12.06.06: the sun continues unrelenting, beating down its fat rays, etc etc. it took me twenty minutes to get out of bed this morning, but i honestly though it was two hours. it's what you've been waiting for so why aren't you outside? my excuse is i'm making breakfast.
like i even know what day it is.
just north of copenhagen, at klampenborg (as far as you can go on the local s-trains, and also where the 'other' theme park is) we found a small pocket of the mediterranean. it's called bellevue beach, so maybe it's more like france. or southern france and then everyone's a winner. either way, whitewash buildings never lie and nor does the post-sunset rainbow sky. there's no better way to end of a hot day than spun out on the beach, sweating heat into the cooling air.
bellevue is a short but well formed beach and has the distinct benefit of being far from the factories that plague amager beach. it's a much nicer stroll (especially if you're lazy). in places the thick seaweed makes the water look like tar. then further out the sea is the reflected yellow of the sky, fading to red up towards the horizon. in the distance you can see sweden, but if you pretend it's corsica it's all the same.
what i was saying about feeling on holiday, you don't have to go far.
i sat at the end of a jetty, busy looking contemplative (in reality trying to mentally repel the midges and not be scared that something beneath might grab my legs), while julie played some volleyball (i don't think she won either). the clear waters were begging for some action but i was only going to get wet up to my knees. i went in in search of fish and crabs while a spider tried to make its web between the jetty's supports, we both failed. as the air cooled the top layer of gray sand cooled with it. i could spend hours pushing my fingers through it, i think i might be a bit autistic like that.
with a rather stylish stigma (if you'll excuse the pun), but i think my photo stripped it of its soul. this morning the petals have wrinkled and died. apparently that always happens, so nevermind.
shame we missed half machine at christiania, that'll teach me for promising myself i'll look more closely at the poster next time i pass it. nevermind. actually no, i'm really gutted.
10.06.06: so, photos from the carnival of varying quality:
i slept like an insomniac last night. which is a better simile than what i was going to write, "like a shit". now i don't really now how i'm feeling. but i do know i'm angry.
so back to the topic of my stupid fucking country shooting its own citizens. i don't like how it's being turned into a racial issue, and how (apparently) it's only muslims that are concerned about it. it scares the shit out me and i'm not even christian (that was supposed to be a bad joke). the media is subtley telling everyone not to be worried about it because it doesn't effect them (you compliant white retard) while the police don't even try to justify themselves. they claim to have been successful on many occassions but offer no examples or evidence, neither will they release the specific "intelligence" that led to the raid and shooting. an opaque police force with a license to kill?
i've also anger rising about guantanamo bay. now people have started dying the pressure for its closure will increase, but why doesn't that fill me with hope?
so off i go to listen to 'the rise' and wish that rage against the machine hadn't split up. and that they'd hurry up with their inevitable reunion (don't lie).
09.06.06: i feel like i'm on holiday. it must be the weather, because i'm working more now than i have the whole time i've been here. or maybe the hours of my life that i've sold (and will never be reclaimed) are making me appreciate all the more the ones that i have left to indulge amongst the summer. this is a scene you can't describe because it's not about the sights, the sounds or the smells. the cool stone wall of a church and the cobbled streets stippled by the sun's rays as they fall through those lush green trees. the cocktail of languages mingling on the street, the floating melancholic piano melody and the birds that are singing along to it. the ladies's perfume, fresh fruit, street food and a hint of venetian canal. it's what's inbetween, or even worse, what isn't.
do people go on holiday to see other worlds or to escape their own? this wasn't what i was wondering while i was sitting there (wherever 'there' might have been at the time), i was too busy enjoying my world just as it is.
another 5mm of my book read and now i have a sticky backside, what you get for sitting on a bench under a sap dripping tree. my book makes delightful crackling noises when you open it to pages 321 to 356, to old man antonio and the stories from the seahorse to the sea.
everything else goes just fine. including my language class that i'm still attending (rather than missing) but rarely mentioning now that the novelty has worn off. it hasn't worn off at all. i wrote this during the break of my lesson yesterday:
there's three drinks in the room. when i type this up i must remember to place quotations around the word "drinks", but i know i wont. the first is a colour that you never knew existed. it's like red, but not. i worry for the girl as she drinks it, how it must taint her insides. the second drink i'll call green. like mouthwash, except that's not meant to be swallowed. the question of its flavour confuses me. it's called "fun" and it's called "sport", so i don't really want to know. the third is snappily titled "nestea" so you'll leave that one well alone. what it does have is a reasonable colour. although not because it's natural, but because they filled it with chemicals to make it look like it was. to me this makes it the worse and thankfully final drink. "drink".
what happened next was our teacher bought in a tray of tea and coffee to go with the cakes that had also
almost magically appeared. a civilized language school party and too bizarre in its context. did your
teacher at school ever make you cups of tea? oh, unless you're martin, who once got a cup of tea in biology.
i finish with this. why the fuck is the sun bidding adwords on the term zarqawi?
06.06.06: it's like a whole years worth of seasons have passed in the last two weeks. the floating heat haze tells me that it's finally summer again. like i said, you could bake potatoes outside..
funny, because as i typed that it began to pour down outside. sigh
so what is with everyone writing themselves into their own books? i mean, if bret easton ellis and douglas coupland are doing it then everyone is doing it. my theory is that there's a secret authors' game going on, some kind of bet or competition, which involves you writing yourself into your next book. some kind of plot device to blur the boundries of fiction. to demonstrate how the writer is the only person in control of the truth, and it's as subjective as they want it to be. the pretense of a true story. salt and pepper. there's a clever word that i can't quite put my finger on that would perfectly explain what i meant by that sentence. but anyway, chuck's 'haunted' does it too.
in their game i also imagine you get bonus points for making yourself out to be an asshole.
random subject change, video of the pirate bay server raid.
and scarier still, "he was coming down a flight of stairs, his brother was behind him and above him on the stairs. he was shot from in front by an officer at close range", i presume the seven shots to the head missed, or something. "we were left with no choice but to act upon that intelligence. public safety was our top priority". you say you're worried about britain becoming a police state? and all they're willing to say is "specific intelligence". they don't even need to tell lies anymore. it happens once and now it's the norm? is shooting people in the interest of public safety justified now?
here's some "specific intelligence" for you: my neighbour has ten kilos of anthrax in his cellar and the necessary ingredients to make a small nuclear device. it's true because i saw them on his webcam. you gonna go shoot him now?
maybe i should just shut up.
also thanks to silver mt.zion for recognising scandinavia and playing here on your european tour. playing five dates in italy and seven in france? that's okay cos you'll save time by missing denmark, norway, sweden, finland and poland (that was a joke, btw). sorry, was i being too sarcastic? at least they played luxembourg, no one ever goes to luxembourg.
