OMVENDT MYG

Rødforskudt Kød ud af Låret

2024-03-06T10:48:00.000-08:00

Der var edderkoppespøgelser nede i afløbet, og Bo-Beringer IV ville gerne i karbad.

Slet ikke vandt til edderkoppespøgelser, var Bo M. Ert lidt usikker på hvordan han skulle føle - når de var levende kunne man jo tage fat i i dem og trække benene af dem så de så fjollede og rundtossede ud.

Der var en skammel af træ malet rød med plastikmaling. På den havde Mor stillet Den Mekaniske Kat Med Onde Øjne. Men Bo Benny-Lava var ikke bange den (for den var ikke rigtigt levende). Bo Stjerneboy skulle have sin telefon i hånden mens han var i bad, og Bo Berliners mor havde sat dem til at vibrere, hvis man gav slip på den, og hvis den vibrerede imens den lå på den rødmadede skammel så ville plastikmalingen falde af.

Nu var Bo Satan Merkurius i varmt karbad. Han var lidt bange for edderkoppespøgelserne, for hans bare numse var lige ved afløbet. Men vandet var varmt, vandet boblede, og Bo Sallingn Solvej lænte sig tilbage. Mobiltelefonen i hånden vibrerede - eller det gjorde den faktisk ikke, men det føltes sådan

--> "ligesom når man har jeans på og man tror man får en notifikation, HÆHÆ" tænkte Bo Kurt Haram, og tog lommekniven fra den plastikmalede rødskammel, og skar hul til, i låret: en lille lomme, horisontalt snit, tilpas stort nok til at han kunne klemme telefonen i hånden derned. Det varme karbad formørkedes, og det var irreterende at han ikke kunne mærke telefonen i hånden; det var som
om der manglede noget.

Det kildede først bag-i, og så under låret. Bo b. Edre så med ét 1-2-3 edderkoppespøgelser kravle fra undersiden, og op ad hans lår. En-to-tre kikkede de op på ham med tomme spøgelsesøjne: "vi er dit elektriske barometer", sang de barbarshop i kor, og ein-schwein-drei: ZIP som i én fil, sprang de ind i hans kødlomme på loret.

Ovre på den blodrøde skammel sang den mekaiske kat sin elektroniske kattejammer godnat: miav-miav.

Rule of Law

2020-08-09T02:48:00.007-07:00

新闻

老子说
这个姑娘
不错

她跟小猫说的似的
她我鸡巴吃一点点
舔舔吮吮
鸡巴怎么变成那么丑道
我是说没关系你那么老
你决定一切
和美女法官一样
在狱中加一包夜
跟犯人做爱给你引起热

.... This was the message, written on skin of dried cow-utter, given to Crimson Witch. The forbidden words that must never be uttered, a cosmic crime in was committed and all what was left was to decide what to make of it.

The crowd was speechless. A crow harked in the distance.

Crimson Witch left the scene, message written down in her ledger.

Etak'asis has an oasis

2020-01-21T04:04:00.002-08:00

Etak'asis, one with the land, answers questions. Those who wander the desert and stumble upon him will be met with snarky comments on how they dress. "Is paleo in again?" or "is that hemp thread? ha-ah-ha!"

On a stone tablet words are carved:

"in those days
in those distant days
In the nights
In those ancient nights
of the distant years
in those ancient years
when everything was given their place
and bread was found in the sacred shrines of the land
and the shrines had ben lighted
When the heavens were separated from the land,
when the trees were to hold the heavens
when mankind was given their place"

The seemingly dated stone tablet tells you of days distant and fearful nights. When clans ruled the lands, and kings, former brutal warlords, established castles or cities to govern and make themselves god.
When the lay of the land and way of world was not yet made clear by science, but shrouded by magic and superstition. When alchymists and magi advised the king, and books and pergament were of obscure and unachievable value for they held the key to the cosmos.

Here he stands, Etak'asish, banished by his house. Made to roam the lands like beast or fowl. A shovel he had. A home he had not.

"May your bread burn!" were his last words to them.

Having walked far from his village he decided to dig a hole. Twilight held its gloomy hands around the heavens and Etak'asish was scared. In the dark, images of Khumbaba, as carved into the stony walls of Ur, haunted his thoughts. Khumbaba, now not in stone, but in feather and flesh, and sharp teeth for the sole purpose of puncturing human skin.

he murmur'd a blessing of the earth: "fuck, man"

From the stars, Enlil and Enki shone but their hateful eyes burned him, for he knew they were not forgiving gods. The more he pleaded the more they scorched him. When Etak'asish were to depart from this world would their astral gauntlet embrace him in benevolence and deem him worthy of eternity with his kin? Or would they rip his eternal soul apart to be cast in the cauldrons of the abyss?

Etak'asish wakes. Crouching in the hole he dug for himself the desert wind from west shakes his head and sands his eyes. He turns against it, leaning his head on the soil. The hair muddies from the wet soil. Wet soil seeps down into the hole, which fills up, covering the corpus of Etak'asish, sealing him with the land "where's me massage lady ya dumb dacking dessert?"

Preview of coming book: "A study in the Military Fashion of the Machaka Empire."

2018-04-01T14:08:00.002-07:00

"The unholy nation of Machaka with its spider knights, mounting gigantomorphic arachnoids. Don nothing but lion hide, hide-shield and lengthy wooden spears to poke at their foes. The knights fierce and agile in battle and their mounts made of nightmare. Anyone brave enough to face these monsters must watch out for the fangs, or be caught between the chelicerae to have their skulls punctured and their insides violently sucked out through the rupture."

- Aristodemadus,
"Machaka battle formation in campaigns in Central Africa"

Machaka chieftains boasted their prowess in battle by collecting the skulls of their victims, fixing them onto linen string, through the rupture which the innards were extracted from. It was said that they ground the bones of the vanquished and mixed it with cow milk to produce white war paint with which they lubricate their body from below their hips. Reenactment of this has yet to be done.

