I See Myself From The Back. From Inside The Restaurant. I'm Alive And Happy. That Means I Took The Hard

JuleBobleHygge.

Når verden bare bliver rystet, gerne helt vendt på hovedet, ja så daler ned små stykker plastik så yndigt. Smukkere end sne. Uden unødig hvirvlen tilfældigt omkring, den tyktflydende luft er for træg. Hver vind er nedlagt, fladtrykt, med sammenklappede lunger. Den svageste brise er komplet lammet fra top til tå. Selv en stolt god gammel vinterstorm viger for idyllen. For det er resultatet:…

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Afladninger / Kulturmødet Mors. DETTE ER REN PR FOR "AFLADNINGER" VERSION X / PERFORMANCE UDEN TILHØRENDE UDSTILLING: "THE MISSING LINK" MELLEM DOKK1 MARTS '17 OG ÅBY BIB FEBRUAR '18.

KATTETUR-RETUR version 2

VERSION AF TIDLIGERE TEKST, LETTERE OMSKREVET TIL OPLÆSNING-

For en hel del år siden, nok endda helt tilbage til fra før vi begyndte på det med at blive ældre… -Gik vi en tur. Gennem rigtig ukontrolleret skov, den vilde slags; den smule der var lidt mere af dengang. Med tæt krat at udforske, og en underskov der næsten var symbolsk. Eller ihvertfald vil blive det. Dette var dengang der stadig var…

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Here’s a question for your soul; How many times can a broken thing break? And the Gods whispered: Let’s see, shall we?

Nikita Gill (via meanwhilepoetry)

Spot on...

Red just seems natural in autumn. But this red was alive. And not a very friendly creature. It peeled itself of and started attacking. With the very effective active red crane in overdrive. Swinging wildly as a fast forward movie. Motions and movements as fast as a Raptor with rabies. The little gathered group of humans was swallowed in one big sweep. In the fragment of a second. And then they were all red. Melting, literally, into that autumns somewhat rare more-red-than-ever months. Instantly becoming part of the natural decomposition. Rapidly decaying. And for the helpful worms to get into action, the frantic cranes threw around dirt and soil. So the bodies soon was unmarked graves. Some so taken by surprise, not expecting the process being in almost ridiculous at least grotesque uptempo speed. And ever accelerating. Beyond what is possible. Those few people turning up in lalaland to watch the red in action, was a buried bag of bones with no bag before their skulls could say "why red?" Indeed a good question. The answer was just a silent but frightening collective growl from all the spreading red. And cranes roaring up through the sky, leaving open wounds pouring out, of course, massive vomit of red. Red was soon the colour of the first flakes of snow; and even the wind was howling in red. A few months later the universe was monochrome. And had never been anything but red. #mantelmomento #danielmantel #laurieandthestoryof #primeiroproximopasso #udenfilter #red #autumn #scarytimes #imagination #cranes #gellerup #helhedsplan #howaninnocentpicturecanturnveryevilandstarttotakeovertheworld (Usual one-off hashtag...) (her: Mudderbad Helhedsplan Gellerup / Toveshøj)

https://mantelsroman.wordpress.com/2017/05/20/solhul/ It looked like a shortcut. It WAS a shortcut, just not to where he wanted to end up. Leaving the main road and crossing over fields with olive trees, seemed like a good idea. The weather was perfect for a trip, almost a picnic, over the rolling hills, following trails that almost weren't there or made by only sheep. Sometimes having to hike over cliffs and boulders, just made it more exciting. And he wouldn't wander astray, at least not much, since he had his goal in sight all the time. The white village and the old castle, clearly visible on the highest top, a real mountain, was a landmark ahead of him that he couldn't miss. It was just occasionally hidden by smaller hills or when the olive tress changed into more dense wilderness. The sky was blue, leaving all space to the burning sun. With just small winds stirring the olive leaves; making them look like blinking silver. Somewhere, far away, bells from sheep mixed in with the constant sound from cicadas. It was a beautiful day. And going cross-country, even a shortcut, instead of following the road with annoying traffic, was a great idea. He guessed he would be at the shining white village on the top late in the afternoon. The sun was at its highest, and he was beginning to seek the small spots of shadow from the olive tress. Drinking heavily from his bottle of water; but sweating it out even faster. He blamed it on the heat, that his eyes decieved him. He didn't seem to get any closer to the mountain. Despite getting exhausted from the walking. And the sun was making him dizzy. His white almost shining bones was found several months later. By a person taking a shortcut to the mountain. #https://mantelsroman.wordpress.com/2017/05/20/solhul/ #olivetrees #sunrays #shortcut #alentejo #laurieandthestoryof #fiction #novel #inspiration #mindscape #meandmystory #nothisisnotlikethestorythatislinkedtobutsomethingcloseenoughandwhoreallycaresanywaysincethisisjustanordinarypictureofthesunshininginthetopofanolivetree (Usual one-off hashtag...) #udenfilter #mantelmomento #danielmantel #primeiroproximopasso (her: Serra de São Mamede)

Den Definitive Lykke. LYKKE # 1.  Øjeblikke der var, ikke er, selvfølgelig, med kirurgisk præcision skåret fra, den skarpeste skalpel ført med uendelig ømhed, glædestårer gennem blotlagte blodårer.

Right and wrong seems to be a question of senses... 😉

Man vs Woman

Woman: ‘Men! Why can’t he see?                Why can’t he be more like me!?’

Man:’      Women! Why does she have to fight?                Can’t she see I’m right!?’

Woman: ‘How can he treat me that way!?                 What more can I say?’

Man:      ‘Why won’t she understand?                 I’m doing the best I can!’

Woman: ‘Why doesn’t he listen, understand!?                How can he be so obstinate? He’s a man!’

Man:      ‘Can’t she see my way makes sense?                Some times she’s dense!’

How can either be right When they are both wrong?

K. C. Barry

Our life always expresses the result of our dominant thoughts.

Søren Kierkegaard (via philosophybits)

As said by a fellow dane, so very true.

More true stuff...

Mortar

Words are easily traded and thrown like grenades, Footholds welled deep in trenches of juxtaposition. Our arguments resound like echoes in the hallway, Making any point confused beyond such cognition.

Everyone wants an explanation that makes sense, But it’s only a generalization to what they demand. Something designed to placate their feeble minds, While everything else is considered to be damned.

“Follow the herd,” they stammer twelve rows back, Because few need a leader to fall from their ledge. It’s not sad people would rather be lost than found, As foundations are built from this rot in the dredge.