onsdag den 22. marts 2017

Each city decided on their own how they would deal with the flood. When we came to this area, it looked too good to be true. We could even hear children laughing. It turns out, they made a deal. They gave up half of everything they had to save the rest. When you look around you just right, you can see the movements in the surface of the yellow water covering rugs and livingrooms. You can see their spouses and neighbours still lying there, rotting just under the surface.

søndag den 12. marts 2017

It's another the end of life as we know it. Panorama from above, you see the city's many skyskrapers still lighted up by people working hard, but there are fewer of them. They are the lucky, the ones with connections who manage to make a profit on the many deaths of their neighbours. Most of the offices are empty, windows smashed in by wind or broken from inside by attempts to escape. Most of them are dark.

The cult of the angels is led by my father who has now become a holy man. He can save twice as many people from above as any effort on the ground. The downside to the wings is a strong desire for human meat, but he denies himself and all his followers out of purity. The sense of good is strong in him. He doesn't know that his generals share the bounty of living bodies, their victims-recently-saved, with all of his crew after nightfall. He doesn't see.

All the animals are gone. They went wild with fury and ate each other regardless of former diets. Horses feasting on dogs felt to us like a manifested sign of hell on earth in those first days. Now the world belongs truly to the humans in the final battle for the survival of the fittest. Darwinism taken to its ultimate conclusion. The earth has turned against us. Massive landmasses move across the globe without warning. Lavastreams form and chase their running prey mindlessly. Storms pull out trees, that are hundreds of years old, by their roots.

Yet. You and I are still here.

onsdag den 8. marts 2017

In a landscape that mostly consists of dry, yellowing grass fields and a few gatherings of trees, stories come to life and sometimes hunt you.
I hide in the water beneath the lilies and try not to breathe, shielding myself in remnants from Ende and Lindgren: the innocent poetries of childhood. Soon they will come running over the bridge, so i try not to exist. I try mimicking just another fiction.

søndag den 5. marts 2017

Solen brænder dødeligt om dagen. Ingen går udenfor i klart vejr. Gammelt, slidt hus, høje lofter, mor og søn. Han rebel, hun melankoliker, sidder fast i gamle dage, krammer hans pude mens han er væk. Du går i koma og brænder stille, hvis du bliver fanget udenfor. Tynde stråler af lys trænger ind gennem de høje ruder og signalerer om det er farligt, at bevæge sig. Strålingen er kun effektiv nogle gange.
Man samles om historier fra gamle dage. Støvet ligger tykt. Rige mænd kan hjælpe. Det handler om at komme ind i byen, hvor der er sikkert. Udenfor lever alle på lånt tid. Det startede pludselig en dag. Nogle er immune?

fredag den 3. marts 2017

We are living the past in a cottage full of things. Strange paraphernalia. Pictures from Hollywood and forgotten silent movie stars, cabaret singers, dolls. We are living in the middle of the woods, we don't know for how long. We affect the world around us, when we make mistakes, but the we suspect, the real world has no effect on us. Apart from when the two collide. Just now a car crashed, down, down the hill it rolled, like the driver was aiming for the two women. I pulled them away just in time. Between the trees four startled, incomprehensing hikers stare at us.

onsdag den 1. marts 2017

Let us help you to help yourself

- Hello, excuse me, is this the number of the government sanctioned self-hospillization clinic for women with nervous tendencies?

- Yes, I'll hold.

- No, I did not recently start experiencing these cramping sensations of utter powerlessness in which my entire system seems to shut down as a reaction to the discepancy between society's expectations of me and what I feel I am able to live up to. They've lasted for, I don't know, weeks? Years?

- Really? Okay. Yes. Yes, I'll wait. I've been waiting all my life.

phone queue music plays in the background.

- Hi, yes. I don't know. Should I think of my mother's last miserable moments before she died a lot? It's all been a bit fuzzy.

- I mean, more than normally?

- I know that it's not unusual, it's just... I don't know why I get up in the morning.

- Yes. Yes, I'll hold.

- Hello. Yes, I'm sorry. I'm feeling a deep sense of existential dread, am I speaking to the right person? I'm worried I won't be able to continue

- Yes, Sir.

- I'm sorry. I didn't think of that/them/the future of society at large. I will.

The Global American Dream is in YOUR fragile hands. Pick up the phone today if you are beginning to feel yourself fall apart, and we will have someone tell you it Will Be All Right If You Just Get a Grip and Get On With It Because Who Will if You Do Not? TRUST in Us when you cannot trust in yourself. The number for the patriarchal help-line can be found on the back of statistically every third milk carton you buy, and if you call us from home rather than, say, from your lover's car phone or from a diner next to the highway leading out of town, you get the first five minutes for free.