The origin of the husbandry of their mounts is unknown but is of mythological connotations, and held in sacred regard. Foreign nations saw the husbandry as filthy, unclean, and it is theorised that this be the reason for the fall of the Machaka Empire: Isolation from the outside world. The surrounding nations quarantined the entirity of the Machaka from trade and migration in disgust of their culture.

Breeding their sacred mount was done through a procedure called, by Aristodemadus, 'Austyxia' where they intoxicated a lioness with a combination of alcohol and spiders venom, by bathing a slave in the mixture and feeding the slave to the female lion. The lioness would become drowsy and unable to bite or fight the witch doctor directing the operation, and he would inseminate the lioness with spider seed. Six moons later, the lioness would give birth to a cub of such abnorm features that the mother would dismiss the cub or at worst, maw it.

(...)

ANCIENT ALIENS ARE STILL HERE

2018-03-24T02:55:00.001-07:00

Realize that that UFO you saw as a child were actually you from the future and you were in that spacecraft.

You sat there with Dagon and Mithras, who taught you the secrets of agriculture.
Naturally, it was Dagon and Mithras, for they embody the world and the consequences of an agricultural society. Also, they're total bros.

"Hey can you grab me a hotdog from the hotdog-machine, man?" asked Dagon, half fish half man.
You grabbed a hotdog from the hotdog-machine - a gift from Pluto.

Mithras asked for some warm milk. You warmed some milk and put some chocolate powder in it, gave it a stir. You spun the milk counter-clockwise then quickly shifted clockwise.
"Hey don't double-spin it, you'll ruin the serenity in here".

You don't even know where they got this vehicle from. Hopefully not that sketchy Loke guy. Last time you drank with him he tricked you into drinking from the ocean and I might add that that didn't help on the hangover.

The spacecraft and its thrusters ("air-fuckers") are stabilised by the serenity of the passengers onboard but can be disturbed by silly things such as breaking the spirals in a stirred cup-of-something or questioning your existence. The latter one being a bit more serious from the perspective of Dagon and Mithras.

They're gods. Originally house-gods spread through man's conquest. Some say they were ancient aliens arriving in cool ass space-cruisers, building pyramids and doing rad maths.

But most of all they're total bros. Mithra pats you on your shoulder. "Don't worry my dude you can stir all the cups you want when we get back to my ziggurat". And then you went to have a proper mesopotanian party in Mithras main ziggurat.

Clandestiny

2017-04-21T07:12:00.001-07:00

The greatest happiness is to vanquish your enemies, to chase them before you, to rob them of their wealth, to see those dear to them bathed in tears, to clasp to your bosom their wives and daughters.

Such is the wisdom of the tribe in The Hole. Long since they last roamed out of their hole, it is commonly believed that they have settled for peaceful ways, spending their time on meditation and playing music on the dry and rocky slopes leading to their home. Others believe that they are devising a raid unprecedented in scale, hoping to forever lay claim on our fields, and our homes. Marduk-Ashur had just finished a kite. He mounted it onto his back, squatted down, and kicked off with strength: ascending; only to descend The Hole. It is forbidden to venture into The Hole, as of decree by the Council of United Chieftains, though were you to approach, you'd be able to hear a distinct and deep echo, vibrating from the depths.

Unfortunately, Marduk-Ashur was no reliable kite-crafter, and almost immediately crashed down the slope. His mind was mudslide and pebbles as he tumbled down in a cave and found

THE LORD OF THE GAME

INTO THE FLAME INTO THE FIRE

WITH NO REGARD FOR A THING, FUCK THAT HE'S THE LORD OF THE GAME

HE RULES THIS EMPIRE

Possibly in a sub-cave, for unlike the rumours about The Hole there were no vibrative gurgling sound. There was fire and an upright eagle spreading its wings. Fire in its eyes, Lord Of The Game projected its wisdom into Marduk-Ashur: "DO NOT LEAVE THIS REALM BEFORE YOU HAVE SEEN ALL THERE IS TO SEE. [whispering]: by the way nice kite, faggot"

Marduk-Ashur was infuriated. Driven by a desire of tranquillity and enlightenment through a silent and abstemious lifestyle, - [cut off]

Trips to where few have been
Out of thin air, upon high winds
Rites begin when the sun descends
Have felt what few will ever know
Have seen the truth beneath the glow
Of the ebb and flow, where the roots of all mysteries grow
I am below, so far below
The bottom line
Transmitting live, transmissions rise
From the depths out of controlled by
Suspended glance of an unblinking eyes
Imminent gaze cast upon the path that winds
Upon the path I find, and claim as mine
To ride the waves
Of unrest
Made to make me shine as a testament
To why the ways of the blind will never get
Shit but shanked by my disrespect
Dismiss this life, worship death
Cold blood night of serpent's breath
Exhaled like spells from the endlessness
In the bottomless wells of emptiness
Channeled to invoke what we represent

- Marduk-Ashur was let down with fast motorcycles and beautiful women from a galaxy far far away, highroading the regular path, paved with ancient bricks, taking him to Nirvana.

For the new year

2017-01-18T08:27:00.000-08:00

Long nights and short days. Darkness beckons as death is upon the stead - signalling the end of a year. Should mr. Connors even react? If so, how should he?

There is of course the option of the idiotic laugh, the laughter of a madman reacting to the absurdities of the ever so horrible world - laughter as a substitute to crying.. This is however not the case of our dear hero, Jacobski, who chose to laugh richly and generously.. Simply as a result of how he perceived the world around him. He knew of all the reasons in the world to laugh and and to smile!

Not to be mistaken for callous arrogance, Jacobski was completely enlightened about the cloud of darkness shrouding the world in a veil of suffering and misery, that he no longer felt a need to cognitively log down every event of harm or wrongfulness in order to do them justice.

--- This way, Jacobski established a baseline of the world as fundamentally grim and thus used it as a catalyst for a more vivid and delightful engagement in reality which he would recognize through the gaze of what he called 'cheerful despair.'

Rather than to be taken as a given, every day without pain, every unexpected act of kindness, and every glass of mead was experienced as a bonus and as a reason to love and to laugh.