05.06.06: it's about the bike rides and the carnival. it's us and the sky. and in two dimensional denmark it's bigger than ever. perhaps this is why i love mountains so much, because they hide you from its enormity. that shit is terrifying. and on a day like yesterday you have it all, the open stretches of blue, the towering fluffy white clouds and the doom bringing grey and black ones. the sun piercing through them so sharp it's like a series of searchlights. staring at this will make you crash your bike. potato fields and all that.
at two meters below sea level amager fælled and kalvebod fælled take up most of south and west amager, stretching all the way down to the sea. it's an accesible nature area not fifteen minutes out of copenhagen center. it's ideal for cycling, jogging, bird watching and walking the dog. fun for all the family and a great day out! seriously though, this is the perfect place for campfires, beer drinking and sleeping under the stars. hidden in the forest is a purpose build sleeping shelter that i find particularly attractive. camping is going to be awesome. and if you run out of food you could always pop over to fields to stock up (no chance on their dumpster though).
yesterday the weather was perfect for the final day of carnival. it was so awesome we went twice, basking in the range of vege food (oh, falafel and thai) and the ready availability of churros. sweet awesome churros. guaranteed to make you feel instantly sick. and it was only that morning i'd been thinking how long it had been since i've had donuts. churros are better. it was also good to see so many non-white people (excluding my language school and the take-aways copenhagen is a very white city). there's nothing better than a carnival for improving your ethnic diversity.
so it went on like this. endless samba and not enough colour (isn't this supposed to be a carnival?). and why does carnival always imply samba anyway? what about some happy ska reggae? i thought samba would become grating after half an hour but all it does is fade into the background, more boring than annoying, a constant rumble that comes from every direction reminding you hey it's carnival!! that's until they're upclose again and people are blowing their whistles and jumping around and it's pure happy summer excitement. note: every samba band has one (and only one) person with dreads.
there were people dancing on stage (i hate dancers' facial expressions, a forced and frozen smile, it's eerie) and a collection of huge ancient wooden games. they were seriously cool and some of them quite inventive. i never got to play any though, too many damn kids. more samba. then sitting down and eating noodles. i watched a young kid get his fingers licked by an annoying fashion dog, then run over to this little girl and put his fingers in her mouth. at least he hadn't stuck them up his bum. or worse, the dog's.
after a while this got boring and we returned home for cheap tofu and napping. i almost got to update my website before we had to leave to catch the night parade. we arrived at the park just as the sun was setting. it cast golden orange light over the park and threw long spindly shadows across the grass. from beneath the sun and amongst the sun came the sound of (you guessed it!) samba drums. the parade was bright and cheery and mostly compromised of half naked women (ignoring the samba drummers), which was a bit weird. they must have been freezing.
other great fun was to be had on the music-pounding light-flashing fairground ride (although it did make me queasy). then what sounded like a gun shot developed into a firework display. we dashed through the trees and around the lake. the fireworks popped above us through the leaves and a layer fog of smoke was settling on the horizon, slowly diffusing its way towards us. we stood at the edge of the trees and watched the display with hardly anyone else around. intimate and apocalyptic. and loud (although after the samba drums i don't think i judge what is 'loud' anymore). it's been a long time since fireworks excited and thrilled me. it was a good end to the day.
anyway, i swear this woman on the other side of the courtyard is reading a dictionary, starting with 'a'. and this other woman inbetween is breastfeeding her baby under a blanket. she's going to suffocate it. this other
asshole guy is smoking a cigar. is this all really necessary?
i had big plans about all the exciting stuff i was going to write about our fun adventures, but really lost the drive and interest. so sorry if i wrote a load of wank just now. i did try.
03.06.06: i never would have guessed that a single bittorrent tracker system is responsible for half of sweden's internet traffic (that's not downloading torrents, that's finding them). or at least, it was before the swedish police, under pressure from the american government, raided them and confiscated their servers. this also shut down the no-longer-affiliated piratbyrån, a political activist organisation that promotes the reforming of copyright law. that's a bit like shell convincing the police to shut down the greenpeace website. it's exactly like removing the right to freedom of speech, and nothing else. the police got the ddos they deserved, and there's been a few irl protests as well, but only in sweden (i think). the story is an interesting read and it's still unfolding. if you want to read up on it then this dude has translated many of the articles from swedish.
as for today, the slight drizzle outside is beautiful but not at all in keeping with the weeks supposed summer theme and terrible for today's carnival. it reminds me of wales. unfortunately it doesn't make my head feel any better.
last night i couldn't sleep. and when i did i had nightmares about office work and meetings. a plague on both coupland's houses.
it's not all his fault. me and julie had gone to the kvl (copenhagen university) student bar to celebrate the end of school. we'd also been to the sushi bar near knipplesbro bridge (actual name). it was expensive but good. the after taste combination of their ginger, wasaabi and kirin beer was quite satisfying, and their sushi bitesize perfect. apparently the sign of cheap sushi is that it's too big (personally i'd prefer more for less). on the table across from us some young twenty-somethings were all done up nice. they managed to leave about 150kr worth of sushi between them. i would have eaten it myself, and i would have as well, if only it wasn't all fish.
we took the bus up to kvl and (an echo from last time) the clipper machine was broken and we rode for free. in england they'd make you pay in cash. free travel makes me happy. then outside the bar people were hammering nails into a tree trung. that also makes me happy, although i have no idea what it was about. inside the bar it was packed and hot. fun though, chatting to random people about things even more random. that and the beer was only 15kr a 'pint' (note: barely a pint). then there was weezer and i was made up. reliving all that student crap.
anyway, as fun as it was, my heart isn't really in this. the rest of the night is pretty much on the dumpster diving blog if you're interested.
02.06.06: today is better, and in recognition i decided to change my daily routine (of impending doom -pure zim). so there was no email checking over breakfast and there was no accidently staying on the computer until the afternoon (under the guise of doing work). after cereal i walked straight into town. but really this has nothing to do with the summer and having a life (i just noticed our internet connection is down anyway). it was only because of ethan's comment (in douglas coupland's new book, jpod) that it was comic book day. i had indeed missed two of these in a row now. think of all the wonderful comics that might have been released while i wasn't looking. think of seven soldiers #1, finally. except of course there was nothing new i could afford (expensiveness = cost/want). i was tempted by joe sacco's 'notes from a defeatist' or the gorgeous anthology of "unknown comic visionaries" called 'art out of time'. the will eisner sketch book is also too sexy, but its 500kr price tag makes me flacid.
what i really should have bought from town was anti-chafe nipples, before they start bleeding.
i even might have done aswell, but i got confused by the incoming carnival. little girls in pink and green dancing badly to samba drums and all that shit. cool if that wasn't all it was (i wish i could say that sentence was clumsy on purpose). i was secretly looking forward to getting stuck on one side of the street but nevermind. and managed to last the whole paragraph before using the word "paedophile".
actually our internet connection wasn't down, just the punks in the garden (no matter how much they don't want to be called punks) had unplugged it in favour of the stereo. gah.
the thing i was supposed to write about yesterday was that the day before i'd had my final hospital appointment and i'm now free (to fuck up my arm again as i wish). that's a total of seven times i've been to the hospital since easter. i think that's quite impressive.
the thing i was supposed to write about ages ago was about the second hand cd/video shop that had at least 23 copies of red heat. remember the good ol' days? when arnie only pretended to kill people..
01.06.06: i had a shock when i checked the date this morning. it sure doesn't smell like june. but then what would i know about the seasonal smells of denmark? do we even live under the same sky? do we really?
so, from one topic that no one cares about to another. the following graph shows my unique visitors over the last three months:
it demonstrates a few things. primarily the effect of being banned in google, but also how little traffic yahoo and msn actually deliver (with comparable rankings). since the email google sends out informs you that your site will be removed for at least a month, and reinclusion requests can take a couple of weeks (just imagine how many they recieve), i thought it was to my credit that i was out for exactly a month. but since big mouth media managed it in just a number of days it's not so impressive.
anyway, there you go. is that my lesson learnt? most likely. there's nothing authority hates more than repeat offenders. it's just nice to know that google are actually getting on the ball with this kind of crap.
