– feeds your head
I am having one of those days where it feels like someone has replaced my brain with porridge. I have spent the better part of the day trying to write something that makes sense. So far it’s not working. I have been working on a million different things and I have made progress on none. My productivity has been zero. I have accomplished nothing. My focus is beyond bad. If I didn’t know better I would say I am hung over. It feels like it. But without the comfortable numbness. That sense of “I don’t care”. I don’t have that. Not at all. Read more of this post
“Riot – worthwhile work for everyone.” I have a t-shirt that says that. I bought it because I thought the message made sense. It was back in 2001, just after the riots at the EU summit in the Swedish city Gothenburg had happened, and I was appalled by the reactions from the general public. First there were lots of very violent demonstrations and clashes between the protesters and the police, and then a guy was shot by the police, in Sweden that’s not something that happens every day. In fact, it was pretty much unheard of. But the strange thing was that it was the protests themselves that were questioned, not what the police did. Suddenly the “fight for your right” credo seemed to belong more to the police than to the people. I thought that was scary. And i think that’s why I bought that t-shirt. To make some sort of statement about the right to protest.
So does it help? To protest and challenge the establishment? Is there a point? Yes, I hope so. I hope it helps to raise your voice when you think something is wrong. After all, that is one of the fundamental rights in a democracy, to speak your mind. As citizens we do have a right to protest. And that right should be exercised. Thankfully most of the political establishment realizes and recognizes this. But what strikes me is how few conclusions are drawn from this realization. Read more of this post
Foreigners. Immigrants. There’s a lot of talk about that these days. About how problematic it is. And sure, it is problematic, but not half as problematic as the ugly, brown stained, so-called far right movement that’s emerging from the sewers all over Europe right now. That’s far more problematic. These people who call themselves nationalists and are all about preserving the purity of the race and culture, they are more than problematic. They are actually becoming quite a significant pain in the ass. They are really fucking annoying. Racist, homophobic, xenophobic, paranoid loudmouths that just never shut up about how the immigrants are ruining Europe. As if they themselves weren’t…
I was watching a comedy show the other night and one of the guys was saying: “with all this talk about immigrants and second-generation immigrants, I’m just wondering, when do you actually get there? When are you done with the whole immigration business and just fucking arrive?” Yeah, when indeed. Let’s face it, we’re all immigrants. One way or another. It’s not like there has never been any inflow in the gene pool, otherwise we’d be a world full of really awesome banjo players by now. Mating with close relatives isn’t good, we all know that and we have known it for a very log time. Read more of this post
The truth. It’s a problematic concept but we like to treat it as if it wasn’t. We as a society seem to have this prevailing idea about the one ultimate truth that can be revealed. Almost like a law of nature. The one truth. Like a holy grail, a sacred quest. The real goal of all efforts, be it in science, in law or everyday life, is to find that one single truth. The one answer to everything. The truth. We like to think that we cherish truth in our culture. That once we see the truth we will immediately and almost automatically be able to identify it as such and thus fully embrace it. Like an inherit mechanism in our culture. We like to think we have a very profound love for truth. Do we really? Do we even know what truth is, what we really mean when we talk about truth? I am not so sure. Read more of this post
Last night on my way home I ran into an old “acquaintance”. I hadn’t seen him since new years and I haven’t seem him in daylight since last summer. It was a very brief encounter on the U-Bahn platform and not much was said. But the one thing that struck me was that he had aged. He looked older. I could see that one year that had passed. It was nothing dramatic, just a few more lines here and there, but still a testimony to the passing of time.