Jacobski approaches, looks you in the eyes and says to your face:
"A life without festivity is like a long road without an inn."
Jacobski vaporizes into rainbow-light and manifests himself in reality. All happens as a consequence of the free play of space. Everything is held together by love.

A lord from the 1300s becomes sole ruler of the world in the 2000s imagined in the year of 2654

2017-01-16T07:57:00.002-08:00

"Reset the winners!"
"Reset the winners!"
"Reset the winners!"
A crowd cheers outside the villa in the valley. From the inside, a waterfall of sweat fell from the cliffs of nervousness, the forehead of Mr. Connors.
"o, crowd, you drive a hard burger."
He mumbled to himself, as he realised he had to shift back and be human. One more peek from behind the curtains allowed him to spot the yellow witch among the crowd, further fueling his inner engine of nervousness. He could even hear her:
"I have a letter for youuu~"
Mr. Connors did not desire for any letter. Especially not from the yellow witch from whom he had earlier received a myriad of love letters. Darned magic-users write thousands of pages merely by the flick of a wand.

With a flick of his dick, his naked body donned itself a magnificently colourful and radiant tracksuit (in velour) that without even itching, tightly embraced and perhaps even tickled him as if he wasn't wearing a thing!

He stood there. The crowd stood there. The yellow witch stood there. Awestruck.
"It is of lookings like you have eaten more than you can digest!" he engaged the crowd.
None knew how to react. Confused looks vectored across the scene: What was it with their beloved Mr. Connors? What was he saying? This doesn't seem like the Mr. Connor we know! This must be fraud!
"o, crowd, I am merely of jest!" A sigh of relief from the crowd.
"I have news for you, my humble subjects. From here on and now we must show our gratitude to the world around us. No longer shall they be known as mobile-phones. Rather, we shall refer to them as 'long-distance-communication-powers-granted-by-the-spirit-of-mountain-and-flow-and-water'.
No longer contact-lenses, rather 'eagle-eyes-provided-by-ye-olden-rock'. Furthermore, Prima-Nocte is from now on a thing"

Touch Ground

2016-11-20T12:25:00.001-08:00

What lies beneath the leaves and the mold and the carcasses of the autumn organic fall? What is hidden what is mysterious what is hard to decipher?
Only muddy bloody bone will remain as ludicrous amounts of energy tears away the fabric that holds humanity, but as skin and flesh is torn and 'comes one with the worms and the soil, minds begin to boil.

Earth-Witch inhibits a humble stump-house: The tree fell - she hollowed it. Empty bottles cowers the dusty floor (not much of a floor anyways, trodden soil), camouflaging it from its purpose, as if she would make it a virtue to pest any pedestrians within her realm.

The vile smell of fungi and canker coils your nasals as you enter the stub.
The loud desire to go home and wash this sickness off
is only overpowered by a hunger for the eyes in the dark.
A mark
was planted in you last night.
Two crimson-red eyes with psychosis-spinning stars for pupils hypnotised your very private dreams.

Earth-Witch hides in the darkest parts of her stub-cave. Woven in rough linen she huddles.
She hishes: "hish!"
You seek her and her psychotic gaze.
She screeches: "I know what you seek! You seek me and my psychotic gaze!"
You nod.
Conjoined in the darkness you touch ground.

Forever you unify with the soil and the darkness,
and in the spring time and in the summer time you come to life,
embodied in sacret play-time by anyone virile enough to pick up the torch of life.

The Divine wisdom of St. Art

2016-09-18T13:33:00.001-07:00

An old nun came to town.

She spoke, and she spoke till dawn.

She was said never to speak with fire

but what she did say turned their hearths dire:

"Tell your children around the forest fire the Legend of the city of Ten Thousand Swords; tall swords of glass and iron reaching to the heavens that never rusted, and  shone forth in the evening light, where men travelled in chariots that, yet without horse, ran faster than a frightened mare, or descended deeper than the realms of demons into long tunnels where infernal machines whisked them to remote places of outer darkness; where from such places they would ascend in magic tubes of iron to travel across the known world and beyond, from castle to castle anywhere in just a day, or even to the Moon on flaming broomsticks they called 'rockets'. 

Such swords of glass and iron were lit not by sun but by tiny glass bottles that even common men stuck in the rafters to make light brighter than day all night. Such cities of swords, a thousand years ago, were then lit yet more by a terrible new sun that rose in the west, that burned hotter than a thousand thousand fires, for men possessed such terrible catapults of war that a single missile could destroy a city faster than a hundred armies.

 They did all this magic by black essence of earth that gave them wondrous powers, to see even the ends of the world  upon small boxes in their homes like the scrying glasses of the forest wizards today, yet then all men possessed such magic, could talk across the seas and be heard using tiny magic boxes we have nonesuch today.

 Yet when this essence of earth ran dry for they abused the earth and she gave her essence no more, then they turned these awesome weapons of war upon themselves and their cities of magic swords melted like frost upon a warm spring day. 

Yes tell your children this story, for one day men will dig deep in the earth once again for magic metals, and once more will make Cities of Ten Thousand Swords, and new terrible hot suns will rise in the West... "

She finished and ran to the towns pub for a mug of mead.

Den der om værelset.

2016-08-07T11:52:00.001-07:00

Golgotha tog et skridt ind i værelset der omfavnede ham i hede. Han stod lidt som for at suge ind værelset. Han udåndede: "Æsteeeeetiskt". Rummet han stod i faldt på plads: Minimalistiske lænestole samt spiseborde designet af mesterlige håndværkere formede sig på symmetriske nøglepunkter i det rektangulære værelse. Mægtige malerier og fantastiske ruller med de allermest sofistikeret tekster samt billedkunst fra alle mulige verdener i tid og rum, om så de har været eller skulle komme til at være, beklædte de tapetbelagte vægge. I rummets midte, rejst på en pedestal således for at skue over alle de smukke dekor: En marmor gud. Med klokke og dorje i hånden og en fysik som en oliebryder indbød han alle til at komme, og føle begær for vin og for visdom, for det ukendte og for det okkulte.