30.05.06: my apologies if you're not in the mood for some geometry and sexism, because i finally read flatland (that's a fantastic link, btw) and ever since my brains been driving me mad.
if you know me then you'll know that i'm not new to this multi-dimensional lark. i've already thought long and hard about the nature of spatial dimensions (blame mick) and i've had more than my share of venomous conversations about time not being the fourth. i love the klein bottle as much as the next man (although i still havn't solved the 4d rubiks cube). because of this i wasn't expecting any great revelations from the book. predictably i was wrong though, but more on that in a minute, once i've praised and totally slated it.
the book itself is an enjoyable and quirky read, and as much a social commentary of the late 19th century as it is about maths. a fascist government, contemptuous class system and truly disturbing view of women are all depicted through the geometry of flatland. not only that but the book uses maths to justify it. to say the women of flatland are oppressed is an understatement. they're described early on as being "wholly devoid of brainpower, and have neither reflection, judgement, forethought, and hardly any memory". your other favourite quote will be:
"it was decreed by the chief circle that, since women are deficient in reason but abundant in emotion, they ought no longer to be treated as rational, nor recieve any mental education."
it's so misogynistic that abbott could only have intended it as a statement against male chauvinism. surely?
the chapters concerning the colour revolution, the colour bill and subsequent "suppression of the chromatic sedition"
are interesting for their political analysis, although it's a shame most of it is only implied, i wanted to hear
him shout "power to the people". if only their intelligence wasn't linked to the size of their angles it might
have been possible.
so what did i gleam from it? my revelation was this. by sliding out of our 3d space (along a 4th spatial axis) you would be able to see all objects within that 3d space in their entirety. everything opens up for your scrutiny. the front, the back and all of the inside. this in the same way that you can see the contents of a square scrawled on a piece of paper - the whole 2d world is visible and open to you. that's because your eye is also 2d, with a pair of them you can judge depth (which i'm thinking is different to "seeing" the third dimension, but you work that one out). there's our limitation though, and why being dragged into the fourth dimension wouldn't enable us to see anything other than some seriously fucked up perspective. for anything more we'd require a very different eye.
this leads me to my first criticism of flatland, but unfortunately to explain that i need to explain my second first. there's no need for the inhabitants of flatland to only have one eye, actually it makes no sense at all (especially in terms of evolution, but i'll sensibly ignore that). by having a second eye they'd be able to judge distance and suddenly all the crazy talk of fog is redundant. if abbott wanted the lower triangular classes to still be physically disabled then he could have given them a single eye, rather than less intelligence (which limits their power of 'sight recognition' due to the necessary complicated geometry involved and creates the basis for their class structure).
now my main criticism. our protaganist claims to see flatland from above as if we would observe a map, but he is only equip with a two dimensional eye. he sees the world as a line, which is determined by his physical characteristics. those are in turn limited by the nature of his world - it's flat. if he had two eyes, and perhaps by bending our hero upwards ("not northwards") into the new dimension he would have some ability to see beyond his normal one dimensional line. of course, the wiring of his brain would mean that he'd still percieve a line, just one which doesn't make sense. to be honest i don't want to take the thought further, because scaling it up and imagining how i might feel being bent in half through a new spatial dimension is downright fucking terrifying.
our eyes aren't at all capable of seeing into a fourth dimension, no matter how many of them we have and how violently we're pulled from our 3d space into hyperspace (oooh, unless maybe our eyes are very many and arranged in a line perpendicular to the fourth plane, with some very clever wiring). this is obvious. but that's no reason why our brains can't.
but anyway, that's enough for now. i think i'm going to go and play with my rubik's cube.
29.05.06: it was quite a sight to the see the tamil tiger flags flying outside the parliment ealier today. with their red and yellow they're really quite striking, the menacing tiger and the crossed rifles. the protest was against the classification of the LTTE (liberation tigers of tamil eelam) as a 'terrorist organisation'. i don't know enough about their situation to have a proper opinion on this (obviously i'm swayed towards sympathy), but i do think we'd all be better off trying to tackle the problem of defining 'a terrorist' and forcing those pointing the fingers to do the same. perhaps they might also like to compare their result to their own foreign policies.
for instance, the united states has three subtley different definitions of terrorism. presumably this enables them to choose whichever fits the current atrocity they wish to condemn or commit. my favourite is the department of defense's, which defines terrorism as "the calculated use of unlawful violence or threat of unlawful violence to inculcate fear; intended to coerce or to intimidate governments or societies in the pursuit of goals that are generally political, religious, or ideological" (it's interesting to note that the previous incarnation didn't include the words "unlawful"). unfortunately they can't exactly use this definition while you can still hear the echo of donald rumsfeld's "shock and awe" battle cry.
of course though, you're not a terrorist if you have a "recognised armed force", and other fantastic get-out clauses. as for the united nations, they consider terrorism to be "the peacetime equivalent of a war crime". that definition is solved easily enough by starting a war. duh, it's a war on terror. war all the time. it also doesn't help that war crimes are acts the enemy committed that the victorious didn't. it's as equally meaningless.
so, the bush administration labelling any organisation as terrorist is nothing but an obscenity. i'm not sure what the tamil's are worried about. it hasn't stopped hamas. and i mean, look what happened to afghanistan, they're still smiling. aren't they?
perhaps i'm just jealous. i only get condemned by google and that barely makes me cool.
28.05.06: for the last few days i haven't felt like i've had much to say. perhaps i've been too engrossed in my books or focusing on the freelance work i'm doing. too busy making tiny changes you wont have noticed or being preoccupied with boring stuff, crap like that. maybe i just havn't been doing anything. either way..
i did finish haunted. there was a lot about it i liked. i thought it had a very inventive structure. and there was a lot i didn't want to like. "corn and peanuts". really, i don't want to enjoy reading about insects laying their eggs in a dead teenager's anus. or someone's arms popping apart, joint by joint, as they're pulled from a boiling hot spring, their scalp peeling back off their white skull. but i can't help it. not really. and i was mildly disappointed when i got to the end and ("woah!!, have you not heard of 'spolier warning'?!") there wasn't the twist that i wanted. there wasn't full disclosure, because all the way through the book i was wondering who was narrating. who was this mystery character? was it supposed to be the reader or some equally corny shit like that? hmmmm, corn and peanuts.
i still haven't thought of anything reasonable to say. i guess i'll have to do withouth the 'reasonable'..
my first thought was looking out over christiania. watching a line of black shiny helmets slip through the crowd below. people parting like the red sea. the police like they're moses. it's spring so blossom's falling like snow and it catches in all the peoples hair. apart from the polices, incase you're counting the police as people.
then earlier, sitting by the lake drinking beers. eating organic icecream. talking to patrick who's speaking in english, french and danish, all at the same time. then later, sitting by the stage drinking beers. coming back along the lake and its waves and ripples are moving slightly too quickly, like the whole scene is in fast forward. they're sodium orange, deep sky blue and sunset purple. then walking down amagerbrogade, drinking beers. talking about whatever, it doesn't matter. just drinking a few beers.
it wasn't a house party as such, but it'd be easier if we pretend it was. they did have snakes after all. and if you're capable of moving slowly you can even hold one. if you want. those uncannily strong pythons. the big one is 1.5 meters long. i couldn't tell you how long the little one was, it was too busy curling it's muscular body around my hands. all i could really say was "it's a bit kinky isn't it?". and not because it had started to lick me. it's a shame my snakes on a plane jokes fell on deaf ears.
as well as snakes they also had a rubiks cube. i'm such an embarrassment and quite the show off. i hate myself for it. some people might dominate the room by playing guitar, singing songs about being a fucking annoying attention seeker. what it always sounds like at least (this happened twice, both times in brighton). but me, i'll sit there and solve a rubik's cube in under three minutes. five if i'm really drunk.
elsewhen, someone says they can tell i'm a trained cook. i presume they're basing their judgement on the dishcloth attached to my waist. that is what it's there for, it says "i'm the cook and i'm in charge". it says "trust me with the sharp knife". also other various things like that. this is what i like most about having guests over for dinner - recieving compliments on my cooking. we've managed to cook for a total of 21 people over the last three days, although that's only 9 different people. it's been fun.
but now i must go and do something. anything.
