mandag den 11. december 2017

I'll kidnap you

and take you to the amnesia island

where we can live happily ever after

in ignorance.


lørdag den 9. december 2017

The week that went

two bouquets of white flowers: roses and cloves.
lounging about in a fox fur and nothing else.
radical feminist manifesto performed by theatre students wearing hazmat suits.
work-wine balance, understanding photographs (momentality reappears), a book about flesh.
revolutionary contortions of impressive technical quality but lacking thematic originality. surely we can think of some new, non-french, non-communist ways to destroy society?
the quality of liquefied light.
memes about death or the death-drive or just the general human condition of persistent anxiety.
waking up several times between four and five in the morning having dreamt, for instance, that you were grieving deeply over a loved one and i couldn't do anything to comfort you.
sitting in bright lights saying things about fiction and the difference between women and lamps.
heavily objectifying friends.
smoking about nine cigarettes.
writing.
eating.
editing.
sitting in the shower concentrating deeply on not existing in the present.

my hands are always cold



lørdag den 25. november 2017

tired little wanderings in weathered memory palace gardens
can I keep the keys?
suddenly finding yourself somewhere very calm, and the way the air turns crisp when it's cold like certain apples
softness
waking up many times in the night to readjust your understanding of reality

Recently I woke up and had forgotten who you were. Everything was new, it was the early still darkness of the coming day, and I spent several moments not knowing. I didn't know anything else either, nor myself, but it was your presence that pricked. It's a strange feeling, being so clean. Love came to me first. Not because that was the most authentic part of our relation. Perhaps it was simply something I'd dreamt? It was lucky, anyway.

I have a cold, and I'm summoning smells: candle light, melting butter, your skin post-sex.

From Friday I'll be working with frozen moments. Of course, in reality mornings like that one - the fourth time I open my eyes during five hours of uneasy rest to shift the connections of our skin - the taste of happiness in a dream of doing something which usually frightens - the creaking of wood as I walk over the floors of an emptying hall to say goodbye to people I love not for no reason - are more complex that what can be captured visually. But it's remembering that's the trick. Building rooms to visit later, with the tapestry of precious details. 

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

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."