IDENTITY CRISIS...ES

Well, well

Haven't been writing here in a while. I have no brilliant punch as to why that's so, but perhaps nothing much has happened.
No... looking back at the posts I realise it's pretty much status bloody quo. As far as writing goes, I've been writing one or two movie reviews, but I wouldn't consider it much. But hey, anyhoops, we're off to March and I'm planning one or two tours across the country and after a couple of fairly busy weeks I'm actually starting to conjure up one or two serious plans.

Had a class today. Hadn't slept one second. First thing Vic did to me upon arrival was to burst out in laughter, hit me on the arm and say "Well, you seriously look like shit". It's been raining like some kind of boring painting off a cheap hotel room. Grey is the word for it. I sat half-asleep during this semi-interesting lecture by some Random Dry Guy, while writing one or two lines in a secret black book of mine, and provoced by nothing I started scribbling down philosophical notes. Pretty interesting things. Like for instance how everything in existance follows a pattern of circumstance. Like, it was a shitty weather today. But yesterday was all sunshine, and entering March gives one or two expectations of spring, which makes the weather today even more shitty. But had it been 2nd of April or not to mention 2nd of May, it would be considered far shittier. And let's not forget social circumstances, if you had planned a picnic today it would be the worst fucking shit weather imaginable. By the same token, if you just planned an in-door day with your girlfriend, it would be ideal.
Got a bit depressed over my ideas, when I stretched them further. Like how everything really is separated from everything and nothing really exists - you don't have a true identity, nothing is "true", your identity is a character composed by experiences, emotions, thoughts, personal beliefs (which are, in turn, totally replacable give or take further experiences). These things are in fact totally separated, it's only when you try to put them together you have to cut and paste and mold it all together in a character; and as if that's not enough, that's only identity no.1. The second identity is the one that people around you will give you - and since they are in turn just as unique their judgement will be different. What does it even mean to be someone in other people's eyes? You are fifty persons to fifty people. Then we of course have the third identity, that being your public profile, where people you've never met judge you. All in all, there is no truth. Everything is separated. Even your family members have their separate identites and you are a separate individual, divided from yourself and all the other versions of you, to each individual member of your family.

Eeeerrr.... do I have to mention these are all thoughts spawned out of sleeplessness?
Didn't think so.

SINGLE

Alright, I'm back

Seems I've been busy, who would have thought. My sister came over, stayed from Friday until now, that is Tuesday. A bunch of days, all in all enough for me to get used to her and miss when she left and also, enough to feel the relief of solitude after five days of activity. Or well, activity, we really just spent the days buying good looking crap and the nights making elaborate food and watching The X Files, since I bought the first season on DVD. A pretty nice show, that. And I actually think Dana Scully is my ideal woman and I think, in fact, perhaps she became that when I was a kid, watching the series on exciting late hours. Fox Mulder was an early ideal man for me too, it all makes perfect sense, that was the guy to be - an intelligent nerd, boyish but bold, always right. Scully is the sister, mother, lover - you know, the usual bullshit - elegant, good looking, secretive but intelligent and above all, a wonderful partner to argue with. So stubborn! I mean, how much proof does she need be at least slightly more into believing in some kind of supernatural events? She just doesn't want to believe. I love that. I can only argue with brick walls.
But siiiigh, look at me, writing away slightly too dreamily about a fictional character. Hm. Story of my life, I guess.

Spoke some over the MSN with The Eagle, we talked some about financial crisis, generation problems and love problems and what they have in common. I think it's fascinating that most people I know would love to spend the rest of their lives in one great city, with one great job and one great paycheck and a couple of great friends - but have no interest whatsoever in having one partner. Monogamy is fucking underrated. It should become an indie thing or something.

