by one thing: the apparent WHITENESS of male stereotypes. Bu, there so much more behind the scenes.

Not before yesterday - and in Bangkok with a stunning 9th floor view - have I lost the jetlag and as such not experienced anything but being as white a tourist as ever: or rightfully, I am sayingnomatter what complexion of skin, tourits allways sticks out like sore thombs, and in megacity Bankok, only just adding to the picture of the let astray marketeconomy. There is something definitive non-human about the way these megacities attracts all and everything and o creates a fierce and attractive dynamics, but on the other hand at a frightening pace leaveshuge chumps of land, family and culture destroyed, or at the least at the mercy of whatevercrumbles the city spits out.  

Should have left for Bangkok on monday but a severe case of chickenpocks with young Carl delayed liftoff. After long negosiations with the good people of swiss air and a visit to their copenhagen office I must realize that my english has crucially worsened over the past years: I simply ran out of precise and proper terms, why I again from touchdown in Thailand, will blog-on in my native danish.

It reminds me of the heydays of indie rock in the 90s, when everyone with the right haircut started a band and sang with fony oxford and manchester-accents. I had a (danish) friend that were particularly fond of speaking english to everyone with a very fat brit accent. I dont think he himself realised ithe overkill, untill he one day asked a true londoner about it:
Q:"So hows my english? Which accent does my english resemble? Where do you think I come from in England?"
A: "Denmark."

Farewell and liftoff tomorrow until march 28th.

Ach lieber Gôtter! What a week, what times. What ablaze proportions. I kind of promised my self not to comment on the vandalism that have torn Denmark up over the last two weeks, mostly because the only feeling and observation it has left me with, is one of utter baffled astonishment.

I cannot defend aimless vandalism following the riots among primarly young immigrantkids. Smashing up libararies, shops, cars just added to a picture of utter stupidity , but I cannot say it is surprising. Without connecting the riots directly to the attempted re-cycling of The Mohammed Crisis, and the deportation of two alleged terrorists, the riots has a reason or more of them that points to the troublesome work performed by the danish police upholding the visitation-ones in Copenhagen. The spin-off vandalism was irrationel, and i believe that perpertrators should be found and prosecuted, but I strongly hope, that the matter doesnt stop with a few arrests and selective law-monging stigmatising the muslim minority of Denmark even more. They are, without comparisment, the most publicly scorched group, and the focus is twisted, compared for example to the lack of attention to priveliged crimes, meaning tax-fraud, speculation, weapontransport and whatnot practice with greater profit but way larger cost for the society as such, than the 25 million the blazes in Copenhagen and Denmark experienced over the past days.

I dont the answers to the problems, of I did I wouldnt be sitting here thinking about it, but things that have been done so far can absolutely be dealt with diffenrently. I see very complex economic and social-political structures and climate that have led up to these very unfortunate events.

I have a hard time coping with the "victimization" expressed by a good part of the young rebels, and a even harder time making ends meet, but I believe it is doable, and I believe that within the greater part of the muslim society and the danish per se (all for one) can move forward with time.

Some will say that its all a cultural problem (meaning islamic problem) and that 2 generation immigratans and fundamentalist are over representated in danish crime-statistics, and others would say that nationalromatintic fundamentalists are over-representated in the danish Parliament (meaning DFF).

Others would say that we have been at a fullfrontal war with The Muslim World since 9.11, and choosing war, we also choose two fronts, so live with it.

Not very subtle thoughts, an expressions of much frustration, but man these are interesting times.

Which leads me to the, what I find, the pathetic "case" against MP Kamal Quereshi. Here we have a member of parliament whose alleged crime have was signing an email with another name to keep "a certain degree of anonymity", and his alleged cheating a medical examination in 1990 (he was 20 at the time) was punished within the educational system.

