From MY attic - fragments (tbc (likely))

(I won't quote myself if you won't ...)

It's all sugary and carbon dominated connections, elephants, mars-bars and politicians.

I should give a lecture on the vanity of modern science, but I won't.

Four days a week things are more or less the same as the remaining three.

A fairytale: there is a sun up there behind the clouds. We call it “Sun”.

How dare they, the blabbering birds black as sin, to shit on my firewood?

I'm not sure. Of that I'm certain.

Abolished the hope that one day “the world” will make sense. It's a meantime-place for experimenting and only a few percent of us get anything right.

I come and go regularly.

It's a hand-out out of hands.

It's less risky to risk less like in roulette with 4 numbers and a square ball.

Sex is definitely fun.

There's a door where there ought to be a hole in the wall and a discontinued star.

It's a fever and I'm not giving up.

My father was a boy when he was younger. In summer he would cast a shadow. My mother saw him.

I had the mums and was photographed kicking a ball. Those were black-and-white days. I was developed by professionals.

I held my hand out, she grabbed it the girl who smelled of pee.

The end of the world (my first) on December 26th. How I hated Orthon for ruining my Christmas. That evening I enjoyed my presents and fought my sister.

A discharge, katharsis or too much candy. I spend a day throwing up.

One summer evening I ate 16 slices of bread with salami and tinned mackerel. It was after a long walk. We visited the oldest oak tree in Denmark.

(nightfall)

nightfall and the question of predestination gathers dust with her snoaring

The weight - a haibun

The tic-toc of the cheep walk clock … should really throw that one out. Its loud sound makes time goes slower. Or so it seems. There's a certain grandmother-feel about it but in a sad way. It doesn't evoke strawberry flavored memories, but those of loneliness, loss and having nothing more to hope for than days without illness. I often visited my maternal grandmother after grandfather died. She was a tiny woman with very bad eyesight – practically blind. And her loneliness, of which she never spoke, of course, filled her rooms with something I only gradually came to recognize. You can't take sorrow, loneliness and longing for the past away from people if that is all they have left; and you can't compensate for what they've lost. Remembering her face I can see how slow time passed for her those last years.

ripples on the coffee

a passing train

at 2 o'clock

Tricking the donkey - haibun

This supposedly had to happen. I pulled out some plugs and started revising haiku from the past seven months. What a triumph for the over-ego, the ego that says: get serious, constructive, ordered and whatever label it uses to get me doing something like this, which is largely against my go-with-the-flow-of-intuition nature. But I started it so I will have to go through with it. Though, I tricked myself into taking it one part at a time. It's only the folder named “gendai haiku” I'm revising. Otherwise I couldn't drag myself into this project. I take a break, dance a little to a song on the radio by The Raveonettes and open a couple of windows to get in some O2.

November dusk

at some point this mirror

was emptied

I step out on the landing to check the feel of the weather – or what you would call this second week stand-still of mist and no wind or sun. On my left the sound of a flock of rooks probably “rooking” around the church tower, on my right the juvenile remarks of sanitation people working. Always something to do at the inn. I can still blow smoke rings.

lighting a candle by a dying flame I'm told it's a full moon

Mercenary - a haibun

Sun up at 7:44 and down again 16:36. Moon down up at 14:22 and down again close to 1 in the morning. Just around when the street lamp outside my bedroom window. On top of that it's the 5^th day of mist. This darkness doesn't please me, and whenever November starts to really devour daylight, I think of my great-great and many times great grandfather. He was a Spanish mercenary with Napoleon's army and got stationed in this land of mud and darkness. He remained here after the war and must have met a girl. There's no other way to procreate, that I know of. Not one that extends the blood-line anyway. And I think: “Why on Earth would he choose this country and this climate when he could have stayed in Spain?” I obviously don't get an answer, but pictures of hunger, prisoner of war camps, abandonment and persecution, poverty and the impossibility of getting all the way back to Spain from Denmark some 200 years ago flash by just above the surface of lukewarm coffee. Nothing to do but wonder and make a fresh pot.