As for me, I don't know. I'm really not giving it any heart and soul anymore, this whole "finding somebody" thing. As it is now, it would surprise me beyond belief if I actually fell for somebody. But it doesn't really end and that, I've lost interest in the whole spectacle. I'm a rusty and lazy pickuper, saying like "Oh really? Not into conversation? Well, as a matter of fact, you might as well fuck off, I need another beer".
It all probably has something to do with the fact that I've actually had my share. I've been occupied six years. Six years! That's like a quarter of my entire life, thus far. Not only does the horrific demolition of the latest relationship still haunt one or two heart chambers, and not only am I fixed upon the notion that nothing will really compare to it anyway, but I've also got no strength left for another shot at it. I mean, fuck I am tired. Being single is exotic enough, I barely know what it's about. I think time is my best ally now. I've got other things to do. Of course, I'm open for any kind of smash-and-grab-type of affair, but those things are fucking rare. You read about it all the time in books, they are quite common in movies but I wonder if they are not the biggest fantasy of all fantasies. That two people in urban life could just have a little thingy and that would be the end of it. There are always ties that bind. Then again, if you want to prove me wrong, I don't mind.

And there are one or two exceptions of course. I still wonder what The Queen of Arkansas from the Island days is doing. And I would really love to see the woman across the water again. And then again, perhaps The Scully Is Out There. Who knows. As Mulder put it, I want to believe.

MAYBE BABY

Alright, I'm a lot better today. Went off to the University, not much happened there. Went on a wonderful shopping spree after that, bying albums (Yeah, that's right! Actual CD's!) combining winter's darkness with some raw light, that is to say I bought collections of post-punk, ballads from the 1700's and brawly beer-filled rock music from old men with the blues and the brawl in their veins. Upon this I also bought a bunch of clever posters, and started getting some greater image ideas while being in the store. I just bought me a Hidden Depths for the bed, to reign upon my sleep, and on the opposite wall Kissing on VJ Day to greet me upon awakening. Also, I bought a big WALL-E for the bathroom. I'm a genious, I know. I told the girl at the counter I was interested in the more expensive stuff also - a classic Beatles shot, one Marilyn and one Audrey, and probably a Michelangelo and quite possibly that Van Gogh café to. Upon this, I will also order myself a Rocky poster to hang upon the desk - keeping the working moral going - and most definitely an Image Duplicator by Lichtenstein. Always been a favorite of mine.

I've got a funny mail today. Let's just call it a little... funny.
And yeah, bought some DVD's too. Nirvana at Reading Festival and Ryan Adams in Jamaica (?!). Coming home with some insane amount of grocieries - yes, I'm making dinner for myself tonight, I'm really going for this payday hubris - I'm started making some lunch and figured I might aswell go down to the Owl's Second Hand down the street. But currently, I'm watching the weird sensation of Ryan and the Jamaicans and feeling a little too convenient.

Later, friends

OH WELL WHATEVER NEVERMIND

Alright, I've had it.

Where's the fucking Sun King? Upon reviewing my current life at the moment, I realise there's quite a lot you'd perhaps want to wish for. I start to realise that this is really just about the worst fucking winter of my life. Not that I'm in a hell hole, but I can't actually recall having a more bitter, cold, lonely, piece of shit grade-B time. It's like a rock 'n roll band who've just crashed at the height of their time, waking up in the worst fucking Sunday ever and realising that they've become yesterdays news and all they've got is a hungover and a cold turkey depression. It's not that I'm having any obvious problems. It's quite the opposite, not a fucking thing is going on and I can't even remember the last time I felt any lasting joy. I guess I should be somewhat happy, given that it's "better" than this time round last year, when I was basically going through a breakdown. But as fucked up as it may sound that at least was something.

Met Milos anyway, as it was somewhat planned. His train arrived three hours late and he managed to take a night train to his farmhouse home. We took a walk to my place though, there and back stopping for a coffee. Inevitably we had a smoke indoors, it's Milos after all, and I became paranoid, since I don't own the flat. When I was opening the window to air it out afterwards, I also happened to break some sort of thin wooden pole that was laying about, and I guess it has some sort of point with the drapes or something. After that I really became depressed, paranoid thinking that my, in reality very kind, landlord would show up and throw me out the streets like the scabby dog I am. I also wondered whatever happened to my rock 'n roll view of things like this. The truth is that it's all fucking going straight down the toilet right now.