25.05.06: this has all been said a hundred times before, back when it was actually relevant. back when it might have mattered. but since it's been getting me angry recently i think it's time for a little reassertion. piracy is not theft. it's piracy. downloading mp3s is not stealing. when i download an album i'm not taking anything away from you, you aren't left with anything less than what you previously had. if anything the world has become a richer place for it.
i would never buy a sugarbabes album, it just wouldn't happen. i know this, my friends know this, and you know this aswell. all you have to do is look at my amazon profile and it'll tell you every album i would buy if i was that way inclined. so when i download their latest hit single, paying nothing for it, the poor sugarbabes are no worse off than they were before.
you can't disagree with that, but you will have noticed that obviously it's only half the story. people do download albums that they otherwise might have bought (or taped off their mate like back in the old days). and because of this someone shouts "illegal downloads are killing music", which is as preposterous as the modernhumorist statement "when you pirate mp3s, you're downloading communism" (except that was a joke, of course).
but now you can buy your mp3, along with a disclaimer that i bet none of you read, for a price you might call extortionate. they're fucking asking for it. an album at £8 or free. either way the band makes how much money? you do the math, then see if you can still call it 'supporting the artist'.
so maybe it was "illegal downloads are killing the music industry" that they shouted, like perhaps that might not be a good thing. picture it like this, it's a war and we're all on the same side. well almost. standing opposed is a tiny army of ugly individuals. picture them fat and sweaty, it may be an inaccurate picture but it symbolises their greed. they're few but their lack of numbers are made up by swelling wallets and a persitence that we need them. another fallacy.
picture the way it should be. the band makes their own music, owns their own copyright, puts their songs on their own website, sells them to their own fans, organises their own tours and promotion. how difficult could it be? grassfuckingroots. the current situation is just a legacy we no longer need. or want. the way we don't spend our lives walking around with an umbilical cord attached to our stomachs, it's cut and thrown out with the trash. or eaten.
and what if you accidently throw the baby out with it too? why, it will learn to walk and hunt and fend for itself. radiohead wont stop making music because it'll no longer make them filthy stinking rich. bono might, but i never voted for him anyway. the point is - music wont suddenly stop happening. and when the dust settles and bands start selling their own music it'll be at a price people are willing to pay. since all the money goes straight to them they can afford to charge a fair price. assassinate the middle man and everyone's a winner.
support the artist, but only if the artist is supporting themselves.
23.05.06: just so you know, and to remind you if you forgot it even existed, we've been out raiding food and the dumpster diving blog has been updated.
22.05.06: it was for emil's birthday that we went to the zoo. you loved it when you were a kid, and then you hated it when you became vegetarian. i mean, they feed horses to the bears. once i've seen a polar bear eat a horses head i'll never eat horse again. i swear. and watching monkeys jump about all crazy like, it's awesome. until you think that most likely they are actually demented. those chimps don't bang on the wall for fun. it's frustration. it drives me fucking mad. but those penguins, they're so cute. and don't they help protect endangered species? by locking them in tiny enclosures?
the confusing dichotomy aside, animals are damn hard to photograph. especially when they're manic from being locked in an enclosed space. except the elephants, who will just rock backwards and forwards until a zookeeper opens the door. anyway:
don't get me wrong, i had a great time at the zoo. it's just that when i looked back at the photos the animals looked so sad. how could that not taint what i wrote about them?
20.05.06: i saw this and thought of you:
unless your name isn't grant morrison. strange though, is that mickey mouse or the secret origin of the doom patrol? it's actually 'anders and' (the danish name for donald duck) from 2nd april 1998.
and for all the people to whom the above means nothing, pfft.
as for eurovision, it'll never be the same again. and i'm not talking about finland with their gwar inspired 'hard rock hallelujah'. i'm talking about lithuania and their devious use of magic. all they need now is a lesson in subtlety. having a song compromised almost soley of the lyrics "we are the winners, of eurovision" should not be enough to net you 5th place out of 37. the power of suggestion is clearly strong in europe. i hope alan moore was watching, i'd loved to have heard his chuckle.
19.05.06: it's a friday night. so i should be out doing something rather than sitting in on my own watching bad music videos. give it an hour and it'll turn into porn and i'll have to find something better to do.
i'd read but i honestly can't be bothered. i've had enough of the myth of sisyphus for today. syphilis. suicide. whatever. i needed a smaller book but that wasn't it, but now i've started it. again. at least i didn't fall asleep on the bus. that was unrelated and should have been in it's own paragraph.
it's going to be one of those days.
and tick-tock, the clockwork automaton who was built so he couldn't wind himself up. tragic. reminds me of joel priddy's amazing short 'long slow flight of the ashbot', which can be found in project telstar. read it in your local comic book shop, it wont take you a minute.
if you ever eat in mama rosa, which i guess you wont, then be sure to check out the teenagers' menu. i can understand a kids, menu, sure. but one for teenagers? and i'm only bothering to mention it because it was illustrated by a "game over" screenshot - someone being hit by a car.
i was ill a little bit, so i dreamt all night of divide and conquer. almost endless divisions because when i was done i could finally sleep properly (and we all know that is sometime around dawn). it all started when i was given 60 buttons and five minutes. when pressed each button would play a recording of someone saying "awesome", and if i couldn't deduce which one was the real bruce willis within the alloted time then the world would end.
i woke up before the time ran out.
nice summer we had wasn't it? strange how the autumn came around so quickly.
joan of arc was fucking awesome.
and on the way to the airport i accidently only clipped my card once, instead of twice. but then the following day the bus did a doulbe clip on the way into town. that's karmic balance. except the day after that the machine was broken and all three of us got on for free. what happens next is i'll lose my clip card.
fuck it, i'm going to bed and all i've eaten all day is cheese sandwiches.