It’s happening to me a lot these days. I run into people who I haven’t seen in a while, people my age, and it hits me that they have aged. Noticeably. I can see their age in their faces. Not in a bad way, it’s more like they for the first time actually have an age. Like just started happening. And for some reason that scares me a little. Read more of this post
I wish I had someone who took care of me. And when I say take care, I don’t mean take care as in nurture, I mean take care as in book that long overdue appointment with my taxman, clean up all the papers on my desk, do my laundry and paint my bedroom. Someone who could just take care of all the shit I never get around to doing until it’s almost too late. I need a life administrator, a personal assistant, someone to take care of all my bullshit. Someone who takes care of me and the mess I create. And yes, it does sound very much like wanting to have a partner or a parent. There are plenty of people who live their lives like that. But unfortunately I am not one of those people. Nor do I want to be. I was never really all that ok with having parents in the first place and the ones do I have are completely useless in all of the above areas. In fact, they would need the exact same assistance. And I suppose this statement could lead one to assume that my condition might have some sort of hereditary aspect, an assumption that could also very well be absolutely correct, but even if that is the case it doesn’t really bring me any closer the solution of my issue, so what ever. Plus, I am really way too old for parents. I need to look for the solution somewhere else. Read more of this post
the hallway light is on
but I can’t be bothered to turn it off
can’t be bothered to stand up
can’t be bothered to get off the couch
can’t be bothered to walk
ever again
I will never get off this couch
ever
I will sit here until someone comes and makes it all stop
makes it all go away
I am a writer. But I am also a dyslexic. And if you have read some of the previous post here, you may have noticed that. And yes, I love spell check programs, but they don’t catch everything. (Spell check program. Isn’t that a fantastic name by the way? A program that makes sure that your magic is correct.)
So, writing and dyslexia. Strange combination one might think. And in a way I suppose it is, but at the same time I think my dyslexia has actually made language and writing even dearer to me. The fact that I had really had to struggle for it and never took it for granted made me realize just how valuable it is. Because learning how to read didn’t come easy to me. I was not one of those kids who just pick it up on their own. For me it was a fight. But I wanted it so badly that there was never even a question about the outcome. I entered that fight to win. And I did. I finally conquered the art of written communication and there hasn’t been a day since that I haven’t cherished and celebrated that victory. Read more of this post
Being a writer words and language and books and the act of writing itself are of course a few of the things closes to my heart in this world. They are my weapons of choice so to speak. How I make sense of everything. But music is equally important. And in a way it fills a similar function. Music helps me get grounded. And by that I don’t mean that music keeps my mind settled in any way, it doesn’t tie me down, quite the opposite. Music liberates my thoughts and my emotions. It helps me through life. And as dramatic as that may sound, it’s actually true. I can give a list of albums that has been the soundtrack of my life for certain periods. Albums that I honestly think were instrumental in keeping what can arguably be referred to as my sanity. Without these records I really don’t know how I could have pulled through. And in some cases it took me years before I could listen to them again. I talked about this with a friend of mine, about how music can get so intimately connected and intertwined with your memories that you just can’t listen to certain records anymore. They are somehow tainted with the past. A past you don’t want to relive. He threw all those records away. He went into the woods and screaming at the top of his lungs he hurled them into the dark of the forest. I can fully understand this act. I can understand the cathartic effect of doing something like that. But I could never do it. Never. I need to keep all these tainted records. I need to have them with me. And it’s not because I want to dwell in the misery that they recreate, it’s because I am so immensely grateful to the people who made them. Their art guided me through a certain time in my life, helped me pull through to the other side, back to firm ground, so how could I ever throw that art away? I am not a religious person, but for me that would be blasphemy. And I also know that there will come a day when I can listen to that record without the pain. When I can once again really listen to the music and appreciate all those qualities that drew me to it in the first place. Because I still love these records. I just can’t listen to them. Read more of this post
I know it’s easy to see synchronicities where there actually might not be any, but still. I was making a cup of tea and with this particular tea every teabag comes with some words of supposedly eastern wisdom. And even before I looked I just knew that today’s words of wisdom were going to be a slap in the face. And so it was: “The head has to bow to the heart.” Oh yeah fuck me. Because obviously that’s precisely what I have been obsessing about for the past days – why the heart just can’t seem to get with the program. Why the heart just refuses to listen to any type of logical arguments. And if I was a different person I might have seen this act of universal face slapping as a sign and settled in on the realization that “oh my god it is true” but seeing as I am in fact me, I saw it as an incitement to dig deeper. I almost always do. I just don’t buy it. “The head has to bow to the heart.” Bite me, that’s bullshit. Even the heart has to have a reason and a reason can be found out. A reason can be understood. And there is a reason for everything. The heart is no exception. Those alleged words of wisdom is just another way of saying that you shouldn’t think too much about some things. Read more of this post
jc.tryps 