tirsdag den 29. september 2015

Weighed down and heavy non sinking object of obscurity

I have been trying to escape the world. Awake, and dreaming I see myself floating face up in ice cold water like Ophelia, waiting for a death that is settling in my bones already, but still with feverish cheeks. Green branches and water lilies. Seaweed or rope tightening around this tender shameful neck. Lustfully giving up and setting free and rising, red moon, into darkness.

That isn't really how it works, is it? You can't just let go of responsibilities and take a break, there is no pause button, you can press to give you time for a bathroom break and a light snack. It in its entirety just keeps going straight to next level, no game over, no walkthroughs, constant supervision from the totalitarian state?

Delete facebook. Stop answering your phone. Get a new job, one that doesn't demand much, so you can focus on what you are underneath. What's left. Drown your sorrows in heavy drinking every night. Moments and moaning - do you want quality or quantity? I want sleep. Opiates. And not to get up in the morning. Long showers make up my life.

Whisper only, please, in possibly beautiful places surrounded by fog, carrying books over bridges.

onsdag den 16. september 2015

Forsøgt forholden sig en lille smule

Mit liv er vildt nok. Ironisk distance, prøver at skille mig af med den, ser den som et symptom på kulturens allergi over for det autentiske. Eller min egen. Frygten for at virke dum når man føler noget. Fordi vi alle sammen vil have noget ægte, men ikke kan se os selv som samme stof? Flytter til England på søndag, kun for et par måneder, kun længe nok til at farve håret, prøve et nyt ansigt, måske turde nogle ting, jeg ellers ikke tør alene.
Jeg er ikke optændt af entusiasme.
Ideen er dobbelt. Vil overskride praktikaliteter og omfavne ellers utænkte muligheder i en slags ny impulsivitet, renæssance af egen ellers ikke-rigtigt-nogensinde-eksisterende ungdom. Prøver at genfinde entusiasme ved viden og intellektualisme fordi specialet, åh, nej, jeg er ikke rigtigt angst, men det nærmer sig, og en eller anden form for panikfølelse må der opøves for succes.
Altså: rituel afskæring af sociale bånd og afsked med ansvar. Koncentration forsøges indhentet. Selvfølgelig vildt distraheret af fortsat sideløbende livsprojekt, keywords: momentalitet, sensibilitet, grænser - hvad er det? Tofold, jeg tager afsted, jeg studerer det vilde liv og lukker det selv ned, eller omvendt og lad os se, hvem der kommer ud på toppen. 'Kald det kunst' må være en slags sidste udvej efter forfejlet akademia.

fredag den 11. september 2015

torsdag den 10. september 2015

08-09-15 04.30

We have to save the sleeping world before it is too late. We have different skills. There is a great meeting. One is speaking, we dislike him a little, but the kind one takes his hand, she looks into his eyes and strokes his fingers gently to see his fear. She doesn’t need to ask him to tell him with her words, it is enough to care for him, and the images appear from below. Memories of his childhood, and with them surface a desire, he is telling them what they should do just a minute ago, but now he tells them where the high tower is, and how far a person has to climb before he can fall again.
They need to build a wall.
Outside it is raining heavily. The one who’s face is half burned away but who is somehow still more beautiful than most meets him there. He doesn’t even hear her approach, but see her as the very last thing as he turns around. She is almost smiling.
Their last fortress stands next to the roaring see. Darkness and waves as high as ships is out there. But these are not things they fear. It is something different, something new that can impress them deeply enough to call for such a meeting as this. It is usual for them to quarrel but on this day, this day that could have been any in the thousands of years they’ve been here, it cannot be tolerated. In death is always comfort anyway, we will do it as suggested.
The builder was the one who caused their suspicion. He is not one of them. What can he do? She has been known to bring home all sorts of pets. The council cannot trust that any man she has taken a liking to, can carry the weight of their lives. Greater than most and more important. But now, it appears, she and her sister of, not blood, but bone, have taken away the choice. He will build them a wall and they will strengthen it with the blood and will that runs through their bodies, they will bind it with the last of their abilities and breathe sweet life into it till it becomes a thing of flesh as well as stone.

The feeling. When she reaches into a man or a woman to hold their heart and crush their will – or rather, to remind them how much they long to be held, to be without those heavy burdens that they bear. It truly is great love. She can make a man feel he is the world, only because where she looks, her whole being is drawn. It becomes so true, if only for a moment, but such things are everlasting in the weave. It is an opening, a comfort. It never feels like breaking, and that is what makes her. She gives them only what they truly want. Only if there isn’t hope at all. She is not as such a bringer of death, but she knows character well, and an existence without love, if even from afar, is not worth it at all. Those who are incapable are that way because they have not felt it themselves, or they have completely forgotten what it feels like. She can remind them, so sweetly, that they can be everything. After that, what other choice? The world is getting darker.