16.05.06: i read 'vernon god little' a while ago. i was going to mention it when i'd finished it but forgot. i guess it didn't stick with me like a palahniuk would, but still, that dbc pierre is clearly smoking the same shit. infact he probably bought it from chuck in person. that or he stole it out of his back pocket. but anyway. it's a trendy first person narrative from a 15year old that's trapped in the grip of idiocy and greed, otherwise known as texas. but what would i know, i've never even been to america. the plot is equally funny, frustrating and ridiculous. and as stupid as the characters and situations are, you know it's not as far fetched as you'd like. the story's inspiration is obviously the non-fictional west memphis three, a harrowing tale of being "condemned by poverty, incompetent defense, satanic panic and a rush to judgment". you can laugh at vernon, but that shit isn't at all funny - damien echols is still sitting on death row.
anyway, it's still a very entertaining read.
oh, and for those who are curious - i'm back in business
that sentence deserves a "mother fucker", but i'm trying to grow out of that kind of thing.
so i was out of google for 30 days and now i'm back in. i've not been returned to my former glory but i'm in none the less. i figure it will take a while for me to reclaim my rightful spots as google reindex my pages or redo my backlinks or whatever it is they do. hopefully. crawling from the wreckage and all that. aimee's thoughts on the matter are much more interesting:
"being naughty? advocating terrorism and eating out of bins and throwing things at the police and for what exactly? rock and roll"
14.05.06: it doesn't seem long since plates of ice were floating on the sea and crunchy snow covered the beach. it's all too easy to forget though. like during the first week of summer when you're cycling in the hot morning sun and you're determined to go swimming. an awesome idea until you first touch the water and your big toe recoils in shock.
we'd gone all that way though, and there was no way i was gonna go chicken infront of my viking girlfriend. she did go in first, but it was barely 'swimming'. at least i tried. it took me about ten minutes to get in, nice and slow, with me finally taking the plunge after realising my knees wouldn't survive at that temperature much longer. yeah we're (i'm) stupid but it was amazing. and next time it's actually going to be warm, rather than fucking freezing.
it was another long day spent in the sun, reading, drinking beers, playing games - emil reading out loud our anarchy cards so everyone else in the courtyard could hear our unique (for these parts) sense of humour. then where better to take this but down by the lake? eating danish pastries, getting bitten by insects (punishment for), teasing the ducks, etc. when the evening descended that little bit too far we moved back to our garden where we're (actually, probably not) allowed to have a small fire. good job we found that parafin behind netto all those months back. also inappropriate music, don't forget that either.
last night was graced by the almighty cult of luna, and in a venue that was barely able to accomodate them and their monsterous sound. venues as small as lades kalder are dangerous. it's probably a good job they were a member down else there wouldn't have been any room for the crowd. there surely wasn't enough room for that voice. it was a shame he was missing but the guitarist covered for him adequately. at this volume sound loses its coherence and you'd be forgiven for not noticing.
the actual problem was the support band, whelm, being much too good. slow and dark, proper doomcore, four songs in just under an hour. you could see the singers face tremble as he roared into the mic. it almost satisfied the need for extremely loud all consuming music. but as soon as cult of luna had clambered from their tour van (looking like they'd just woken up) and began to play, this wasn't a problem at all. you know the rest of the story. mogwai are starting to look soft and old. something about the kids coming up from behind.
i just went into my room to check out the record i bought at the gig and they only went and covered bodies. one of my favourite songs, clearly. if only i had something to play it on.
after the gig we nearly went to stengade but didn't because it just wasn't indie. so we went to a couple of bars of varying quality instead. ska, reggae and metal, conversations about stuffy and the fuses and never having masturbated over jo whiley. it's true. i haven't.
before the gig i'd been over to kennet and katrine's new place, up in nørrebro (thanks for dinner). i'd just got the new tool album so figured if i walked there i could properly listen to all of it, which i didn't because it only took me 50 minutes. it sounds quite spectactular though, they're quite the show-offs. that riff that opens the second track? awesome.
anyway, i feel like i'm just waffling with no place to go. sorry.
11.05.06: i figure you don't want to hear me constantly boasting about lounging in the sun and thoroughly enjoying myself with zero compromise. no work equals all play, at least lots of reading. but anyway, i love riding my girls bike. it's just another added dimension of freedom. wind in your hair and all that cheesey shit, fucking awesome.
arm the homeless - with bicycles! actually you can borrow bikes in copenhagen for a 20kr deposit. a bit like what you do with shopping trolleys. also awesome.
anyway, for a while now my dad has been designing a house based around hexagons, and when i was back in england he showed me the most recent incarnation. check it out:
the theory is that it'd be cheap to build because it's constructed out identical pieces, all of which should be easy to make from concrete. maybe i should have given the photos a spanish or french background. i thought it was all quite interesting.
anyway, i have to go and lounge in the sun and thoroughly enjoy myself with zero compromise. actually, i'm going to go and read, i reckon i'll break 'rising up and rising down' before sunset.
09.05.06: later i'm doing almost the opposite. i stand in rådhuspladsen surrounded by too many people, quiet and still. i'm waiting for the new tivoli ride to start up again. you can see it's spike rise high above the tall buildings that wall the square. it takes one of the longest sigur ros songs. we people really are like flies to shit. the ride looks fun though. it's the worlds heighest carousel (the worlds most something). the seats dangle from their wires, blowing in the wind as they're slowly lifted 80m into the air. pretty fun, especially when it starts spinning and the chairs are out at 45 degrees.
sitting on the curb three kids smoke a cigar. passing it around, looking cool. it smells like coconut. kids smoking a cigar. sheesh.
then i tell a creationist defiantly, "i'm a lemarkian, you ain't got nothing on me". i don't have hands because god gave them to me. or because they make me hunt, kill and fuck better. i have them so that when some degenerative asshole tries to teach my children lies i have a fist to raise. anyways, the bastard tricked me. i thought he was a krishna.
so in my dream i'm walking through amagertorv. this is the copenhagen square. where the shopping streets meet. where tourists and teenagers gather alike. where there's that big stupid statue with the storks. it'd be nice if everyone would just shut up for one minute.
in my dream glassjaw are busking. they open a new hole in every stupid member of the public. it's cosmopolitan bloodloss. yeah, just like the video. and it's the biggest loudest noise. the mental equivalent of using water cannon tanks at protests.
in my dream it is beautiful and everything falls apart. if not just for those three minutes and four seconds.
in other news i'm sitting in our courtyard and it couldn't be more peaceful. under the shade of my favourite tree, my feet in the sandpit sand and the gentle background noise of forty-odd apartments blending in with the distant sound of traffic. the only thing that occasionaly ruins this is the gayest and worst kareoke coming from an open window high above me. i'd record it but it's too funny.
i'm still yet to 'test' the kids playground. i've been here over four months and havn't even touched it. amazing.
08.05.06: i had a doctors appointment at half eight this morning. oh, what a blessing in disguise. what better time than 9am to head to the sea? so my morning was spent with chomsky on the beach ("chomksy on the beach", good title). just me and him and the whole fucking world. for an hour and half i had the beach to myself, unless you count the family of ducks that drifted by, all fuzzy and adorable. sitting on a rocky outcrop and staring into the sky between chapters, watching the planes intermittently take off from the airport, and for the first time in as long as i can remember i wasn't wishing i was on them.
i finished my book and cycled around in circles for a while, singing to myself and not wanting to leave, before realising that i didn't have to. my shoes came off and i padded along the warm sand. for a man-made beach it ain't bad, and the water is crystal clear beautiful (surprising considering the factories and water treatment plant barely a mile up the coast). you just can't say no to it. and like i could resist going for a paddle, which of course turned into a mild wade.
when i became bored of the insects i cycled down the beach, first along the smooth path that snakes between the sand dunes and then across the concrete uber promenade. grinning like a child. or just someone who is doing everything they want and absolutely nothing. or maybe it's the sun. when we younger this would have been a game, like zooming across an alien planet or something. these days the game we play is pretending to reclaim our childhood. i still ignore the no-cycling signs.
