onsdag den 4. oktober 2017

efter kl. 02 , før kl. 04

rød sportsvogn, kan ikke køre bil. På førersædet sidder lige nu en hysterisk kvinde som har lagt et halvt blodigt hoved på vores dørtrin fordi hun tror vi er mordere. Det er vi selvfølgelig også. fem kvinder på flugt fra de ældgamle jægere. Jeg så sjælesugeren ud i hans blå øjne og sang og bad om vores gaver, som vi fik, så vi kunne undslippe. Det var vores fejl at køre langs Miami Beach som om vi var på ferie og holde ind i dette alligatorbefæstede sommerhus, hvor vi efterlod beboerne som blodige lig på stuegulvet mens vi solbadede.

Jagtede af de umenneskelige, de urørlige skygger, men vi vinder tid fordi de ikke er vant til at være i live eller vant til verden og de bliver distraherede og ... ... som tiden går. Det er derfor vi havde en chance selvom de var nået ind og helt tæt på - og så pga turisterne. En af os måtte stå og stege kød og tale om, forsøge at distrahere fra lugten af menneske og fra lårbensknoglerne i bøfferne. Det gik fint indtil hende her mistede fatningen og inviterede militæret. Helt fint. Det er også min skyld fordi jeg lod mig genkende. Jeg er for selvoptaget. 

torsdag den 28. september 2017

You weren’t always frail, but pneumonia took your strength from you. As children you and Iris would run wild, chasing each other through the fields of Marcella, stealing apples, shooting tins with pistols, your shrill children’s laughter blending together. You used to think that maybe you would be the one to marry her when you grew up. Such foolish notions. You probably could have. But not in this reality.

-
Having spent most of your youth studying the arts of poetry, fencing, diplomacy, and dancing, you are on the surface the perfect image of a young noble. It was a charming, but boring existence with the servants of God, and dreams of escaping and experiencing the raw realities of life outside were never far away.
-
Unsure if your friends, fans, and lovers care about the real you or if they care about the person you are pretending to be, you are terrified of letting go and being less than perfect. Eternally the damsel in distress, you fear the day when no one will come to your rescue.


- texts for Inside Hamlet 2017

Arthur Hughes Ophelia (first version)

søndag den 17. september 2017

Portrait


Made by the entirely amazing Jer Carolina who inspires me with everything she makes

søndag den 3. september 2017

Læs min artikel "Pan i Londons gader: Hvorfor genopstod en græsk naturgud for en kort periode i Storbritannien? i K&K her.

Teaser:
"Pan, som en gud, der allerede i antikken personificerede primitivitet, forener som karakter i The Great God Pan det hedensk-hedonistiske, og selvmordernes møde med ham bliver også et møde med degenerativt forfald, mærkbart erotisk og dødeligt."  

lørdag den 26. august 2017

Inside Hamlet

One thing might stop you in your terrible trajectory. You’ve seen a youth across the throne room. You’ve noticed their innocent smile, their beautiful hair. Is this? Could this be? The very image of Emily, your long lost love from ages ago has stood before you. Is it her ghost or could she have found a way to cheat time? Is it a child, a grandchild of the fallen woman who is of yet undestroyed and could be yours the way their ancestor never was?

I'm currently writing characters for the Shakespeare inspired interactive theatre event Inside Hamlet, which will take place at Elsinore castle October 27-29 and again November 3-5 2017. 

The game is set in the 1930s, in a world where the revolutions never happened. But now they are coming, and the Reds are moving in. The last of Danish Nobility have barricaded themselves at Elsinore, hoping to wait out the storm, but destined to die.

You should get tickets. 


The piece was originally adapted from Hamlet in 2001 by Martin Elricsson. It's been expanded upon, edited, and reshaped a number of times by several talented writers and designers. This year it's produced by Participation | Design | Agency AB. 

lørdag den 29. juli 2017

The Clown

The Clown turned his powdered face to the mirror,
   "If to be fair is to be beautiful," he said, "who can compare with me in my white mask?"
   "Who can compare with him in his white mask?" I asked Death beside me.
   "Who can compare with me?" said Death, "for I am paler still."
   "You are very beautiful," sighed the Clown, turning his powdered face from the mirror.
- Robert W. Chambers, The King in Yellow.