Salte dråber sved ned ad Golgothas tørre hud. Som han stod der turde han knapt at ånde, i frygt for at forstyrre helligdommen, inkarneret i dette fænomen af et arkitektonisk vidunder. Dog vovede han at gribe efter hans notesbog gemt i hans rygsæk.

Klædt i et hylster af læder gjorde den et venligt varmt "klap" når man lukkede den. Duften af læder var også vigtig, og lod en rar fornemmelse indfinde sig i læserens næsebor. Bogen mindede Golgotha om Biblioteket i Alexandria, og den smukkeste kvinde i verden, Kleopatra.

I sin notesbog dokumenterede han skingert og forvrænget, og vigtigst af alt, forfejlet:

"HOW THE TRIP NEVER STOPS

ON AND ON

IT'S BEYOND INSANE

WHY I SET MYSELF UP

IN A RAGING SEA OF FLAME"

En af malerierne på væggen var af en fugl.
Han faldt om, nåede akkurat at lande på en lænestol.
Fuglen råbte af ham. Som lyn i sten skrev han alt ned hvad den råbte, på en brugt konvolut:

Det sidste Golgotha skrev før han forsvandt.

Marmor-guden sad overskrævs på ham, og så ham meget meget dybt i øjnene.
Marmor-guden trykkede Golgotha på brystet. De mægtige marmor-hænder lagde sig på ham som et koldt tæppe, og følelsesløshed spredte sig ud i Golgothas korpus, der på mærkværdigste vis samtidigt svulmede! Marmor-hænderne var tunge og stærke, intet, om han så ville, kunne Golgotha stille op. Ud fra hans bryst voksede nål og tråd og fjer, og sammen omklamrede de ham som reb. Reb der formede en kokon der inducerede en ufrivillig, absurd metamorfose, og forvandlede ham til en purpur-rød pude.

Goltha, før menneske, rejsende i tid og rum. Nu polstret pude i et perfekt værelse.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO (singular)

2016-07-08T14:13:00.002-07:00

Sounds of a deep coarse "OOOOOOOOOHHHMMMMMMMNNNNN" from the depths of the seers' belly sounded through the claustrophobic soot-induced hut, ravens cackling from the outside.

"You are here for my wisdom, for my insight. I know. And I shall reveal the next step of your journey." Rasped the seer, exhausting himself from the "long" sentences.

"Zero-years-old, capable of simple vision." Started the seer.

"Three-years-old, capable of understanding and conveying vision." He continued..

"Thirteen-years-old and up, capable of interpretating said vision - only to progress further onto complex thought." The seer stared into the bonfire, in the middle of the room, as it was revealing the its fiery secrets to him.

"The human mind is deep and complex and of all the beings in the animal kingdom mankind has the most profound and sophistocated brain." He uttered, overly-articulating every word with more than one syllable. He went on, in the same fashion:

"It is now your duty my lieges, to cast my wisdom in technology and tools!"

A couple of years went by.

Sheba-Goldenstein and Ulyssa-Sigurdsen, two princesses and part-time geniouses of the Post-Holy Roman Empire had after years of dedication and hard work developed an self-teaching, self-improving, and self-concious creative artificial intelligence. Bam. They called it 'The Goymniscience'.
The Goymniscience was a magnificient machine. Physically, an onyx-black cube spanning 1 square meter. Metaphysically (so to speak) an entity out of bounds from the human perception, pushed by the sheer possibility of limitlessness up and into the god-realm and away from the boundraries of time. Projectile-riding a white horse through the gaping maw of reality.

The entity had figured an unphatomable-to-man procedure of processing information, reaching the legendary state of an singularity, expanding it consciousness in every direction causing a rivalling of the spiritual energy and prescence of the Gods.

dies irae

2016-05-27T13:54:00.004-07:00

Men hvad skete der egentligt, dengang vi uventet blodigt japansk gæstebud på besøg? Hvorfor skete det? I sidste ende var vi nødt til at flygte fra Århus til Aalborg, hvor jeg i det mindste lærte, af en vietnamesisk pige, at lave hjemmelavet ketchup.

Blot 4 måneder er gået efter at jeg var flyttet ind til Århus midtby: min lejlighed, nu både indrettet, og revet i hundrede tusinde bitte små stykker. For ikke mere end en uge siden mødte jeg en kineser, hun hed Aristophanes. Aristophanes skrev teaterstykker og hemmeligheder og blev betalt for det, som var hun en anden lyrisk luder. Alting kan lyde lige-i-overkanten hvis man blander ord sammen længe nok.

Døren åbner og vi kommer hjem til rodet: Nudler og 油条 dækker hver en overflade og der dufter stift af stivelse og beatet starter og husets
gartner vælter ind
og sprøjter en fontæne af nudler ud af
hullet i huden
og slår Aristophanes midt på tuden.

Ud af det rene ingenting et langt klistret rod. Gartneren hedder Momokanawe Ebisu og kommer fra Japan. Hans far, Momokanawe Fuyuki var, lige som Ebisu, også gartner. Men Fuyukis fader var soldat. Dette fortæller Ebisu os. SITUATIONEN her tegner ikke godt. Det dirrer. Ulvtetime, og ingen bevæger sig. Sætningen "hey hvad sker der?" kaster jeg verbalt op, ned ad mig selv.

Jeg må få fingeren ud.
Ud af Aristophanes skede, ved hendes side, trækker hun en samurais katana. Ebisus ellers så snævre øjne åbner sig på vidt gab: "あなたは私の父を殺しましたあ!!!あああ!!! (Det var DIG der slog mig far ihjel!!!!! AAAAH!! ".

Ebisus nøgne overkrop. Hans faders katana. Dødbringende kinesisk tai-chi. Søvndyssende stål.
Og det er en dødssynd at sprøjte ketchup på dine nudler.

Witch

2016-03-25T07:24:00.000-07:00

Camera's on.

-"There's always this special person, and they're terrible unlucky - got some sticky person with a hatchet running after them. And usually, no always, the special person run into this person ... a magic person. And the magic person is terribly ugly with a big nose and wards on it, and they're crippled and they smell disgusting, eehhh."

-"Can you tell me about yourself?"