i cycled so far that i could have thrown rocks at the aeroplanes as they took off. and the wind turbines were alinged into a 60 armed godess of renewable energy. ugly my ass. and you only realise how large they are when that fucking huge oil tanker sails infront of them. the coolest thing i found was a circular romanesque swimming platform at the end of jetty. it twists up and around to form an arena complete with diving platforms and sun loungers. it's like something out of waterworld (er, not that i've actually seen that film). in a month it's going to be horribly busy, but at 11am this morning there was no one there. we can have this all to ourselves, our own water playground, and the only thing we need is get up and have nothing better do. it's going to be magic. and cold. but mostly magic.
yesterday was pretty much like all other days. i sat out in our courtyard reading and eating and feeling disgustingly decadent. peel me a grape and shower me in rose petals, terrible huh? i'm thinking real hard but that's all i did, apart from make pizza. saturday was the same except we went out to the lake and ate icecream, which is the same as the day before that but the company changed. friday night we went to ungdomshuset and saturday night we went to christiania. did you notice that it was free the weed day? i was too busy enjoying the glorious sunshine. there was an outdoor party going on there anyway, with some famous danish musician playing. someone like steve muller. then after him there was awesome reggae. it didn't go on too long though, i think everyone probably got too stoned. nevermind.
i've already spent too much time indoors. if i'm not careful we'll have a regression back to spring. maybe i should go check out the comic book shop. or get a milkshake. or sun stroke.
05.05.06: meanwhile, there's me sitting on the grass by the lake, not two minutes from my front door. not a care in the world. i'm craving school dinners. canteen. it's that kind of nostalgia. and when i put my battered old vegan shoes back on my feet they feel brand fucking new.
what you should be asking is what happened to spring.
somewhere on my walk to language school my imagination evaporates from too much sun. another round of making up questions leaves me asking "hvorvor køber de ikke kager?". no brownie points for me. and when i'm asked in which supermarket i do my daily shopping i'm forced by years of oppression and class struggle to say 'netto'.
don't worry, i didn't really mean that last sentence.
for completion, some more photos of ukrudt playing at the mayday ungdomshuset demo:
you've gotta love such a photogenic band.
04.05.06: you can't argue with the taste of summer. it's sticky and sweet and free. it's the sea you can smell off the surface of the river, and every item of garbage that liters its bed, now illuminated by the sun that you think's so beautiful.
it's all peaches and cream until that gentle cool wind brings the sound of air raid sirens and i can't help but feel a tad unsettled, especially when it hasn't stopped two minutes later. that awful sounds rising up and rising down. then it just holds that one terrifying tone for twenty seconds before the sound finally winds down. it's 2006 and i'm in the middle of a scandinavian city, what is going on? it's summer, there is no time for bombs. not when everyone is smiling happy people.
as i read my book, currently about justifiable suicide and euthanasia (another clue in the previous paragraph), i'm reminded of the time my mother told me that if it came to nuclear war she would poison all our food. i pictured us amid a beautiful and lush field sitting upon a red and white crosshatched blanket, pink where the red and white meet. we share our blanket with the vast contents of a food hamper, all splayed out with secret intent. the sky is every shade of blue and the grass bows gently to the breeze. the second bite of my lettuce and salad cream sandwich will keep this perfect scene frozen and serene for eternity. it terrified me, and the mushroom cloud rising in the distance didn't seem quite as final as my mum's betrayal.
that's not a true story. it was a dream i had when i still ate lettuce and salad cream sandwiches (on white bread). just so you don't think my mum is some kind of psycho who'd tell her child she'd kill them if there was a war.
and again last night i dreamt of impossibly high waves crashing down on my idyllic beach (a dali painting of rock formations and arched cliff faces). it was huge and orange and unstoppable, the waters crystal clear. there's nowhere to run, you just stand ankle deep in the surf while a wall of ocean slowly comes between you and the sky. i nearly always survive the first one, after that it's a little sketchy. i've been having them for years though. so long that they've almost stopped being scary. almost.
02.05.06: so it was the 120th aniversary of may day and copenhagen had it well organised, with pretty much anyone who's anyone (and their mum) holding seperate demonstrations. it almost makes you feel sorry for the police. perhaps if you were like, some kind of asshole of something. the protests started all over the city at around midday and converged in the city centre before ending at a park just outside of the city. we'd decided to join the ungdomshuset/anarchist demo, because y'know, it was always going to be the coolest. at what other demo could you find a shopping trolley full of vegan sandwiches?
we followed the green and black balloon covered float, adorned by the magnificent ukrudt who were playing intimidating and inspiring fighting music - an angry mix of velcro gloves and envy that was perfect for the occasion.
the protest really hit the ground running. as we marched down the main road gas canisters filled the street with red smoke and kids with spray cans began to graffiti slogans along the walls. i'm not saying i condone or condemn such behaviour, just that it looks fucking cool. but i do tut at vulture photographers, taking photos of anarchists at work is not cool, no matter how photogenic they are.
further down the street someone with too much confidence decided to hit the local police station. they got as far as writing "ACAB" (all cops are bastards) across the first window, and almost finished a big green anarchy sign on the second, before a police woman ran out and wrestled him to the ground. he might have got away but another bunch of cops charged over, batons at the ready. give it a push, it nearly got ugly. people started shouting and a few threw whatever random crap they had to hand. the guy was dragged inside the station and a flurry of bottles rained down against it, littering the street with smashed glass as the shutters came down. i wanted to write "came crashing down", but it wasn't quite that dramatic. exciting enough to get your blood pumping and your juices flowing though.
more police quickly arrived and surrounded the protest, three vans blocked its progress. in a moment of pure genius the band began to play the imperial march (from starwars). doom descending, you can feel it in every goosebump.
it was fiteen minutes before the police allowed us to continue, and from here on it was a lot more civil, at least from where we were walking. the band raged on. i figure anyone who wanted to cause trouble went elsewhere. and it almost felt like the police were marching with us. actually it didn't, but you could be fooled into thinking it from the photos. that's solidarity brother.
it must be a boring job though, child minding a bunch of anarchists and punks. i especially felt sorry for the guys who'd drawn the short straws and had to carry the gas grenade launchers. unless it gives them a sense of pride and importance to carry such ridiculous piece of artillery in full view of everyone, in that case i feel nothing. if it were me it'd be terrified to fuck having all those grenades strapped to my chest.
it's funny though, because they'd taped over the reflectors on their uniform. apparently it was so they couldn't be seen. a brick shit house dressed in a blue boiler suit, complete with bulletproof vest, helmet and bat belt, is worrying that shiny strips on his legs will make him stand out in a crowd? no wonder they pack so much heat if their scared of reflectors.
also scary is that the danish police don't have to show their numbers. only if you're arrested can you demand to know a cops number (or something similar).
we finally reached the rådhuspladsen around two, meeting up with the christiania demo and various others. there was a good feeling in the air and a definite smell of weed. burgerking were being especially sporting by allowing people to use their toilet and vantage point above the square. not in spirit enough to stop selling burgers to people who should know better. what kind of protester are you anyway? amongst the crowds were the christiania marching band and the idioti (a take on 'politi', incase you missed it) rollerskate ladies, who had the fun job of keeping marchers on the right side of the road. it keeps the police out of the way at least.
on the way to the park all the protests were jumbled and we enjoyed a bit of each, starting with the christiania reggae bus. they were pounding out good and funky vibes and passing fat spliffs out the back. police stood at the entrance to every side street, and as we passed they all donned their helmets and pulled down their visors. with the ungdomshuset van only two minutes away they couldn't risk acting nice, someone might want to take advantage of their friendly nature.
rich descriptions of all the banners, trucks and babies would be lovely, but by this time my stomach was the only thing i was paying much attention to. the selfish mother fucker. since the police wouldn't let people enter the fairground, heavens forbid the protesters might mix with normal people, we walked another million miles down a road and past some kind of sports center, where the night before over 100 people had been arrested for bad behaviour. probably the police just don't like football either.
at the park the party carried on, any political agendas no doubt disappearing along with the alcohol (something to do with feeding the trees?). i would have no idea about this however, as i'd left on a bus already. retreating to my bed was the only thing i cared for. that and the toilet.
my apologise for being so long and wordy.
earlier today i went into town and just missed the demo against changing school examinations. the details are lost on me, but what kind of demo finishes at two? probably a good thing though, after yesterday i'm all protested out. it was good to see so many kids taking to the street, but it is a shame they left so much damn mess. fucking hooligans. the kids are alright really.