half a day moon

these days everything

is about cut-backs

Revisit - a haibun

I thought I had been sucked into the past. That sort of thing happens from time to time. I sat on the train on the way to the big city – well, as big as they come in Denmark – when a hippie-looking guy boarded with his monstrous Big Dane dog. My thoughts went in two directions. I thought: now, there's a weirdo, knowing very well that in this part of the country many “off-siders” have found a cheap place to live as it's rather poor. And I thought: great!!! Nice to see a flash of the past, and my nose replayed all kinds of smells associated with the early -70's. Patchouli, sandalwood, fenugreek, hashish and wet and dirty “Afghan” fur coats, which was a bit of a turn-off, that last part. After having put his corn-pipe away he sat himself down in a very upright position: straight back, both feet on the floor and looking us, the other travellers, straight in the eyes. I nodded. He nodded. Dog said nowt. Then he padded the seat at his left side (he'd taken the window seat) and the dog, big as half a horse, jumped up and sat perfectly cool beside him, straight as a statue. The dog had a colourful tie as leash. We bumped on while I was listening to Incredible String Band.

straightened stream

a mirrored swan

asks twice

bird and house / fugl og hus - some sort o' haibun

As the Earth turns - and I'm told it does - a feeble light crawls over the roof of the inn. Still haven't wept a slink … slept a wink and it's getting tiresome, I hope. I notice a magpie on that roof and decide that it's from there the house beneath it came. Why not? Like some sort of egg that'll hatch Christmas and Bingo parties, lame C&W parties with pale quaint Danes doing line dance. Not quite satisfied with the order of things ”in the World” (said in grimacing way with that expression 54 years old adolescent present when they forget they're … 54).

I decide that the bird came before the house.

November mist the chair is as solid as usual

..*..

Idet Jorden drejer - nogen har sagt, at den gør det – kryber et spinkelt lys over kroens tag. Har endnu ikke løjet et uk … lukket et øje, og det er ved at være ret trættende, håber jeg. Jeg får øje på en skade på taget og og beslutter mig for, at det er derfra, huset under den kom. Hvorfor ikke? Som en slags æg, der snart skal klækkes til julefrokoster og Bingofester, smagløse C&W fester med blege kejtede danskere, der danser line dance. Jeg er ikke helt tilfreds med den rækkefølge, der gælder ”i Verden” (sagt med et vrængende udtryk, som passer sig til en 54-årig pubertær, når de glemmer, at de er … 54)

Jeg bestemmer mig for, at fuglen kom før huset.

novembertåge stolen er af fast stof som sædvanlig

Morning visitor / Morgengæst - haibun

Morning visitor

Morning visitor: the mother cat from down-stairs jumps in through my window. She must have been out all night. I really don't mind. She's a tidy but very shy and nervous cat with a double mind – tied to the house and out and about. Her folks took her in 2 or 3 years ago when she had had kittens in an a car wreck – their own car wreck. Now she and two kittens from that bunch live there. This spring she had 3 new kittens, 2 survived and one has found a new home. The male cat from the first litter is very attention-seeking, very cuddly and cool as cucumber around the other cats. He's the center of the world, daring and curls up in my lap falling a sleep after having put his claws in my thigh the moment he gets inside. Whenever he's outside and hear me open the door, he comes running from where ever he is. Luckily without mice or birds in his mouth. If the weather allows I let my front door stay open for those of the cats that didn't get inside when their people left for work. They eat and sleep a while and charges off again. That's it.

Will have to think up another way of doing things when winter comes.

lingering mist for 5 minutes I don't have to know everything

..*..

Morgengæst

Morgengæst. Moder-katten, der bor nedenunder, hopper ind gennem vinduet. Hun må have været ude hele natten. Det gør mig ikke noget. Hun er en ordentlig, renlig men noget sky og nervøs kat med et dobbelt sind – hun er knyttet til hjemmet men skal altså også rende omkring. Underboerne to hende ind for 2 eller 3 år siden da hun fik killinger I et bilvrag – deres eget bilvrag. Nu bor hun der med to af killingerne. Dette forår fik hun 3 nye killinger, og 2 af dem overlevede - én af dem fik et nyt hjem. Hankatten fra det første kuld er meget opmærksomhedskrævende, enormt kælen og ekstremt cool overfor de andre katte. Han er verdens centrum og ruller sig sammen og falder i søvn i mit skød – efter først at have stukket kløerne i mit lår – så snart han er indenfor. Når han er ude og hører, at jeg åbner døren, kommer han springende fra, hvor det nu er, han befinder sig. Heldigvis uden mus eller fugle i munden. Hvis vejret tillader det, lader jeg min hoveddør stå åben for de af kattene, der ikke nåede – eller ville – komme ind, før deres mennesker tog på arbejde. De spiser og sover lidt, inden de stikker af igen. Det er dét.

Må finde på en anden måde at gøre det på, når det bliver vinter.

tågen hænger i 5 minutter behøver jeg ikke vide alting