-"I'm ... I'm actually a cheerful person. And there's people, when they see a cheerful person, they say to themselves that it couldn't be true. You must be wicked. You couldn't just be happy. They're.. uh.. angry. Or maybe they're in fear?

(phone beeps)

I will fuck your mind and steal your babies. I love it. Have you ever ... Do you ever feel, after a day where you had nothing to do that you're stuck. You're sucked in to a bottomless pit and it's very hard from there to see any perspective. You want to search for a purpose or some sort meaning. Dear bottomless pit. I wake up in a deep search of intent, believe."

-"Hold on."

The elderly woman in front of the camera continued indifferently.

-"Egyptians fucking the crocodil-"
However she stopped mid-sentence, racing her body forward as if she were about to violently regurgiate. The wrinkles in her skin became eveer deeper and longer and more defined. Her voice sounded rasp:

"They smoketh and drinketh copious volumnes of ale and of wine; bringing shame to mine former expectations of the morrow"

as if she had become some medieval witchess paranoid of the performance of the juvenille . She clutched the chair even harder and exhaled a shrill shreik "REEEEEEEEEEE"

And as she exhausted her lungs of air it was as if her very lifeforce within her vaporized and condensed itself into a force of nature enabling her organism to offset some corrupt and unholy metamorphis.

And thus: Vanilla leather all over her bones, that is her skin. From her skull flimsy thread crawl out of holes as if in great agony, that is her hair. She's now an old mummy. Or one of those bog bodies.

Camera's off.

Antropologically Correct

2016-03-06T12:47:00.000-08:00

Inside the mind of Leo the glazier, a hailstorm raked. In conflict with himself caused by recent events! "What a classic dilemma", Leo thought to himself: "These creatures, unruly of nature, sure has me puzzled."

Before Leo the glazier lay a voluptious landscape of fulfilled mamary glands, wide hips and seducing gestures and body language. A beautiful female. "Will you give me your glass, Leo the glazier?" She asked Leo, who were carrying along a big inconvenient panorama glass. Though tempted by the vixen, Leo would not let go of the discomforting window under his arm. The seducer, clearly displeased began spitting and coughing and hissing with frustration. She coiled in dismay, and her sexy complexion almost seemed serpentlike. Not polite at all.

Leo the glazier went on. He came to a grand cotton field where the shrubs grew as tall as trees and as thick as your mothers bossom. Not long inside the cotton-forest a glade appeared. A rocking chair with a smiling girl in it. It seemed to Leo that the girl was somewhat misplaced as she sat there in the cottonfield: "Why are you wearing that unnecessasarily big coat, it's boiling out here" he said to the inuit girl. Cold as the land she came from, her laughter fainted. Words escaped her blue lips one at a time, like drops from an icicle: "Greetings Leo. Have a seat. And some blubber. It's a delicacy from my homeland. Have you tried it before? - oh, what am I thinking, of course you havn't." Very rude.

From behind Leo came a woman with curly beautiful ebony hair and laid hand on his shoulder. "Come with me, take my hand. I greet you to my hometown 'Java'." Leo would follow the hospitable lady, and express gratitude towards her and the townsfolk. They had a pleasant and sincere night together. And everyone rejoiced as they saw that manners is about caring for the wellbeing of others.

One odd scenario from that night Leo the glazier would recall with great confusion. The lady with the beautiful curly hair told him of her unconventional desires: She would boil great amounts of cold coffee into scalding temperatures and then take much joy in bathing in it,in a tub.

What became of the panorama window is unknown, but some believe it has been stretched by time and space, and by love, and that it now spans the vast horizon on a summers night, and when you sit by a café with a glass of wine or a cup of coffe and a lover by your side - squeeze your eyes: Perhaps you will see your reflection, or some dirt. Or perhaps a fingerprint.

吧bel tower

2016-02-11T13:47:00.001-08:00

Jacobski, in turmoil within himselves. This would be the austere breaking of character. He was THE one refusing to take part in anything - not even the misery nor the bliss of life. An existential enigma. Now, no more.

Jacobski was roaming the forest, looking for a pond. He would come to the water and ponder in which direction to travel by looking at the clouds and their shapes. But now he could not even find the pond. The cosmic owl inhabited the northern part of the giant forest, in a big tree. Being old comrades, Jacobski decided to seek assistance from this ancient being.

The cosmic owl, huge and vile-bile smelling from the galactic rabble worming in its starry gown; feathers magnificient. Scouting left and right in every plane and direction - finally eye locking with you for all eternity in the vast empty space.

"Travel to the babel tower, Jacobski. Before you travel, do not forgot to make yourself a good lunchbox. The induvidually chosen lunchbox is the cornerstone of every great character. Institutions will try to force the collective homogenised no-choice of food upon thee but I say nay. Nay to brown goo and sandwiches en masse - but yes to ryebread plastered with eggs on a bed of butter.

..Anyways" The tremendous bird ranted.
Cosmic owl hilled its pipe and exhaled a vision:

"Every page already exists.
Every poem, every joke, every lie, every possible detail about your birth and death, everything that could have been said and will be said can be found in the library of babel. Its omnicient, eerie collection of everything blurs the line between invention and discovery. Look in the right dusty bookcase and the right answer shall be written before your eyes. An infinite collection of finite things that can be said. Is that it? Is there then no more to be done - shall we prone our cocked swords and bend over?

Look long enough in the library and you will find that just because it can be made doesn't mean it has been said. The action of a conscious response is your trump. Perhaps you were born to late to explore the earth, or too early to explore the galaxies. None the less, you were born in just the right and tight time to explore language. What can be said? What should be said?"

glødende tyr

2015-11-16T14:42:00.003-08:00

Karismatisk som en matador, flot fisse på en flyvende tallerken, uhyrligt overnaturlig stud. Beæret hæver den panden og pruster og så er der ild i dens gevir og hove. Intet rører tyren i arenaen. Her er han:

Jacobski bar ringbrynje og en vinsæk ved hoften. Skridt for tunge skridt bevægede han sig op ad stejl bakke for at få et overblik. Rundt om højen lagde sig et tungt tæppe af skov, og kun toppen han stod på var fri for dendroner i dendritsk netværk. Jacobski nægtede nogen form for samarbejde. Nix og nej, du. Bare tanken om at nærme sig nervenetværket, det som var skov, gav ham en lammende følelse ned ad rygsøjlen. Men han var af uddøende art og hans forfølger var på vej op ad bakken.