28.04.06: lots of small details muddled up with little continuity or context. that's what i've been storing in my head for the last couple of days. all of them deserve some degree of elucidation, but they wont get it. not if i'm going to use knobby words like that.
so i went into town because i couldn't bear to stay inside. despite it being so bright outside and my eyes feeling somewhat sensitive.
all the women are suddenly wearing ridiculous rolled up trousers (where did they come from?) and all the guys have big cameras. there's also a large guerilla walking around carrying with a man in a cage. or wait, is that actually a rather clever costume?
i laugh at "la restuarant d'angleterre" and then follow around a hobo with an oversized backpack. after a while i felt like one myself. sitting in a trying-desperately-to-be-italian square reading a newspaper i'd taken from a nearby cafe. scanning the rows of tables for leftovers like a vulture. except it's the waiters that are the vultures, leftover coffee doesn't stand a chance. i'm only doing this because i'm bored and need cheap kicks.
so i wandered mindlessly around illum. mindless, unless you compare me to the woman gawping at the spring fashion, if you stared long enough you'd see her dribble. or the guy poking at the kitchen utensils, asking to be put down like a lame dog. this could go on. i spot two people standing still in the middle of a path. they could be zombies or poorly dressed street performers, but they're neither. what is even with that?
people watching is one öf my favourite pasttimes.
but then i had to stop myself looking at the shampoo on the bodyshop stand, for a second i'd forgotten who owns that shit now. and gone are the days i'll pay £8 for the sake of my hair smelling like manuka. for fucks sake.
outside everyone is drinking beer. but then it is friday. only after last night i don't want to think about it. i'd rather drink my own piss, if there's even a difference.
we had a reasonably hard night, starting with the moose. although actually it started with elephant beer and takeaway pizza. emil's friend emil was visiting and kept topping up my pint. cheeky. then we walked from the moose almost all the way to stengade30, over the lakes, before changing our destination and walking straight back. i'm sure the fresh air did me good, but i don't think i was any more sober for it. we got thrown out of a burgerking (bastards) before finally arriving at a german bar called heidi. imaginative. and all the barmaids are dressed up like the prussian blue. scary. by the stairs was a stupidly large tv (for a bar at least) which i promptly switched off as we passed. there's no room for subtlety when you leave the tv-turn-off at home. wasn't it tv turn off week anyway? no one seemed to care.
we took a small table and emil bought back four beers. that's two too many for me. we suspect one of them wasn't even ours. by the dancefloor i sat and watched men in striped tshirts try and dance with music video girls. a beautiful car crash. there's not enough middle fingers to go round. bad 90's pop. madonna would turn over in her grave (yes, madonna is dead).
not thirty minutes after getting home i was lying in my bed trying to figure out how we'd got home. we definately didn't walk and i couldn't remember taking the bus. it took the arrival of morning for me to remember it was a taxi.
it's the comic convention this weekend, but the coolest person there is only warren ellis. i don't think i can really be bothered.
26.04.06: the nights are becoming frustrating and endless. a body needs to lie in certain ways. ways that aren't easy with a broken arm. and with that broken arm i can't even punch the fucking pillow. it reminds me of the time i ate too much marzipan and was sick in my sleep. everytime i rolled onto my right side i got a face full of cold vomit. although i only realised it in the morning. now, whenever i try to roll onto my left my shoulder simply denies it. i'm told to lie on my back and suffer like the irresponsible owner of my body that i am.
anyway, for parental purposes julie and emil have printed out a selection of my photos. they did it properly at a shop and everything. it's something i've been interested in for a while but have shyed away from for pathetic reasons. some big prints would be lovely, but i have insecurities about the differences in brightness/contrast between the image on a monitor and the image on beautiful matt paper. it's difficult enough with backlit screens and standard monitors. the perfectionist in me tantrums like a spoilt fucking child. i want my cake and i want to eat it and it want it to be perfect first time. the prints look good though, which is encouraging. i might even go down there today to see if they have a brochure.
and since the internet is down again, despite the man turning up this morning and fixing it, i may as well.
it's not like i have anything interesting to say.
it's not like i have anything interesting to say. apart from that i finished 'eleanor rigby' (douglas coupland) and really really liked it. i'd say that it's easy to read, manageable, and quite charming with likeable characters. but doesn't that make it sound rather lame?
25.04.06: it hasn't passed 10:30am but yet i could tell you what the highlight of my day is. i had a morning appointment at the hospital bone department, which is on the far side of the complex to the xray department (makes sense because of what?). the doctor wanted to find someone to lead me over to get my arm xrayed but i insisted that i could find the department myself, it was only a week since i was there last. i was about to exit the building and follow the road around the side when she vaguley mentioned the green line that ran along the floor, before thinking better of it and stopping mid-sentence with a "nevermind". from where we stood the green lined went along the corridor, through a set of doors and off towards an adventure. why go overground when you can go under? so despite the nice day (there's plenty of time for that on the walk home) i went downwards to explore the dark underbelly of the hospital, guessing at which signs i'm supposed to follow and trying my best to get lost. down there in the basement they have no windows. one long corridor (i counted 26 shrink wrapped beds along its wall) is lit soley by a pair of spotlights at the far end, one is tapped to a water pipe and the other strapped tightly to one of the 26 spare beds. "walk into the light" someone whispers. with the random lighting attached to the walls it's comparable to mining.
lumbered with my hoodie and book in my good arm i have to walk right up to the sets of double doors to open them but they resist, then open right into my face. i look around to make sure noone saw before bursting into laughter. that happened twice, and yes the second was funnier. my sacred green line ended at a weird door that took me a few seconds to recognise as a lift. a ticket to freedom. i struggle inside and manage to press the correct button that enables me to stumble back out again but now into the xray department.
if only everyones visit to the hospital could be so much fun.
i strolled home amongst and full of the morning's gorgeous weather. i thought about that a long time and "strolled" is definately how i walked, less than a stride, better than a traipse and not quite a strut. on a day like this you can't be indoors, even if you have to wait in for the stupid internet repair man. my pity goes out to all you office workers. my sympathy for your self-imprisonment only stretches so far though. if you're going waste one more day of your life dedicated to a salary then you can forget it.
summer is screaming you in the face and all you can think about is your pension?!
okay, a nice period of spring. whatever. so sue me for getting a little over-excited.
and i hate danish vowels, but at least the languages grammar holds a modicum of logic that i can work with.
