Degeneration

Why is it any individual possesing more than half a brain, is complaining about the youth of today?

No, not because they are old before their time.

I felt like I was sixty years old back in seventh grade. The people in my class were trying to fabricate cigarettes out of A4 paper. And they smoked them. Because that's cool. No, there wasn't any tobacco in there, just the paper.

And I'd sit in class, reading a comic or something similar. Being a geek. And already then, my sexual inclinations still unformed, wishing one of the girls would think I was cool, and maybe kiss me or something, I thought they were idiots. Not unintelligent, by no means, just idiots. For following the crowd.

What is it in man, that makes him strive for homogeneity? To want to look, smell, think, be like everyone else?

And it is not just in popular culture you see this phenomenon either. Amongst nerds, metal-heads, every imaginable sub-culture, whether it actively detests the mainstream or not, there is a set of defining rules. To make us us, apart from them. I used to wear my military boots and long black trenchcoat with pride back in my late teens, because I wasn't just another follower. When found out I was being quite fashionable by the standards of the goths/metalists back then, I... panicked. It felt good to belong, and I got... well to be honest, a lot of pussy from metal/goth girlies, but... I was a part of the crowd. And it felt, ultimately, fake.



Might just be me, being my own asocial self of course.



But I am me, you, and everyone else, isn't. Who doesn't think like that?

Harebrained

I've been very worried about something, for quite a long time now. My creative urge seems to have... evaporated.

Normally I'd find inspiration in... everything really. And I'd have to draw, sketch, paint, play, photograph, digitally manipulate.... Not so now.



As I am writing this, Cecilie is off with her colleagues, celebrating, Andreas is sleeping at his grandmums, and Clara is, of course, sleeping.

I am listening to Tool, a band I've heard of before, but only just discovered for myself. Deep metal, would you believe it.

And I just did a rather good sketch, of my hand, pure soviet propaganda style. Out of the blue.



And I realised something. Apparently, what I need to be inspired, to get creative, is solitude. Sadly, when I am by myself, I have a tendency to get depressed, introspective, even more solitary, and I eventually go insane.

Not the most sensible of courses, seeing as I quite enjoy having a family. Not that the two things necessarily rule each other out, but as I am already a bit abnormal, I think it would, taking everything into consideration, be wisest if I did not actually go completely mad.

Ah well, the painting will have to wait for another time.

Cogito cogito ergo cogito sum

I was, as previously mentioned, riotously ill at the exact time I had to turn in my exams, and haven't contacted the university about it yet. Which makes me, neurotic that I am, a bit nervous. I have a marked tendency to overreact to matters pertaining to higher education for some reason. I feel I need to prove myself somehow. I did say neurotic.

I've just downloaded some study plans for the following semester. Suddenly I feel much more secure. Ah, stone off my shoulders, acid seeping away from stomach... aaaaaah.

We who are about to shop, salute you!

Fisketorvet.

Hey, jeg fik lige logget ind på
et trådløst netværk der ikke var sikret overhovedet... spader.

Jeg er gået rundt på fisketorvet
siden omkring klokken ti, klokken er nu halv to. Et hjernedødt miasma af
shopping.

Man kan ikke fatte en tanke, der
er for mange indtryk, lyde, larm... perfekt og diabolsk i sin enkelthed. Jeg
har brugt... uha, over 500 kroner. Hvis ikke nærmere de 1000. Jeg har købt et
par bukser... og så ellers ikke rigtig andet end luft. Et spil her, et magasin
der... man køber noget for ikke at gå ud af butikken med blussende røde kinder.
Hvis jeg ellers var typen der rødmer. Øh. Man er ikke tvunget til at købe
noget, men alligevel... jeg ved ikke, pengene forsvinder bare.

Og hvilken underlig måde at
fordrive tiden på, bare at bruge løs af sine penge... tid er i varlighed penge,
det er uomstrideligt.

Så... hvis jeg ingen penge har,
har jeg så heller ingen tid? Eller kommer jeg over i den anden symbolske grøft,
og har pludselig masser af samme?

Og hvis tiden er den fjerde
dimension, og der bliver trukket lighedstegn imellem den og monetære enheder...
er penge så en dimension i sig selv? Optager de samme dimension som tiden?
Gælder relativitesteorien for dem også... Og i så fald, på hvilken led? Når jeg
rejser nær lysets hastighed, og tiden går langsomt for mig, er min femmer i
lommen så pludselig blevet til fem millioner kroner, via tidsinflation?

Nåh, Cecilie kommer snart, jeg vil drikke min øl færdig.

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As is evident, I've just chosen a new template for the blog. For some reason, the Sinfest logo seems to have taken permanent residence on top of the header. Must be that God person mucking about.

Bogart never said "Play it again Sam".

Although I of course posess knowledge of the mythical Bogart-character, I have never seen a single of the actor's movies. Neither Casablanca, nor The Maltese Falcon, or any of the myriad other pictures he has starred in during his long and productive career. And I love movies. This must be amended immediately!

Exams

I've finished one exam out of three, and one essay out of two, which together make up one exam. I've decided to wait with the second essay, seeing as I've prioritised being home, fully at home. I am really hoping that i can transfer credit from last year for the essay I wrote then... So typically me, thinking of these things at the very last moment. Oh well.

We're redecorating our kitchen and bedroom on a whim, we went to IKEA this friday, had credit... shopping ensued.

Sorrow

Steven Erikson.

"There were so many ways of seeing this dreadful need, the vast conspiracy of motivations from which all shades and casts of morality could be culled, that Mappo Runt was left feeling overwhelmed, from which only sorrow streamed down, pure and chilled, into his thoughts...

...He had been turning over stones. Six since dawn. Roughly chiselled dolomite slabs, and beneath each one he had found a scatter of broken bones. Small bones, fossilized, and though in countless pieces after the interminable crushing weight of the stone, the skeletons were, as far as Mappo could determine, complete.

There were, had been, and would always be, all manner of wars. He knew that, in all the seared, scar-hardened places in his soul, so there was no schock in his discovery of these long-dead Jaghut children. And horror had run a mercifully swift passage through his thoughts, leaving at the last his old friend, sorrow.
Streaming down, pure and chilled...

...Wars in which the lawful battled the wilfully unlawful; in which the sane stood against the sociopath. He had seen crystals growing up in a single night from the desert floor, facet after facet revealed like the petals of an opening flower, and it seemed to him that brutality behaved in a like manner. One incident leading to another, until a conflagration burgeoned, swallowing everyone in its path...

... When the conflagration consumed children, then the distinction between the sane and the sociopath ceased to exist."

The far reaches of outer space

Wow. Would you look at that.

Every now and then, I put on some ambient music, very possibly some Ambience Minimus, Open Canvas, Liquid Mind... I've got quite a bit. Anyway, I turn on the music, and just surf the web, looking for... well, amazing new stuff. Mostly when in this particular mood, it's going to have something to do with outer space, or natural science. That crazy space age science.

Although you may argue that this specific picture looks rather a lot like one of those gimmicky pieces made in five minutes with some spraypaint and some templates on the sidewalk by... artists, it nevertheless speaks volumes to me. All depends on your outlook. Or, if your headspace changes once in a while, as mine does quite frequently, on timing.

Anyway, should you want to try and emulate my "mood" as it is at this very moment, download Winamp, tune in to the station Cryosleep, and just groove on all the wonderful weirdness of it all, man.
n related news, a new Sam Max game has hit the cyber-streets! If you don't get a nicely strange feeling from playing this game, chances are you've been declared clinically boring, and just haven't been informed. I recommend the Rohrschacht Test.