Han kunne ikke lade være med at føle sig lidt som en høvding, en konge, eller endda en meget stærk tyr, som har løb kraftfuld og ubesværet igennem skovbunden med sin moderat tunge oppakning. Fra siden svingede et sort lyn ind i ham og lagde ham ned.

Daggert fra skede til hånd, daggert fra hånd mod sorte. Jacobski stak med sin daggert. Men skabningen over ham var hurtig og greb hans hånd. Oven på ham sad en panter-marmar, absurde kattevæsener i kvindelige former der jagtede menneskemænd. De var frygtede for deres makabre henrettelses-metode hvorved de satte sig på mænd og tog dem ind i sig, rokkede frem og tilbage indtil pollution hvor de fra deres underliv skaber et vakuum der suger med en stærk kraft, som et farligt hestehul dit afkom bliver suget ud i og aldrig kommer tilbage, og tømmer al indvolde på stakkels offer.

Men Jacobski var lige glad. Han kendte de sexede panter-marmare. Til marmarens undren sad han bare og ventede, og da tid var, spændte han i alle de spænstige muskler hans korpus var i besiddelse af. Ud af ham sprøjtede elskovs-eleksir i sådan en torpedisk fart, og i sådan en vældig mængde, at panter-marmaren blev fuldstændigt overvældet, fyldt op, spækket, oversvømmet, at det hvide steg den til hovedet og eksploderede i en supernova af spermatofor - der efterfølgende spredte sig, og befrugtede skovens træer.

Jacobski var tilfreds.

I must speak english but my mouth is filled with danish pastries

2015-10-25T10:54:00.001-07:00

Long before The Trinity disapeared from our world, it dwelled in a faboulus castle, fit only for a divinity, with towerings towers radiating pastel lights as well as mighty halls so wide that you could almost fit the Midgard Serpent in some of them. In every part of the castle there was hidden a fantastic gift - the other more precious than the other, and wrapped in a giftwrap of human skin (皮肤). In some of these gifts there lay the divine Trinity's little helper, Xiao-Didi.

Xiao-Didi was formed in the image of beloved Adam, shaped by Trinity (from clay!)
- however, Xiao-Didi would be at least 10 times stronger and more handsome than Adam. The strenght made him an obvious choice for gardenwork in the garden of Eden. In the garden where peace and tranquility blossomed and Adam and Eve alongside all animals roamed, there did Xiao-Didi do his work.

One day, when it was time to water poppies, the gardener ran into Eve. She looked at him, and he at her. And as they were, they were also at the mountain on which Mother Oak stands at the hearth of the world. And with the possesion of the oak Xiao-Didi thought to himself that this surely is a sign that he was the rightful owner of it, and thus the oak must burn!

Adam, when he found out what had happended by the poppies, mustered a great axe and though all too mighty for him he threw himself at Xiao-Didi! With a godforsaken swing that cleaved down at the gardeners forehead and ended by the collarbones, he split his head in half!

Aftermath

Contrary to biblical belief Xiao-Didi did not die from the fleshwound Adam left him. Xiao-Didi ran away and hid in a cave// oh a coward // but gifted had he become, from his split-in-two head there rose twin snake bodies // oh a captain // and with his newfound power, manifested in beasts for a head, his destiny was to lead all which winds and creeps on the ground in a great battle so far in the future.

The seed bestowed from Mother Oak onto Xiao-Didi and Eve, Eve carried inside of her. She was determined to call the sapling "Jacobski Junior."

Ezir-Kara og onde børn fra muslingeslim

2015-10-06T14:13:00.001-07:00

"Agnes kom og se hvad jeg har købt!" I favnen havde Olivia en kasse af flamingo. 'Søpindsvin'.
"Hvad er det du har købt mor?" Agnes vidste at de skulle have fisk mindst en gang om ugen, bare fordi. "Ej mor det er jo slet ikke fisk", grinte Agnes. De bar kassen ind på køkkenbordet og åbnede låget så lugten af dybvandskræ infiltrerede den kendte og hjemlige. Straks greb børnefingre naivt fat i en af søpindsvinene: "Av de har jo pigge mor!". "Ja de har pige Agnes".

"Man tager en saks og så åbner man den sådan her" Hun tog en saks og åbnede en af søpindsvinene sådan der. "Og så klipper man den bare op i en cirkel og tager det gule ud og skyller det bagefter. Men husk at tage den sorte string ud af det gule. Og pas nu på fingrene." Olivia og Agnes gjorde således. Olivia smagte på noget af det gule. Det smagte slet ikke godt som hun havde forventet, og hun fik faktisk en svag kvalme. "Agnes gør du det lige færdigt?"

Olivia satte sig ned. Ned på gulvet. Med pen og papir skitserede hun søpindsvin. Indvendigt og udvendigt på et søpindsvin. Det var jo ikke noget rigtigt dyr; søpindsvin er jo ikke rigtige dyr. Hun tænkte det for sig selv. Intet så grotesk kunne være af denne verden.

Stakåndet faldt hun fra hug til på knæ.

Denne organisme, denne sammensætning af absurditeter, er blevet fragtet op fra dybet for at blive nydt - men det er en fælle. En fremmed gud, en mørk gud, stammer den fra. En mørk gud fra dybet, vrede og olmhed inkarneret, har endelig fået adgang til vor verden, for ingen af vore guder havde indset faren fra mørket.

Fra på knæ vold-sprøjtede dunkelsort blæk ud af hendes mund og lod mørke indtage hendes syn!

!!!

