call 114

He had enough off violence. When a friend dies meaningless violence - if violence can be graduated at all - come out utterly idiotic, and should be tried stopped.
The three geasers at jfk square wasnt people he in anyway associated with but be just picked up his son and was standing there with him on stressfull but nice summerday, and really didnt need this appliction to the already troublesome reality. The geasers went head on into a serious fight, moving around the square like degenerated balletdancers, hitting and shouting, dogs barking, people yielding. Blood.
He decided to call the cops.That was his right and his obligation. Fuck violence, he hated it - so be it - he called: 112.

"Hello my name is Donald, I would like to report a fight gone really bad..."
"Allright, but then you want to call the police..."
"But isnt this the emergencynumber for anything...?"
"Yes, but, reallly no, if you want the police you need to call 114."
"Can you redirect me then?"
"No, but I did give you the number..."

He then called 114, waited till a something on duty answered the phone.

"Hello, my name is Donald I would like to report a serious fight. I am standing at..."
"Hold on there my good man, firstly can I have your social security number..?"
"No, you can not, I gave you my name. I would like to report a fight..."
"But before I can pass the info on I really need to get your socialsecurity number.."
"But you cant have it, I am not obliged to give it to you. Could you just please send a policecar around, this is serious..."
"What was your name again sir?"
"Are you gonna send a car around?"
"Probably"
"My name is Donald Hansen...I can see the fight from where I am standing, It is really nasty"
"Donald, you say...Can you spell that for me..."
"For fuck sake, are you sending a car around?"
"No need to get rude sir..."

He hung up, the fight continued. He took his son be the hand, walked in the opposite direction. The police-station was less than 600 meters from here. He let it go. The train back would leave in 10 minutes. He always trusted the precision of public transport to be able to surpress frustration. But he had grown to doubt it.

consecutive dreams of nudity, phonecalls I dont answer, and when I redial theres no answer but a tight and frightening noise. I recognise the number from the display, I get empty sms messages, the phone runs out of juice, I dream I wake up, and then I wake up.

I tilt the salt-jar, drop the coffee, spill the soda in the car, is a hazard in traffic, tumble in my lazes, forget my keys, talk nonsense and generally just lost the ladder part of my motorics.

He is dead now. Gone. Or somewhere in between.

He died the night of july 10th. My friend, soulmate, brother and verbalizer extravaganza lost the battle against racing cancer. That he got sick in the first place is the injustice thats fills me the most. And that so many people does freezes the indignation. We are all loosers and up for graps.

Jakob.

april 6th 1968 - july 10th 2008.

we simouoltanesously left university in a one cocky move, I didnt now him then, but that decision - leaving university, was the only time our friendship shared consensus, the only time we experienced it, ando the start of a life long friendship.

I had known him half my life when he passed away. Bit farewell there, his wristclock still ticking.

Motherfucking helsinki. Its how you get there more than being there its seems.

Meeting jakob was like moving from a protected enviroment, the smoothness of a shoppingmall - to omaha beach. Take cover or stand up for your self. Way your words. Be what you are, not the least, be what you say you are.

motherfucking helsinki. It is as evil as it leaves me cold. A stranded jet on the runway. snow covers every exit. You have to go, you do not have a choice. the simple fatalistic purpose or lack of the same. it aint moving. unless you get in there.

It was even better than I dared imagine and always grew stronger by the minutte, dispite firery differences, msungo jakob stayed in close orbit. I could always get a clear signal. I could always count on presence and outlines. I never waited and I never doubted.

Not as in motherfucking helsinki.

The books always clearly and without doubt overuled the press and let the press stand naked in its own thruth which is very small. Thats was the joke. Till tears ran from our eyes. Puke out the fire, literally. Was that the beginning, or the end starting to show?

motherfucking helsinki. That was dark. Without grace. I promised you a five day hike to the peak of Kilimanjaro and I am gonna do that: Make the whole Serengeti echo your name. Ill carry that tshirt for years like a tatoo, like a motherfucking cold in motherfucking helsinki. africa tugged away under the horny shadow of europe. The curse of europe you said, is that you can be lonely, but you can never be alone.

The simple truth dripping from the scorched mountains of Andalucia. The circus days: There is good shit and there is bad shit. You called it fugaism. That stuff should mean stuff. Home is where your jamon is. I loved that shit. That - ultimately- there is only good shit and bad shit remembering that it is never as white as it looks.

