Hospital
They took me to a place where nothing grew
to a place where only the shadows in the dust had time
They took me to a ward, a sun-bleached hospital
where the doors were so heavy as to not need locks
They led me past rows of starched beds
where our steps shall echo long after we’ve served our time
They scream your name when the rain meets the window
and an evil wind shakes the trees, tamburine shakers of dead leaves
And they took me to dirty beach
where the spirits of drowned surfers gathered PET-bottles for deposit
on a gravel road between fields where the flowers of evil were allowed to grow
and turn eternal forest into tabloids
And they point to a backdrop, poison yellow clouds
orange lights, silent silos, the contrails of airplanes, bone-gray towers
they whisper in my ear
“Do you see the future, do you see how nothing grows, nothing lives, but nothing dies?”
When you finally see all the mechanisms
you never get scared no more
when you finally see every emperor standing naked
then everything turns back again
everything turns back around again
I wake in a ward, in a shadowy hospital stands a woman
by my bed who bleaches her teeth a bit too hard
She gently strokes my cheek with a hand as artificial as a doll’s
Wrinkle-free, ringless, heavy and feverish
And my skin is white porcelain, little relapses in a bout of
allergy against my present and my faith
I write your name uncertainly on a postcard, trying
to remember who you were, I’ve forgotten long ago
When you finally see who is pulling all the strings
you never get scared no more
when you finally see every emperor standing naked
then everything turns back again
everything turns back around again
I walk alone into the light
I walk alone into the light
I walk alone into the light
I walk alone into the light
————————————————————————————
Mainly something I did for myself as practice (and procrastination from writing my final exam), seeing as I’ve always insisted on the importance of lyrics in the artists I appreciate but never really fully understood Swedish when sung at full speed and with no concern for the untrained Danish ear.
I’ve never listened all that much to Kent beyond Vapen Och Ammunition, but Röd has basically blown me away, sonically as well as lyrically. I think Joakim Berg might be one of my favourite contemporary lyricists, which is why I’m sharing this with you guys. Enjoy!
‡{Hovedstad}‡
I will not reason and compare; my business is to create
- William Blake -What is Hovedstad?
Graffiti from downtown Århus. Beyond the strange sympathy of the montage between the stencils and the text, I particularly enjoyed the fact that the wall has pretty much become a palimpsest at this point, with previous designs showing through, effectively becoming a multi-coloured undercoat for the piece.
Tell me what you see, Dr. Meshberger told me.
Selling Nothing by The Pound
But what’s your style?
Can’t you pitch it to me or whatever I’m supposed to say as the producer?
He smiled and pocketed his iPhone with the sort of strained casual air which is so prevalent among people of his ilk. I peered searchingly at him while my mind recoiled to somewhere in the back of my head. Had it come to this? Was I getting reduced to the scraped bones of a high-concept elevator pitch by some hipster-industrialist with too much dosh to spend on ironically uncomfortable jeans?
Okay. Basically it’s like this. Imagine Nobody. Nobody meets Noone some nondescript distance from Nowhere. With a twist of freshly squeezed Nothingness to top it all off.
He feigned getting a text and pulled out his phone again questioned me while staring at the touch pad.
So. It’s like a western?
Armed with a pair of gold leaf binoculars, he had a perfect view of the sprawling growth of the industrial outskirts of the city. He’d seen the fluttering shape lit by the eerily silent furnaces twice before and now he was determined to get a better look and perhaps even capture it on film, like some lepidopterologist of the mechanical age piercing his subjects with beams of light instead of needles.
Preparing for writing a short story tentatively named “Skreddet” by visualizing certain ideas and connections betweens ideas in Photoshop.
A friend of mine had his first sunburned knee of the year, signifying the advent of summer! Rejoice!
Ingen kendte koordinaterne
hvor den første stjerne styrtede ned
og undergangen blomstrede op
mod en uheldsvanger himmel
og ingen ved hvor længe vi kan
gemme os i kronbladenes skygger
When writing my B.A. I finally found the excerpt from Borges which Baudrillard refers to in his Simulacra and Simulation and as always with quotations, Baudrillard seems to have done much more with it that what was ever implied by Borges himself. Here I’m combining it with an illustration which was supposed to have been one of the potential cover designs for the debut release of the Danish band Knoxville. For those of you who don’t read Morse code, it’s “Death is the road to awe”.
On Exactitude in Science … In that Empire, the Art of Cartography attained such Perfection that the map of a single Province occupied the entirety of a City, and the map of the Empire, the entirety of a Province. In time, those Unconscionable Maps no longer satisfied, and the Cartographers Guilds struck a Map of the Empire whose size was that of the Empire, and which coincided point for point with it. The following Generations, who were not so fond of the Study of Cartography as their Forebears had been, saw that that vast Map was Useless, and not without some Pitilessness was it, that they delivered it up to the Inclemencies of Sun and Winters. In the Deserts of the West, still today, there are Tattered Ruins of that Map, inhabited by Animals and Beggars; in all the Land there is no other Relic of the Disciplines of Geography.
Suarez Miranda,Viajes de varones prudentes, Libro IV,Cap. XLV, Lerida, 1658
Fra Borges, Jorge Luis: Collected Fictions. Penguin 1999
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