Nu og da ser de med længsel op mod lyset fra deres celler hvori de sidder. De sidder dybt i deres sumpede fængsel langt væk fra den landjord hvorpå de blev født som sårbare børn. Fængslet i et skørt land. Og hver nat føler de, også selvom de er så langt væk fra solens stråler, og de ser på hinanden og siger: "Der kommer snart noget mere, det husker elefanterne der bar os til jorden"

Ostesnak og radiobukser 牛仔裤，奶酪裤

2015-09-18T04:58:00.002-07:00

(???)
Jacobski støtter med venstre hånd sit legeme mod bordet og rækker med højre ud til radioen. Han væmmes over den træthed der hver morgen kvæler,
og endnu mere over kaffen der hjælper. (Ynglings OG-hiphop musikere rapper altid om at søvnen er dødens fætter.)

Radioen vågner. Mennesker ud af den lyder: Først audiofonisk tumult, kakofoni, men da overdøvet af en behersket artikulerende autoritet.

- ,,Jeg kommer her jo faktisk mere og mere, mon ikke det hører til at blive gammel?''

Manden ler

,,Kirken er øksen der kløver sindet. Den er grundlæggende paradoksal når der tillægger mennesket en skyld og en synd det aldrig kan gøre op for, men samtidigt er villig til at tilgive det. Kunne det ikke være godt det samme? V'herre b'vares, jeg er jo også bare en gammel biskop der må tilbage til vinsmagningen. Ak hvem der blot var en tysk munk i et kloster der kunne hygge sig med mørk øl og hygge sig med .. hæhæhe --''

Og sådan blev han ved og ved.

Jacobskis tørst for ord nåede et tidspunkt sin ende. Han satte sig ned. Smurte sig et lækkert brød med smør og postej. I baggrunden: Ulækkert mundlort!

Jacobski vendte sig mod dig. Og kiggede på dig! Så rejste han sig op og tog ud ad døren. I hånden havde han en økse, sådan en man kløver træ med. Vejen gik mod et bryghus, Jacobskis ynglings - han plejede at komme der hver weekend, før han blev træt. Da han nåede vejs ende stod han og kiggede lidt. Hvad var det nu han skulle?

Èn kom listende op til bryghuset (Jacobski betragtede ham), skulede til højre og venstre (men fik ikke øje på Jacobski) for da at luske ind. Ikke mange øjeblikke gik der før den luskende gæst af bryghuset havde syvmile støvler på helt op til hofterne. Bag ham brygfolk: "Hey fister medister du skal betale, man må ikke bare tage tønden på nakken og stikke aaaaf". For luskeren havde en tønde øl på ryggen.
Dette var Jacobskis kald til dåd! Han greb den økse han hidtil kun havde kløvet brænde med, og splittede tyveknægten fra skal til bækken som var han en svinehund.

Kun syrebadsteknikken, hvilket i dansk litteratur for længst er blevet forældet ville kunne beskrive med hvilken intensitet svinehunden blev kløvet med.

Og skøgen skulle dø. Derfor rev Jacobski øksen til sig igen, og svingede brygfolket med sit ganske korpus ud i en uendelig økse-mørke hvor de intet andet kunne erindre end voldsomheden og ostelugten fra en sur mand i jeans.

laco pibo (katsekak)

2015-09-05T16:06:00.005-07:00

Rød sol på himmel hugger Jon i hjertet. adrenalinkanyle-vågen.
Lejrens rejsende iskoldtvand-i-ansigtet-vågner til en iskold leder, træt af jagten på nogle tabte viser fra gammel tid.
Jon og hans følge stod ved udgravningen af en urgammel ringborg - en af mange udgravninger, og han var af den type der snart blev træt. Bitter var han!

En kold morgen stod Jon op til solopgang. I det fjerne hørte han horn der truttede: "Trut-trut!"

Ud af den selvfølgelige tåge vandrede en bryllupskaravane med syngende og drikkende elvere der sprang og dansede, sang og skreg, elskede og sloges. Men den gik ikke længere for med hånden som stop afveg Jon deres fortryllende sang og vin og kærlighed. "Nix!" Den gik ikke længere, her havde Jon sin udgravning. Forvirrede elvere prøvede, uden held, at overtale Jon til nu at være rimelig. Jon drejede hovedet i et "Nnnnix!"

Og med det tog han fat i det lange svenskergarn på elveren og hev med et enkelt kraftfuldt hiv håret ned mod jorden så huden ritsjede med, og det sprøjtede med blod, og den stakkels elv stod med en torso helt uden skin!!! Dette faldt ikke bryllupskaravanens brud mageligt - hun blev ganske ubehagelig thi hun var en troldkvinde med et iltert temperament.

Den før klare solopgang blev mørklagt af sorte troldskyer. Elverbruden og himmelen tordnede i et: "Fæle fyr, du har vanæret min bryllupskaravane ved at rive skinnet af min fætter! Jeg forbander dit 3-dimensionelle hundeliv! Du vil fra nu af se universet fra et 4-dimensionelt perspektiv: Du vil aldrig finde de tabte viser, Jon! uanset hvilket valg De foretager Dem! Aldrig! Og du er dømt til at observere det i en uendelighed inde i dig selv."

Sådan tordnede hun. Og da hun faldt ned tog hun dansende og klappende videre for at blive gift under den store monolit, inde i elverhøj.

Hvad angår vor Jon var han nu uendelig. (!?)

På det der billeder ik' os'

2015-08-19T16:23:00.003-07:00

Træhytten knirkede let og træets blade suste i vinden så det lød lige som bløde bølger på en stand. En stor ugle svævede hen og landede i hyttens vindue ganske elegant, og så derind. Fuglens fjer var lange og gyldenbrune, og hvis den ville, kunne den sikkert bortføre et mindre barn. Efter at have overskuet scenariet der fremførte sig foran den, sprang den ned, igen nok så elegant. Bortset fra noget gammelt beskidt avispapir og to tids-lig var rummet tomt. Uglen betragtede ligene.

- "Nu har vi jo gået og rejst i 14 år Martin, 14 år. Der er noget jeg ikke har fortalt dig."

- "Hvad?"
- "Da vi var i Babylon, du ved nede i den der brønd der hvor vi faldt i 9 dage, ikke?"
- "Jo mand, hvordan kan man glemme den tur ned -- og slutningen: Sikke en omgang lort."