24.04.06: i just has the coolest encounter. answering the front door i was expecting the internet technician (no such luck) but was instead greeted by a smiling lass who i initially mistook for a danish woman. she passed me my package and asked what i'd done to my arm. i got the gist of what she'd said but acted all awkward anyway, telling her my danish isn't very good (i wouldn't have understood the second sentence). she replied in a thick irish accent "well mine ain't too good neither". the accent came out of nowhere and was awesome to behold. we had a wee conversation out in the stairway which was so nice i almost invited her in for tea and biscuits.
so my easter holiday in words and pictures, including the secret origin of my arm injury. just don't expect a fanciful description of the classic norwegian easter, it's more like me self-obsessing and moaning a lot, which is what you would be expecting, i suppose. all of my photos are there, but since you probably can't be bothered (hey, i wouldn't) then here's a selection of my favourites:
you can find the rest of them on my norway photo page, which i should probably retitle "photos of julie in norway during easter".
23.04.06: yesterday was the first day of summer. today is the last of winter. that's what spring is to me, call me narrow minded but it's either lovely or it isn't. and i only feel that way about winter because i'm british.
yesterday was all about following the sun. sitting in the park with lettuce and cheap cheese sandwiches, watching it shimmer behind each minutely detailed branch on a tree that's looking slightly too sharp. with my glasses on i should know better than to stare into the sun.
or moving around our courtyard as it bounces of different windows, because the wind is a little too chilly to sit reading if you're not in the sun. all too quickly it sank below our high apartment walls and i moved into our front garden to continue reading anyway. julie plants the flowers we rescued from the dumpster and i'm too stubborn to be beaten by a little spring. the neighbouring apartment building still enjoys the sun's radiating warmth and i try to calculate whether we'll also get some evening sun. two beers later and it finally glides around the corner, lighting up our garden and officially starting the summer. a stereo on the porch and all the neighbours stare, the nice ones even say hello.
the bookfair had been a little disappointing. the best books i found were in a pile already claimed by someone. she was very nice about me trying to grab them and let me look through them. the royal library definately wasn't disappointing. it left me wishing we'd explored it earlier. despite its lack of cheap coffee it's a significantly cooler reading hangout than studenterhuset, especially for those highbrow books like 'rising up and rising down'. all it takes is a little bravery (or consultation of the rules) and i'll be there several times a week. or maybe that isn't the way to be as cool as all those cool people studying there and looking cool.
the old part of the library (behind the 'black diamond') has plenty of mysterious and enticing allure. through 'staff only' marked doors can be glimpsed gorgeous rooms. behind one door a spiral staircase twists up through bookshelf-lined gangways that surround a large and rectangular central well. walking along the periodicals' grilled walkways you can see networks of intriguing corridors below, but no way to get to them. look up and they're above you too. it's old and labyrinthine. in at least one way i'm in love with the two adjoined buildings.
at amagertorv we waited for emil while people and tourists (who aren't people) congregated in the sun. they sit all over the place in the way and take photos that will never come out. some of them are dressed ridiculously, but most of them unfortunately are not. this is a meaningless paragraph that i'd be best to cut out.
in other news my arm looks like it's dying.
i'm doing okay though and it has stopped getting worse. i now have new one handed techniques for everything. you should see how fast i can type with one hand. my main problems are the ones involving my penis, going the toilet and having sex. details unnecessary, or you could always email me.
with the internet down there's so much room for spelling mistakes. in my head that sentence makes sense.
20.04.06: my heart just isn't in this at the moment. i can't write how or what i want to write. it's becoming forced and impassionate. where is the over-exaggerated angst and despair? i suspect they're all hiding. shying away from the people who'll read them and misunderstand. take it the wrong way. take it personally. take it whatever.
is that paragraph me frustrated or me testing the waters?
you know, all of my favourite writers are mysogonistic alcoholic drug addicts, it's just not fair.
back in the real world i'm walking around town with my left shoe falling off because i can't do up my laces. how am i supposed to feel good about myself? you might suggest i visit the hospital, talk to the amputees and bed-ridden. take advantage of the people with real problems. transfer my pity. but actually, i'm hoping i'm not that much of an asshole.
don't forget, christopher reeves only gave a shit once he broke his own back.
and he also was doing something fucking stupid.
this is all only vaguelly related.
i've spent most of my day thinking about my dreams and also finishing lunar park. so why do rachel and steph keep appearing in my dreams with such uncommon frequency? do i have some unfinished business with them? (really, anyone who tells me you can take deep meaning from dreams is wasting my time). the number of nights i've spent visiting variations of david's comic is almost worrying, bordering on obsessional, and mildly confusing. i used to dream of book shops that never existed (mainly in birmingham) so it's nothing surprisingly new, but it is more focused.
now i just sound like a freak
19.04.06: in the last few days i've got good at sleeping perfectly still, a usefull skill i'm sure. it does have its disadvantages though, like people thinking your dead, or that your right leg hurts like a son of bitch when you first try to move it in the morning.
last night's language class was good. only two other people turned up, and one of those was over an hour late. i don't think it means i can name every item in the kitchen, living room and bedroom though. neither whether it is ligger or står. i'm also not sure what was with the full frontal nude painting on the bedroom wall. who draws these so-called educational pictures anyway?
and our internet is being a total fucking pain in the ass. i'm supposed to be sorting a job out and can't even get online. it's a nightmare. my pain is eased by the recent discovery of free internet access in studenterhuset. if only they were open 24 hours i could live as well as work there.
i couldn't resist the revolutionary urges:
and yes, that is eggy in a basket (don't worry, the egg, bread annd butter were all from the bin). two other photos i've had knocking about are these of julie, smuggling bamboo from england to denmark. subtle, wouldn't you say?
also, here is the big river i never tire of:
approaching it earlier today we could see a larger than easily describable boat in the distance, on the otherside of the far bridge. we waited twenty minutes while it slowly made its way towards us. the boat was a crude rectangle but with a huge a-frame crane attached to its front. the crane rose about 50m upwards, dwarfing every building in the near vicinity. orange with blue stripes, pointed like a dinosaur, i'd call it a behemoth. but as it passed us it more resembled a giant swan. even with the bridge fully raised it wasn't even a third of the height of that crane. people even got out of their cars to stare and take photographs.
isn't it bizarre, the things we worship these days.
17.04.06: i'm back in copenhagen, reasonably safe and sound, and writing up my easter 'holiday'. i just recognised that it's taking too long so i'll probably manifest it as a journal or something when i'm finished. it was a good holiday, although one i wont be recovered from for at least a few weeks. i even have photos to prove it:
i don't mean to scare anyone with those, but it is my arm. nice isn't it? but not exactly what you could describe as 'pristine'. at least it gets me up every morning. it hurts too much to laze in bed. and every morning it's worse. today i noticed the discolouring had reached my elbow, which has also started to swell. give me a week and i'll be comparable to arnie. it also amuses me how in the mirror it looks like a map of the uk. this amusement is to hide the deep concern. if it's as worse again tomorrow i'm going back to the hospital.
my left arm gets all the fun.
last night i dreamt again of bombs falling from the sky. the meaning i take from these dreams comes from how i'm always trying to determine where they'll fall, which direction i have to run in to be safe. they're quite terrifying and disturbingly graphic.
the evening before we went to the ska convention in christiania. it was awesome, if not only for the venue - another place we should go more often but probably wont. cool, and the ska was good. we even danced a little, despite injuries. it was 60kr to get in but they didn't mind us smuggling beers in. or they didn't notice, i wasn't going to ask. it would have been brilliant but one of the bottles i was hiding in my coat was an empty. sigh.