Thursday, July 31, 2008

The moon laurel

In the beginning of this poem, the philosopher Lucretius has a girl in his bedroom.
He holds in his hands an empty vial of green glass,
A secret medicine made from laurel berries and purchased at an extravagant prize
Through a friend, perhaps Catullus, or more likely Gaius Memmius.

Lucretius is impatient for the potion to work, but as some time passes
And still he feels no change, he begins to suspect he might have been swindled.
He registers the girl's soft hand on his shoulder as she rises to leave the poem
In quiet repetition.

And he ponders the myth of Sisyphus, to him representing Roman politics,
The eternal and convoluted pursuit of power, which is itself a hollow thing.
For ultimate victory is essentially beyond reach, like the nymph Daphne fleeing Apollo,
Narrowly escaping violation by changing herself into a laurel tree.

But to the man who has discovered the causes of things, and has
Cast beneath his feet all fears, unavoidable fate, and the din of the devouring underworld,
The sweet laurels of victory are only the leaves of that simple shrub, Laurus nobilis,
A broadleaf evergreen. They taste good in a stew and nothing more.

In his mind's eye Lucretius sees now a giant laurel tree, not planted,
Strangely, on the firm slopes of the mediterranean, among the olive groves and the vines,
But somewhere far away, on the other side of the world and beyond, in even harsher soil.
There is, it seems to Lucretius, a giant laurel tree on the moon,

And Wu Gang is trying with all his might to fell it. The mischievous Wu Gang
Who has neglected his duties and gone in search of immortality,
Wherefore the gods have promised him a place in their immortal ranks
If only he can fell the moon laurel - an impossible task, as the tree constantly regenerates.

Lucretius the Epicurean laughs at the thought of this
Because he doesn't yet know that he has been driven mad by the love potion,
And that he will kill himself by his own hand
In the 44th year of his life.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

Ord man går og savner på norsk

1: Pålæg. Det nærmeste man kan komme er ordet "pølsemat" som efter min mening ikke er dækkende, da pålæg også kan omfatte f.eks. rødbedesalat og smøreost.

2: Jeg kan ikke komme i tanke om flere lige nu, men jeg er sikker på at der er rigtig mange. 

Monday, July 28, 2008

If these hairs turn out to come from a Yeti -

- then I will have to quickly update my book.

Addendum: It could be a sasquatch!

Our brand new organizational structure

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Chikane af homoseksuelle på Grønland ryster Dansk Folkeparti

"Det er foruroligende, at de ikke kan blive behandlet som de mennesker, de nu en gang er."

Det samme kunne man vel egentlig også sige om perkere.

Saturday, July 26, 2008

Smalahove -

- er både en fårrett og en hovedrett. 

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Odds på mannens hudfarge?

"En person var i avhør og så plutselig ble det en situasjon som gjorde at han hoppet ut vinduet."

Why hasn't anyone thought of this before?

A huge solar power supergrid in the Saharan desert could provide all Europe's electricity. Fantastic!

OK, now let's brainstorm: Windmills, great big windmills in the Himalayans. A giant hydro electric dam on the Nile. Or we could simply chop down the Amazon rain forest and use it for firewood! In fact, we'll try anything, as long as it doesn't involve actually using less energy. 

This has been a message from CleanEnergy™ - you love it, you slut. 

Orange child and colour blind man

The strange, animistic child spirit which seems to inhabit our furniture.

My second attempt at oil painting. I call it: The snake's armpit. Price suggestion: 75.000.000 Albanian lek and 75 qindarkë. Go ahead - make me an offer. I'll throw in some navel fluff. 

Saturday, July 19, 2008

New and improved HQ, now with river

The old neighborhood was nice enough in it's own way, but it just wasn't... Idyllic enough.

We need some kick ass pastoral idyll. I'm talking fruit trees and wild strawberries and fucking chestnuts. THAT'S MORE LIKE IT. 

Put a couple of light machine guns on the upper balcony, some sand bags, maybe a small grenade launcher... I could take out the entire valley from here. 

Crazy neighbors are making a chimney. We'll sort them out later.

But first we need to pull out. This is a very small portion of our crap.

"I'm not quite sure what's going on, but I don't think I like it." 

Don't worry kid, the lady who makes the food is coming too.

If you're wondering what that is in inches, it says right there. Thank you, IKEA.

I'm so in love with the good people at IKEA, I just want to hug them and kiss them and call them dirty names while I rape them to death.

I've apparently come to a point in my life where I feel the need to sit around in my sweatpants and assemble ridiculously complicated designer lamps with my beer belly hanging out. Feel free to help me insert the soap bubble fluid any time. Thanks.   

OK, one, two, three - be idyllic!

What's that sound, you ask? It's the huge river that runs along the house.

"Let me juuust put this over here."

"Oh no, we've run out of bisquits!"

Luckily we know how to live off the land.

Here son, have some nuts and berries.

Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

Are you feeling weird too?

The kid looks fine, though.

You think you're so cool just because you can eat a loaf of bread. Well, tough guy, I've got a question for you: Can you eat porridge?

Oh, you can. Well excuse me, then.

They're ganging up on me, I can feel it. Sara's acting weird. Cave paintings everywhere. I'm afraid she might be going native.

What the HELL is that thing, and what are you doing to my son?!

That's it. I'm going to report it to the authorities. Now if only I had some internets.

What is it now? I swear, if it's not one thing, it's another.

Oh, a Jew's harp. Well, I guess it's an improvement from the didgeridoo. That is, unless...

... OH MY GOD You're forming a band aren't you!!!

Meanwhile I've discovered yet another thing I suck at: Oil painting! But just give me a few weeks to figure this "colour" thing out and I'll be spewing out masterpieces left and right.  

Oh no, we forgot our 5 years anniversary. Now we have to do them all over again.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Ode to Envy

Invidia! Dark Goddess of kittens, cocks and shoelaces,
Matron of pedestrians and gladiators, overgrown wellspring
Of hidden devices, my absent mistress; Invidia!
Your hair is braided with many retreats.

Shapely Invidia! You hide from me, but I see your shadow cast,
Checkered past the kitchen floor, whence a hinged trapdoor leads me
To your downstairs panty, excuse me, pantry -
Fuck it, I lost my rhythm.

I couldn't find you, Invidia, so I wrote your name on a climb of vine;
It begins with 4 and it ends with nine.
I called your name into a woman's shoe.
I called your name but you didn't answer.

Heads, I called you first by your maiden name,
Tails, I called you then by your greek name.
You liked that, and so you came -
Now I see your face, Invidia, on the obverse of every coin.