I mean, come on!

Fuck it. I'm going to bed, no matter what sleep I get I'll be up in the daylight and off to the Factory of Academics if for no other reason than to share a smoke with somebody. Furthermore, this weekend my sister's coming to town. So is CC. That'll be nice. Other than that, I can't see any damn consideration from anything. If I'm whining than you better believe it's worth whining about. Now: Sleep. See you in my dreams.

TO PLAN AND NOT TO PLAN

I'm giving the suspicious look, and Milos' being a happy fuck, dressed up as Brandon Lee. Picture taken by Miss C at Halloween '08.


Internet's a funny place.

I've been having this blog for nine days and according to bloglovin.com I've got one subscriber - unless of course they by one mean "me" - and something like 100 profile views - yet not one single comment! Either it's been 100 really unimpressed people, or something like 50 sneaky ones. Who can tell.

Thought I was getting the dough today, but alas! It's not until tomorrow. Spent the night writing, getting closer and closer to the finish line of a collection of short stories that are bound to make me rich and famous. Heh. Well, perhaps not. But I'm sure it will get published one way or another. I don't write shit. Been living like a little shit for way too long, I could have reached my goals at seventeen but I guess I wasn't interested back then. So the flat is going to remain white and pale for another day, won't be able to buy any kind of proper household stuff until mañana. And as far as that goes, it's another day of doing jack shit I guess. Keep working the mines for gold.

Well, no there's an attraction of the night when I think about it. Milos is finally returning his ass from the Capital. Apparantely, he'd need a place to sleep when the train arrives, since he figured it would be late. Good enough. I think I will purchase whatever alcohol I can afford, I've been missing my little Sancho. These windmills are tough enough when you're on your own.

THIS LIFE, THIS LIFE AND THEN THE NEXT

Murky shot from the Capital Days



Different stories...

Upon waking up this Sunday, after a couple of fairly entertaining weekend nights (beer goes a long way) I realised that isolation will fuck you up. If you're alone for long enough time, you will start to think in strange manners, you will start to act randomly and you develop a great sense of paranoia. The big turd in the shitstorm is of course that you start to imagine that this is a totally unique experience and that everybody else is off living their lives in perfect fucking harmony. That everyone's invited to the party, except for you, and that nobody gives a shit about it. When in fact, we are all just as sad and lonely.

Took a walk, figured I'd round it up with a movie and a pizza (yeah! Actually rent a movie! Let's just say that the network in this building of mine is not up to any modern standards). To be Sunday, there was a lot of activity out there in the darkness. People everywhere, hand in hand, talking with shopping bags, kids walking around with candy bags, older kids sharing cigarettes, even older kids walking around with big posters and protest signs, heading for some shout-out-gathering I guess. I'm not living in a hole or anything, but it's not really the city that never sleeps either. Maybe it's some kind of collective subconscious reaction on the spring vibes I felt earlier today.
Anyway, didn't find one single movie of interest, but the pizza guys were nice. I often get the feeling they despise me from the time I accidentaly gave them less money than I was supposed to, as if to cheat them from a coin or two. The headlines screamed of SCANDAL, now about what? Could it be the Middle East Crisis? The recent hidden-camera-footage of racism within the police force? The right wing politicians and their new Nuclear views? No, it was naturally about the ESC quarter finals, and how the new system of rules are incomprehensable. I laughed, thinking Thank God I don't give a fuck. I did catch the show though, last night as Miss L's place, I had five beers and started to think that the Britney Spears-ish eurobeats were quite catchy. After that I went to the 90's club, hooked up with some class mates and basically just got wasted as a fucking dog. Don't remember how I ever got home. I litterary woke up today saying, "Mmmbop I've got a headache"

