flash of pain

There's something incredibly unsatisfying about having a hole in your sock. For some reason it makes me feel incomplete and less of a person. Then again, maybe that's just because my foot is getting a bit cold. I really can't stand socks with holes in them. I know that it's a stupid problem, but it drives me crazy. It's like having a blister at the inside of your lip - you just want it to go away, but for some reason you're there touching it all the bloody same. Don't get me wrong, holes are very practical - great to push people into - but what my lovely black socks with a santa on (yes, a santa, I don't discriminate after season) don't need right now is a heel poking through them.

Flowerpetals.

I feel that it's happening. That thing which Granpa Simpson warned Homer about. The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that I'm there.

I used to be with it, 

but then they changed what 'it' was. 

Now, what I'm with isn't it, 

and what's 'it' seems weird and scary.

/Abraham Simpson

This is exactly how I feel every time I turn on the radio. To quote Queen - it's all "radio gaga" these days. It all sounds the same and I keep wondering how one artist can differ from another artist.  Then I think back to when I was a teenager and suddenly it all makes sense. Because artists where different. Of course they were. Kylie Minogue, Madonna, Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera were all different. It's funny how the brain works - when I consider this a bit more I realise that every generation has their thing. It's been said a hundred times, but when I look at my mother as I tell her that "you must hear this song!" and she just shrugs it all makes sense. Although I assume that working in a record store as young did do its thing to ruin her and her relationship with music forever. Then again, I know that the music of my parents' generation was a pain for their parents so I can only assume it has always been this way. We're just not meant to understand the younger generation.

I don't listen to the radio if I can avoid it, which I usually can. It's different if I go abroad - for some reason that's more okay. Maybe it's because I don't mind the silly chatter or because every country take a different view on music. Maybe it's just because it's different. Is that why some songs are so good these days? Because the rest just disappear in the background noise of highpitched wails, high school rock and a dull rapper? I can't tell them apart and I guess I don't really want to, but all those rappers with halfnaked women who sang one chorus line in the beginning of the 1990's I remember. Those horrible suits and awkward dance moves that no normal person can every hope to try. Every now and then when I'm really bored I like to imagine how the future turned out for these people. "Him? Oh, he works as a gardener and the background chick? She's an accountant. I hear she does taxes now."

What do you think Beethoven would say if he could hear his songs on a mobile phone?

Not much, the guy would be over 242 years old and deaf.

fine tuning

Every now and then the Swedish media likes to report on the crime in the "underworld". It's gangsters and gangs and murders and people die and bad stuff is going on. Every time I read about the "underworld" I think two things.

1) Mafia. I don't know why, but I guess the mafia has to be the ultimate underworld-thing.

2) Sewers. I always see these mafia-people sitting down in the sewers in their fancy suits and plotting murder with some old guy saying "I'm very disappointed in you, Vigo".

A part of me would really like to see this underworld, but I don't think I'd do well in sewers. It stinks too much and my shoes might get dirty.

Testify!

There's something special about Easter. It's not really widely celebrated in Sweden anymore other than as another reason to go out and drink (but which holiday isn't at this point?), but I've always enjoyed it. As a child I used to paint eggs and make decorations with my family and I sucked at it. I didn't have the patience to glue a tiny nose onto something that was meant to look like a bunny and my eggs always ended up having one colour with a line around them in another colour. All the eggs were still praised of course and in the end they were all eaten so I guess it didn't really matter much if they were pretty or not. It's the thought that counts. I think that's the main thing about Easter this day, it's less about the killing of Jesus Christ and more about the thought of being together and spending time with the family. 

Personally I always take some time to think back on what happened to Jésus and thank him for taking it upon him to soak up my sins. Mostly because if he hadn't, then I wouldn't get five days of work. Good going there, Jebus and thank you.

Lie a waste.

Sometimes I think back and realise that I must have been a very boring child. Sure, there's the whole story with how I abused my sister, but you know, when I was older. I remember that the first time I ever drew on a notebook for school was when I was 13. I never ran with scissors (as far as I know), I never coloured my hair and I always phoned home (ET phone home) when I'd stay over at a friend's house or when I was going to be late. I remember that my most rebellious act was flat-ironing my hair. Hazaa.

The worst part is that I can't really think of anything rebellious I've done since I grew up. Maybe question a teacher or sing really loud when my friends tell me not to. I'd love to say that "I protested against this..." and "I worked hard against that...", but if truth be told, I can't. Not without lying. I don't know why, but for some reasons I just don't believe in massive protests against things. I see it more as an inconvenience than anything else. Maybe that's why I don't do it. Maybe that's why I'm not rebellious - I just don't care enough. Or maybe I just don't see how it can make a difference when people smash windows and walk with big signs saying "we hate war".

I know that I've said this before, but I think that good saying are worth repeating. People should eat more cake. You try to have a fight with a person who just had a tasty cake and see how well it goes.

bubbletrees

It's very strange to read old mails and letters and get a glimpse into a past that you'd forgotten or just don't think about very much anymore. It almost feels like you're intruding into something that you weren't meant to see. Like you stumbled upon two people talking and overheard their secret.

I was looking for a specific e-mail today and came across this:

Let the horns be blown,
let the mead run free.
Let the old ways be past
and let us drink to this day.

Let the true way be shown,
come and sit here with me
and please do move fast
because I want you to stay.

I don't know why, but for some reason it makes me want to put on a big helmet with horns and join a massive feast in a big house.