I learned to love you, without going cold like in motherfucking helsinki, like racing an ambulance on the freeway, safe, but under the influence of the basic insecure and blurring terms of constant change.

It just never should only pay to be good.

Thats why motherfucking helsinki wouldnt do the trick. Its frozen, the soundtrack was brilliant. but not enough. Get that plane off the ground. Liftoff.

It doesnt stop here. It aint that white.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_HJdnOnWK_A

things are pretty messed up...im taking a break from blogging, some weeks, the ice of modernity is ... thin. that how dry it is. the unrest and the uncertainties, the impatience and the loss of control meaning purpose and logic luring behind every corner.

have a great summer. im allright, i mean it more the state of things.

HAVE A GREAT SUMMER

Today I would have written about the head to head meeting between chiefeditor of Ekstra Bladet, Poul Madsen, and tv producer Thomas Heurlin, concerning the mediafrenzy-soap of Anni and Erik that I attended yesterday.

But it turned out to be a hush hush meeting, and everyone there, made a silent promise not to go public with anything from the meeting because it could be of personal and sensitive character.
To that I can only say: I am really glad that we have Ekstra Bladet to uphold that principle.

...., what I thought of the meeting....I will return, I think, I think because I also think it is to some degree is indiffenrent, because it became so clear how much a construction that type of commucication is, how little they actually tell and write, only by writing more of it, how TV thrives on newspapers, how newspaper thrives on TV, and aint it just a sad small reality to kling on to, aint it letting go of journalistic principle of fucking enlightment of the public, and not a conformation of the lowest common third.
That it is a highly shrude, backstapping, illoyal and bottomless machine is no surprise, but I must admit to being surprised (or sur-pissed) with the patronising, prejudice and calculating joy the representatives of the press came out. Or at least that was what i think I saw. I was distracted by free sandwiches, cold drinks, and famous people...

A conclusion: The speed of revisionism is shitscary. The sound of the common third is hollow and very loud. And me: I am pissgrumpy hypocrit little piss-ant for even caring....

Democracy: There are days where your opinion matters, and as a natural consequens here off, also days where...yeah! You do the math!

Business here at NOASRP. Three weeks to deadline on new pixs, but I face it rocksteady:

On day four POLITIKEN on sunday presented a hammering critic on the Govenmental rubbernecking with TV2! And I admit to having been more outraged than thorough in my research, as Politiken, spoke of the case as the "most talked about news this week".
I cant agree on that, but there most have been a lot out there I missed, which basically doesnt mean shit, or meaning I have no reason to be righteous, but: Im still worried, or some would say: pissgrumpy...

postings this week will be random

Day 3:

No! Nothing. On day 3. Apart from danish newspaper Politiken, mentioning the fact, nothing. Zilch. Nada. Not even on Tv (no, ofcourse not but...).

I admit to maybe having done lousy rsearch. I have only been over TV, newspaper, radio and the internet, but still havnt found anyone having a critic approach to the stunt performed by minster of Culture, Brian Mikkelsen and the govermental occupation of TV2: We squirt, you swallow!

If in fact, the critisim is out there, please help me and tell me where....

When I once said here on this here blog that I believe in a strong State, i didnt have this in mind: You gotta be fucking kidding me: We now have, in denmark, STATE TV at full throtlle, just steps away from berlusconi-esque terms, minister of culture Brian Mikkelsen, now denies to go public with the terms on which he have guarenteed TV2 economical aid to survive.

It is without doubt the most massive propogandistic stunt to gain control on medias that has gone down since...jeeeeeeeeesus I dont know when. A clearcut mediascandal, as hillariously funny as it is saddening and as it is curiously silent.

http://politiken.dk/kultur/article522597.ece
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Propaganda

liFE SUPPROT FOR tv2 to ensure that the government has at least one 100% loyal lapdog and these statements from PM Rasmussen: http://politiken.dk/politik/article521562.ece
just adds to a picture of a thoroughly infected and propogandistic political climate in Denmark, that the term and the energy spend - by the same government - on defending "freedom of speech" seems utterly t a m e.

I need a break or a diet or a guru or directions or a good beating or just....what a fuckball real life.!