The King in Yellow is a collection of short stories, first published in 1895. The title references a lost play, which is said to be of such a poisonous nature, that anyone who reads it, or meets its protagonist must die. The King wears a crown of cheap deceit, a cape of yellow, the miscoloured skin of jaundice, or the flesh of the already dead. He comes with insanity and despair, and he kills off any and all signs of love. To meet the king in yellow is to get the joke, and meet the horror of pointless flesh that is already always rotting on our bones.
Some say he is an angel and the book is the lost, and final part of the old biblical scrolls.

original front page illustration by Chambers

onsdag den 21. juni 2017

"Pan, traditionally, presides over dreams, especially erotic dream and the nightmare. A decline in dreaming will be further evidence of Pan's demise."
- T. Robbins, Jitterbug Perfume 

søndag den 18. juni 2017

Det sker lidt andre steder lige nu...

Læs min artikel "Morality and Taxidermy in Art: Between the Monstrous and the Beautiful" på Culturised her.

Teaser:
"If a sculpture like Paradise is the product of wrongdoing, is it wrong itself? And does it even matter if it is? It isn’t necessarily the case that art should be morally good – returning to earlier historical times, it often wasn’t made for reasons we today would define as especially selfless or righteous – but for art to sell, it certainly seems it must at least look like it is."

torsdag den 4. maj 2017

...

This is a new type of being in love. In my first months of discovering you, you became a flickering light, an increasing compulsion to stray from the lines, a craving for ice cream with honeyed almonds. You were building curiosity, excitement, and the joy of a secret yet to be revealed. I fell into you a bit like I imagine one falls into psychosis; without realizing it at first, and then discovering and having to somehow deal with the complete reorganisation of reality. Before, I never knew that there were sharks living behind bathroom mirrors, but now that I had seen them, there really was no denying them. With you in it, the world was made anew as it had always been. There was fear and struggle, but ultimately it was never a question - of course I had to love you.

This time it's different. This is the second stage of insanity. This is where I start to forget which parts of the mess of glass and wing-dust and gentle electric currents are you and which are me. It isn't really important to me either, for it isn't about falling anymore. I accept now that the sharks are probably just a result of brain signals gone haywire for biological reasons, the reproduction of the species, etc, but just as an adult who has come to realise that God is mostly made in man's image and still chooses to believe, I don't care about that. I like those sharks. I like you. From a stage of becoming we have moved into being, and it's just as exciting, just as rich. This is about rising.

torsdag den 27. april 2017

"'I have been loved,' she said, 'by something strange, and it has forgotten me.'" 
... 
"the night has been going on for a long time."
 - Djuna Barnes, Nightwood (1936)
Soey Milk: "Earthlings." Oil and twigs on canvas, 2015.

Recently been dreaming of another love, eyes meeting across a room, black, short curls, and a dance. "I can't lead," but she doesn't mind. Blaming Doctor Who and the girl with a star in her eye. Be careful with your culture consumption. 

tirsdag den 25. april 2017

[Update]

Jeg er lige blevet færdig med at gennemspille Orwell, hvor jeg var ret ensidigt på den totalitære stats side, også til sidst. I virkeligheden har jeg altid været imod demokratiet, men det er en sådan lidt provokerende ting at sige. Jeg er for teknokrati. Det kan man vist efterhånden godt forstå. Det er et godt spil, hvis man er til tekstbaserede oplevelser. Det får måske 4 stjerner ud af 6 for at være provokerende og pænt.

Mit liv ellers er ret kedeligt optaget af private gøremål og en masse sygdom. Følelsesarbejde. Planlægning af hvordan og med hvem jeg vil leve. 5-års planer og sådan. Det gider jeg ikke skrive om, privatlivet er generelt rigeligt overeksponeret og begynder at være uinteressant. Måske vi ser en ny bølge snart? Postindividualiseringssamfund? Jeg mener stadig, at følelsernes æstetik er magtfuld, men der skal ligesom være tale om sublimering af en art. Det almenmenneskelige må fylde mere end det specifikke, hvis vi skal gøre os håb om at knytte bånd til eftertiden.

Savner akademia.