Other than that, I've been cleaning up to the sound of Working on a Dream, Bruce's new one. I don't know though, had I been "The Boss" so to speak, I'd get rid of Brendan O'Brien, who makes all of the songs feel like cup cakes. But maybe it's just a mean's end, Bruce does seem quite laid back these days. There has been a long time since he did an album that once it was finished, you really had to catch your breath. Without that uncencored darkness, and that frustration around the borders of violence, Bruce becomes a little... I don't know, flat? Maybe it's just me. The man's sixty. Perhaps that's why the album says close to nothing about my life. I do love Outlaw Pete, the opener, that one works, a big canvas, big drama, a lovely production and a bold opener. The rest of it just kind of passes me by, a nice production whopper here (Good Eye) a nice tune or two there (Tomorrow Never Knows, The Last Carnival) and you know, the E. Street by-the-numbers numbers (My Lucky Day, the title track, etc.).
Besides, it has a song called Queen of the Supermarket and that one I just fucking despise. Bruce is joyfully spitting me in the face with that one. Not that that's his fault, and I'm sure it's a great song. But it just reminds me of a Capital Girl who, in a sense, left me for a job with a smile and a name tag, sitting at the end of the beeping aisle. As far as I know, she's still there. But who knows. Some people over there give reports of having seen her with some guy. As Bruce did say, deceit and betrayal are bitter fruit.

A couple of years ago I lived in the Capital. Hellofalot younger it seems now, even though back then, I couldn't imagine getting any older. Looking back, I can't remember doing anything spectacular there. Me and The Eagle walked the streets drinking 7 Eleven-coffee, until daylight, just talking the nights through. That's what I remember to be good. That and that I had a girl.

When I think of those times, I think of darkness and rain. It's like a vision in my mind, all of the darkness and all of the rain. When I think of today, I think of brightness and cold. None of it means anything. Time has passed that's all.
I do miss her. But she's gone now.


PS
Yeah, The Last Carnival is a great song too.

Why So Serious?

This joke isn't funny anymore

Last night could not have been more of a letdown. Not that it was a shit night all the way through, but all in all it ended up so pointlessly nowhere, with such bitter randomness, that I really felt abandoned by any lucky stars imaginable.
It all started out well enough, I had me a few cold ones at my place and felt all in for anything. Turns out that there's some kind of costume party at the Red Dane's, everyone's dressed up as a "hero" or "villain". So I enter with Spider-Man, Afro-Man, Ellie Driver, The Joker, The Wiz, The Weather Man (huh?... Danish people) and whatnot looking at me as if to say "Well who the fuck are you supposed to be?". I tried to laugh it off, saying I was Bruce Wayne and that Batman is my secret identity. Don't know how many people got that one.

Anyway, spent the entire night talking to a pretty girl dressed up as The Joker. Or, at least as far as I could tell she was pretty, if you imagine away all the shit she was wearing. She seemed a little off the walls, but a nice person from what I could gather. We were in her room when everybody started to leave, and I did quite the fuck-up when I didn't leave with the rest of the party. There was that one taxi, that was going to the club in time before it would be impossible to get in. As it was, I stuck with the Jokeress and her crew, who went looking for an inhouse-party since one of them weren't a student. Damn fool I was to tag along, they found a jammed house with that feeling of a hundred people and loud music yet nothing going on. They ditched it too, but I was obviously the fifth wheel. Upon taking my jacket, I also checked out my pride and went home, by some junkfood. It was barely midnight when I got back to the flat, wondering whether I should go to bed or wait for Friday the 13:th part V: A New Beginning on TV. Miss L came online and asked what the fuck I was doing back home. I told her the story. C'est la vie she said, and there's always tomorrow.

Yeah, so how about tomorrow? Today that is. We shall see.