Tuesday, 29 November 2011

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.

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