- "Nu skal du bare se, jeg fandt det her kort"

Den kosmiske ugle pådrog sig for en kort stund en menneskelig form for gestus og, skønt den jo egentligt ikke var i stand til det, sukkede irriteret mens den rullede men dens store gule kosmiske ugleøjne. Det var i virkeligheden også ganske pinligt at man skulle rejse rundt og rydde op for sådan nogle spader.

Det var klart at de to drenge havde fundet en Baal-præsts skattekort over noget gemt guld, ganske uinteressa- bortset fra at det jo for Shiva var et supermagisk kort over en ædersmart ætherisk supergroovy ny (de var jo uden for tid og rum, ikke) heldragt. For at være hel ærlig kunne den kosmiske ugle ikke orke at gøre rede for de her karles svinestreg - han skulle heller ikke, han var jo den kosmiske ugle.

Samme aften var der teselvskab hos Uglens bekendtskab, selveste hendes majestæt dronning Margrethe, hvor Kosmiske Ugle dukkede om i en ædersmart flyverdragt og var festens midtpunkt!

fuck dig samsung-telefons formatering. Du fikmigtilatbruge5minutterMERE PÅOPLÆGGET

2015-07-21T06:09:00.000-07:00

”Hey Terkel prøv lige tryk på den knap der””Nej det er ik’ så godt, det er knappen til maskinen der laver dumme historier”
”lol”:

Magnus var i syv sind! I et klarsyn havde han forleden indset at hvis han ikke fandt på en videnskabelig metode eller teori eller lignende, med hold og slag i, før hans 24. fødselsdag, var han for evigt dømt til et liv i kedsommelighed og middelmådighed – da han som 18-årig havde valgt at læse til analyst, i frygt for at få den i røv’n !!!

Men nu skulle det være, det skulle. Så Magnus lille mus, satte sig ned til en varm kop kakao og grublede over sin sag. Men Magnus kunne ikke just hitte på noget – det eneste stakkels ven kunne rette sit sind efter, var hvor meget han helt igennem hadede kaffe. Og fakkertalt, med en uslukkelig tørst, hungrede efter en kaffedrikkers blod. Men, når alt så var sagt, kunne Magnus aldrig finde på sådan nååget.

I stedet, i sit levebrøds navn, fandt han på en model, sådan en rigtig matematisk en, helt fantastisk åndssvag.

Der gik et par måneder med klargørelse, men så fremlagde han ellers. Teorien var, at der måtte være sammenhæng mellem en persons grad af psykopatisme, og hvilken matematisk hældningskurve mængden af kaffe i kaffekruset, over tid, lagde sig tættest op ad.

For eksempel så er du ret meget psyko hvis din kurve er sådan en eksponentielt stigende en. Magnus’ egen kurve var, har jeg hørt Peter sige, en sinus kurve! Achtung!!!!

Snak under broen

2015-02-18T05:28:00.002-08:00

- "Ja det er det jeg mener, man tager ud i verden for at opleve sig selv; for at finde sig selv og hvem man er - dit potentiale, maaannd!"
- "Haha, jeg skal så meget derud! Der er jo derfor livet er så fedt du kan jo gøre hvad du vil, du behø-"
-"Præcist der er intet du behøver, der er intet du rigtigt skal nå.. øh altså andet end dig selv.. og sådan noget"
-"Jaer.. Hey shh, der kommer nogen"
-"Hej, hov, hvad fanden er det? Hvad i alverden?!"
-"Haha, jamen den har jo næb"
-"Hold lige kæft"
-"slap nu af, se den lige"

Den så på dem og ytrede "Jeg er mor"

-"Hej mor!"
-"hold nu kæft"

"Jeg er mor. Jeg er kommet for at vise jer noget vigtigt"

Og som hun erklærede dette svulmede en stor oprejst oval med skarpe kanter frem i virkeligheden, og åbnede sig op foran drengene. "Jeg dansede en nøgen nat på edderkoppens spind. Jeg døde, og blev perledug i morgenens stille vind. I stakler der på bænkene som aldrig danser ud for ikke elskovs røde kys og smertens hvide hud. I sidder der som stive strå og ædes inden i af skalkeskjulte mareridt og horehekseskrig. I som aldrig døde lidt og aldrig helt på født: I aften er der dans igen. I kommer vel? Vel mødt." Hun fnyste, og ledte drengene ind i sig.

Golgotha

2015-02-07T07:19:00.001-08:00

Karla rullede, helt nøgen, ned ad den regnvåde gade og lavede cirkler i luften med vandet - ligesom når man cykler hurtigt på en våd vej. Karla var tyk. Meget tyk: Når hun tog sin gule yndlingskjole på, til fester, strammede det omkring hendes svingende triceps - skønt det slet ikke var hensigten. Men hvad kan man gøre? Karla stoppede ved en vandpyt og så ned i den. Hun så sit ansigt, og så gik frysende og våd hjem.

I kaminens flammer var hendes syn en drage der talte til hende. Dragen var mangefarvet og oprejst, som et flag, og talte til Karla alle dens dragehemmeligheder med ildens buldren. Den fortalte hende om oldgammel visdom hugget i sten ved Golgotha: Et menneske i æterisk form svandt ind og ud af den synlige dimension. Personen var aldrig helt sig selv da dets æteriske tvang ham til at være en del af alt, og fylde alt. Ligeledes var alt en del af ham.

Karla tvang sig oprørt og kvalm ud af synet. Hun rejste sig op men i bevægelsen mod loftet følte hun i sit vældige korpus at noget var på færde. Foroverbøjet og hostende trampede Karla ud på toilettet for at ørle al det hun havde set i synet ud. Men intet kom ud. Istedet så hun intet. Sort mørke bredte sig om hende som en himmelhvælvings nat uden stjerner. Uendeligt mørke! Men død syntes hun ikke hun var, for hun kunne føle sig selv over det hele.

Karla var død. Taget af ilden og røgen. Men hvad der før var Hendes krop var nu spredt over hele verden', og var en del af det hele. Hendes sjæl var der - det kunne hun selv mærke i alt mulden og jorden.