Super over it.

Each city decided on their own how they would deal with the flood. When we came to this area, it looked too good to be true. We could even hear children laughing. It turns out, they made a deal. They gave up half of everything they had to save the rest. When you look around you just right, you can see the movements in the surface of the yellow water covering rugs and livingrooms. You can see their spouses and neighbours still lying there, rotting just under the surface.

It's another the end of life as we know it. Panorama from above, you see the city's many skyskrapers still lighted up by people working hard, but there are fewer of them. They are the lucky, the ones with connections who manage to make a profit on the many deaths of their neighbours. Most of the offices are empty, windows smashed in by wind or broken from inside by attempts to escape. Most of them are dark.

The cult of the angels is led by my father who has now become a holy man. He can save twice as many people from above as any effort on the ground. The downside to the wings is a strong desire for human meat, but he denies himself and all his followers out of purity. The sense of good is strong in him. He doesn't know that his generals share the bounty of living bodies, their victims-recently-saved, with all of his crew after nightfall. He doesn't see.

All the animals are gone. They went wild with fury and ate each other regardless of former diets. Horses feasting on dogs felt to us like a manifested sign of hell on earth in those first days. Now the world belongs truly to the humans in the final battle for the survival of the fittest. Darwinism taken to its ultimate conclusion. The earth has turned against us. Massive landmasses move across the globe without warning. Lavastreams form and chase their running prey mindlessly. Storms pull out trees, that are hundreds of years old, by their roots.

Yet. You and I are still here.

In a landscape that mostly consists of dry, yellowing grass fields and a few gatherings of trees, stories come to life and sometimes hunt you.
I hide in the water beneath the lilies and try not to breathe, shielding myself in remnants from Ende and Lindgren: the innocent poetries of childhood. Soon they will come running over the bridge, so i try not to exist. I try mimicking just another fiction.

Solen brænder dødeligt om dagen. Ingen går udenfor i klart vejr. Gammelt, slidt hus, høje lofter, mor og søn. Han rebel, hun melankoliker, sidder fast i gamle dage, krammer hans pude mens han er væk. Du går i koma og brænder stille, hvis du bliver fanget udenfor. Tynde stråler af lys trænger ind gennem de høje ruder og signalerer om det er farligt, at bevæge sig. Strålingen er kun effektiv nogle gange.
Man samles om historier fra gamle dage. Støvet ligger tykt. Rige mænd kan hjælpe. Det handler om at komme ind i byen, hvor der er sikkert. Udenfor lever alle på lånt tid. Det startede pludselig en dag. Nogle er immune?

We are living the past in a cottage full of things. Strange paraphernalia. Pictures from Hollywood and forgotten silent movie stars, cabaret singers, dolls. We are living in the middle of the woods, we don't know for how long. We affect the world around us, when we make mistakes, but the we suspect, the real world has no effect on us. Apart from when the two collide. Just now a car crashed, down, down the hill it rolled, like the driver was aiming for the two women. I pulled them away just in time. Between the trees four startled, incomprehensing hikers stare at us.

Let us help you to help yourself

- Hello, excuse me, is this the number of the government sanctioned self-hospillization clinic for women with nervous tendencies?

- Yes, I'll hold.

- No, I did not recently start experiencing these cramping sensations of utter powerlessness in which my entire system seems to shut down as a reaction to the discepancy between society's expectations of me and what I feel I am able to live up to. They've lasted for, I don't know, weeks? Years?

- Really? Okay. Yes. Yes, I'll wait. I've been waiting all my life.

phone queue music plays in the background.

- Hi, yes. I don't know. Should I think of my mother's last miserable moments before she died a lot? It's all been a bit fuzzy.

- I mean, more than normally?

- I know that it's not unusual, it's just... I don't know why I get up in the morning.

- Yes. Yes, I'll hold.

- Hello. Yes, I'm sorry. I'm feeling a deep sense of existential dread, am I speaking to the right person? I'm worried I won't be able to continue

- Yes, Sir.

- I'm sorry. I didn't think of that/them/the future of society at large. I will.

The Global American Dream is in YOUR fragile hands. Pick up the phone today if you are beginning to feel yourself fall apart, and we will have someone tell you it Will Be All Right If You Just Get a Grip and Get On With It Because Who Will if You Do Not? TRUST in Us when you cannot trust in yourself. The number for the patriarchal help-line can be found on the back of statistically every third milk carton you buy, and if you call us from home rather than, say, from your lover's car phone or from a diner next to the highway leading out of town, you get the first five minutes for free.