Lets not forget - so - that sitting chief Anders Fogh Rasmussen in 1982, as minister, was fired for creative accounting running the Ministry of Tax and Economics, and got replaced by non other than Peter Brixtofte.

http://forbryderalbum.dk/mat.php?n=2

And finally, Nyhedsavisen, that on february 15th runs a story about Denmark being ridiculed by swedish supergiant IKEA. The case being that IKEA names the top-ucts primarely after swedish cities and places, secondly norweigian names and places, while danish cities and places are used for naming products as mats and carpets!

a few words:
a quick dive into infamous 1000fryd in Ålborg yesterday, I was thoroguhly impressed with purple dinasour clad MOCHIPET performing a ultra disciplined breakcore set excceeding an average of 130 bpms.
JUSTICE, move over!

http://www.myspace.com/mochipet

poetic recycling 4:

Quasimodo Werther Er (alle) Restorienterede Tabstabeller Yderste (konsekvens af) Underholdning Individualisme (i strukturen de flimrende billeder af idioti eller bare menneskelighed) Over Personer Åh Afsky Sidelæns Død (den lille) Forkerte Grunde (alle de) Helvede (I) Jeg Køber Legesyge Æbler (på torvet hvor du spiser en røget sild) Øen (er mit) Zenith (der) X-rayer (mit) Centrum Bund (top) Nord (syd, øst, vest) Meningstab (jeg knepper en fotokopi)

keyboard

The Cowboys:

Visiting my hometown Viborg this time and again included the intense ghostbusting in the deserted streets ,but also a joyful reunion with old (and present) Club Nova compadres extraordinaire: Rene, Martin, and Kasper.
Commemorating the passing of time, updating the comtemporary whereabouts (Kasper pointed out to me for exampe, that I in my review on my blog of Corbijns "Control" consequently had called Ian Curtis by the name Ian Smith...), Martin proposed a toast to another (yes!) Viborg-born legend, that absolutely needs a mention:

The cowboy painter Olaf Wieghorst.

Born in Viborg 1899, he immigrated to The States around 1920, and was to become one of the most celebrated painters of the Wild West, with paintings on the walls of the Ronald reagan libarary.


http://www.wieghorst.com/
http://www.olafwieghorst.com/

as my friend lennard put it, it is hereby proven that the old hommes extravaganza of flottenheimer, has helped secure the national identity and thus the cultural heritage.

klikken sie here and note video in top right corner
http://www.kb.dk/da/nb/materialer/haandskrifter/HA/hoejholt/hoejholtfilm.html

poetic recycling 3:

you have questions about politics
you have question about your eligibility
you need to report vandalism
you are having an ongoing problem with your neighbour
you want to go to the playing field but you are too old
you want an apartment waitlist application
you are having problems meeting society`s requirements
you are not sure of community resources
you need to talk to someone who understands
you lose your keys
you need a rental payment plan
you need to see The Manager
you want a pet
you are having a pest control problem
you want to make a change
you need your fire extinguisher replaced
you need to report laundry room flaws
you notice suspicious persons
you are locked out of your apartment
you have an emergency
you want to go home


And a little quote here as a comment to the on-going political farce concerning the domestic political situation in Denmark, featuring Ny Alliance:

I ethvert struktureret og organiseret kollektiv tilhører førerpositionen de enheder, som slører deres egen situation og gør deres transaktioner uigennemskuelige for udenforstående – samtidig med at de holder hinanden informerede – ingen blinde pletter og ingen overraskelser. Strategien for enhver eksisterende eller kommende sektor i hele den moderne verdens bureaukratier består altid og konsekvent i bestræbelsen på at frigøre egne hænder og pression for at indføre strenge og nøjeregnende regler for alle andres opførsel inden for organisationen. Størst indflydelse får den sektor, som formår at gøre sin egen adfærd til den ubekendte i de ligninger, som andre sektorer opstiller for at foretage deres valg – mens den med held holder de andre sektorers adfærd konstant, regulær, og forudsigelig. Med andre ord, de enheder der formår at holde andre enheder i usikkerhed, udøver den største magt. Håndteringen af usikkerhed er essensen og den væsentligste faktor i kampen for magt og indflydelse.

for the next few days I wont blog. Off to Jylland againg to bit some farewells and do some right things

poetic recycling 2:

I don’t who loves who climping up the stairs horny spooked by the stars I wrap for a later score in d-minor she is fucking sleeping what did I do wrong and I do care I think the other bone structure is perfect and now after 12 weeks we hug I am not a tree she is not a tree but we are in deep fucking forest country cold damp silent astray apart lost tall and split legs birth blood blast back to fucking trees in nostalgic copenhagen my dick is bleeding I cant unlock my bike my pants around my knees around my future future is always different future is never there his eyes never loose the one now wide asleep I cant believe it seems simple but nothing will stick no ends ties up we do not communicate more than we piss we do not even try we let it loose and flow it’s as fucking stupid as long hair slow traffic keep right do not yield do not merge or mingle the questions unanswered but we keep asking them we ask to the bones stick out what stuff are you into and what stuff means shit to you that doesn’t mean shit to me and is not retrospect and half asleep and she and her bones states everything I liked about the eighties where as they before sleep drift into everything I hated about the eighties which subsequently leads us to the inevitable talk about death and being a by gone you should check out the stars I say again but its too cold you say and choose to take a piss instead and I think we are doing this because it means stuff but here I wont even think any deeper because I find it too private even for my self remembering that reality is a construction remembering the secrets I revealed on highway 5 that I in the dawn of 2003 committed a severe massacre on my own sperm neglected my appointments with the shrink and basically didn’t give a shit the question being: do I give a shit, am I really the cynical, ice-cold fuckface I find so hard to escape? But would she just wake up, and state an head investment instead of rolling flat on her stomach I think I could stop thinking about other bone structures as the geography of my situation really denies me the pleasure

poetic recycling 1:

today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream.
today, all day hand on crutch eyes on a distant dream
today
all
day
hand on rutch
eyes
distant dream
eyes days hands
and hands on
today dreams distance stops dreaming
hands on
all day today hand on crutch

Went to turn in my visa application at the Thai Embassy today. Or more rightfully, three of them: For me and my two sons.
It went smooth untill it dawned on the good people there, that I am in fact travelling there - Thailand - alone, or - with the kids. Allthough I had a copy of my travel plans, especially they wanted to know of my return-date, the fact that my wife is already in Thailand, constituted a problem: How could they know that Mum (my wife) actually had permitted me to travel to Thailand? I try to explain them, that we had shared rights on the kids, and that I - at will - could decide whenever I would to travel to smithereens if I wanted.
Non the less, they insisted that I contacted her in Thailand and made her fax a permission for me to travel with the kids, and a copy of her passport:

Alas, so much for equal rights in 2008.

today,
a shitbusy day: gives me an erge to starting writing a short story about flirting, describing the worst time I ever put a foot in my mouth. But this is as long as it gets.

It is never longer than it is deep.

Long Live The Rebels! All Hail the Working Boys and Girls. Reep what thy saw:
Four radiomontage heroes fighting to stop the lobotomy. Radiofonic rebelling! May the Airwaves shiver with joy! YeaYeaYea!


http://www.radiofoniskselskab.dk/
http://politiken.dk/kultur/article467065.ece

Oh my God, february, so soon...strange days.

On friday I attended the funeral of my uncle, Poul Christensen, who died 87 years old on monday, after years of illness and resignation.
Not that I was that close to him, I allthough have vivid childhood memories visiting him and my cousins in the smalltown charm of Ry, in the danish lake-district.
Poul was a silent but strong man. An old schooler, whose, like may of his generation, honoured values and qualities like social restrain, family first, hardworking, selfsuffience.
During WWll he was part of the restistance and got arrested by Gestapo in 1944, and send to the danish prisoncamp Frøslevlejren, and was kept there until may of 1945. He never talked about this.
As a kid was really curious about this, and wanted to ask, but never did, because the consensus in the family was. "he did what he had to do...", and that was all there was to it.
In the late fifties Poul started a furniture-factory and got licensed to produce Wegner furnitures, and did so untill 1982, where recession stopped production. He was offedren to produce other firniture brands, designed to fit a new market, where quality wasn`t first choise, but declined.

Poul leaves behind his wife, three kids and numerous grand children.

Godspeed Uncle.

http://da.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hans_J._Wegner
http://da.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fr%C3%B8slevlejren