Ways of Dealing With the Meaningless Void of Existence

• adopt a fun, cheerful tone and utilise it enthusiastically in everything you write and say, especially those things that have to do with consumerism, business and your personal brand. Do not let this tone falter, even at times when it seems to become about as effortless to keep up as the pretence that you actually enjoy visiting your relatives over the holidays. Stick to your strained positivity through all that may befall you, and in time you will come to accept and enjoy your own perfection just as those around you have been forced to do.

• buy many, many things. There is always a sale somewhere, though nothing truly meaningful ever went on sale. The real important things in life are couture.

• don't do tomorrow what you can forget today through meaningless sex and power shopping.

• never leave the house without a thick protective layer of almost believable lies about who you are and why you do the things you do, such as "I drink 11 cups of coffee every day because I am an effective and motivated person who wishes to do my utmost best for this company (not because I find that I am unable to feel passionate or energized about anything I do no matter how much or what I drink)." Be careful not to come off as too believable as no one trusts a truly honest person.

• to sell anything to anyone you have to be able to first sell it to yourself.

• the best lies aren't lies at all, anymore, therefore, avoid questioning yourself and your beliefs at all costs.

what's not to love?

På pladen Dead City Radio fra 1990, i sangen “Apocalypse”, fortæller Burroughs at Pan videre i New Yorks undergrund som en postapokalyptisk kraft, som undergrundens graffiti og ”den pludselige erkendelse af at alt er i live og betydningsfuldt” der rammer når hverdagens gengangerlignende tilstand afbrydes af en oprørets, uheldets, ungdommens konfrontation med døden.

fundet her.

Performance anxiety

overvejer om jeg er kreativt impotent.

(det er jeg ikke)

skriver parenteser til jobmarkedet, fordi jeg er arbejdssøgende og min blog ikke er særligt svær at finde og måske tror de, jeg mener alt det, jeg skriver om mig selv her?

("jeg" er en konstruktion, et eksperiment i beskrivelse og ikke repræsentativt for min troværdighed som formidler)

det har hele tiden været min plan at blive det næste store hit inden for bitre, forfejlede kunstnere. I Danmark har vi en klike, der samlet kaldes de unge danske forfattere. Denne prominente overklassifikation af kulturel kapital mangler mere lidelsesfuldt modspil. Der er for megen beundring blandet med misforståelse. Vi skal have fat i de forfejlede. Det kunne være mig. Jeg kan godt være bitter, men præcis, på vegne af hele den næste generation af intelligentsiaen. Jeg kan godt dyrke en personlighed af tab og modstand og mit eget personlige brand af noget, der supplerer fattigdom, prostitution, stofmisbrug, homoseksualitet, Gellerupghettolife og gøre det til noget skyggefuldt og overakademisk i rollen som kritiker-ej-kunstner. Jeg arbejder på sagen. Jeg er a work in progress (aldrig et værk).

Familien er en totalitær konstruktion

Lejligheden er stadig ikke varmet op efter min sidste tur til Sverige, så jeg sidder i ræv og uldsokker. Min radiator synger. Jeg er vist stadig forelsket. Men også træt. Jeg læser Roths The Radetzsky March (ja, undskyld, oversat) og trøster mig med at Østrig-Ungarns fald fra tryghed til terror lader til at have en beroligende effekt på sindet.

Jeg er imponeret over George Michaels timing efter Whamageddon. Nogle gange tænker jeg, at det, der er galt med min generation er, at de fleste af dem ikke rigtigt har oplevet døden tæt på endnu eller når den er urimelig. Jeg dater i en ældre årrække. Der taler de ikke om andet. Eller sådan lød det lidt, som jeg sad der med munden fuld af punchrulle og smilede, men jeg tror måske det siger mere om mig, end om dem. Man kan fra visse perspektiver ikke holde en baby uden at blive tynget ned af sin egen undergang.

P.s. jeg er ikke sikker på at der faktisk er noget galt med min generation.

Der har været en del gode samtaler, forstået selvfølgelig, altid, i forstand af god = bizar/sjov/poetisk. Min nuværende favorit:

- At the obvious risk of seeming partially crazy to you, I'll share with you here, that in 1975-6 I had about 30 experiences with UFOs, one of them with another witness. Have documented all that in detail.
- My idea of your craziness remains roughly at the same level. My stance on [the aliens] is detached.

Er desuden ved at planlægge semibiografisk (ingen genre er helbiografisk, but I digress) roman med kærlighed om vores relation. Arbejdstitel: Kuk och Ångest. Hans mor spørger hvornår vi skal giftes og om der kommer flere børnebørn og jeg fortæres langsomt at mest det sidste. Jeg kan godt forstå hvorfor nogle mennesker bliver alkoholikere, og er et øjeblik ude af stand til at sætte mig ud over mig selv.

Det er et spørgsmål om stolthed. - Selvfølgelig har jeg en billet hjem.