Mass Effect 3

Allow me, pretty please, to change the subject:

K pees blood. It has happened three times during the last two weeks and it´s not a urinary infection. Two likely scenarios: it´s cancer in the unirary bladder, it´s cancer in the kidneys.

Would you like to learn those words in Swedish?

Cancer in the uninary bladder – cancer i urinblåsan.

Cancer in the kidneys – njurcancer.

BTW, if it´s really cancer, I might kill myself. I hate cancer.

K is a nice guy. No really, he´s one of the best. I strive to be kind. For me, it´s a learning process, for K, it comes naturally. You would love him, because he would love you -- he´s the best.

Oh please dear god, ohpleasedeargod, pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease

I will drink wine and have sex. If there´s another way, I haven´t heard of it =(

Another thing: apparently I sit on the second largest uranium deposit in the world. Well, not me personally, but my people. I don´t know if I´ve told you, but we´re all about mountains and forests and untouched lakes. It´s all nature, nature, nature with us. But now companies from all over the world are drilling for uranium in our land and they like what they see. So top mining then?

Cancer and top mining.

Two of my least favourite things.

I could say I bet we´ll survive but HAHA! Never ever! Come see me now if you want to see me, I´ll be dead whenever from whatever.

So sex it is then.

This I made today:

Fry salmon in 1 centimetre cubes and add spinach (spinach beet? I´m confused). Then add chili and garlic and salt and black pepper and crème fraiche and lobster broth. Serve with pasta.

When you eat, avoid thoughts on cancer.

Being human is so much more than I ever imagined. Maybe I made it all up. If I were Batman and you were Alfred, you´d keep my secrets. I´m deeply uncomfortable with all of this, but have it your way. Call me if you´re interested in coitus.

I Don´t Draw Like That Anymore

Don´t give up on me just yet.

In front of this assembly and in the name of God, I swear to love you until I get bored.

To be able to leave, to be able to come and go as one pleases, that is the most important thing in life, and you can´t do it if you have a family. I would have liked children, I have to admit that, but one has to choose… We sold ourselves to the tourists at the Spanish Steps and every memory is crystal clear.

The house, as I remember it, was made of Russian larch wood. It had over-sized windows and the pine trees grew so close their branches knocked on the glass when it was windy. It was always windy. The sea was very close and it brought wind. We used to take walks on the beach before breakfast. Lack of coffee gave you a headache, but you always indulged me. I loved those walks.

You would tell me all about how you made movies down there. You´d run around explaining everything, trying to recall camera angles. I know you did, but I can´t seem to remember it properly. Nowadays I only remember Death. Your Death -- how you portrayed him -- right there on the beach. Death and seagulls.

A few days ago I walked past three basket players. They were impossibly tall. I found it arousing. Last night I dreamt of basket playing vampires. Their capes got in the way.

When you were old and I had long since left (was it you who left?) -- did you masturbate thinking of me? I thought of you. Still would, I believe, if I could remember. You had that crazy energy paired with so much intelligence and talent. How could I not be drawn to you?

I have eighteen children now, thirteen of them were born in 2008, five in 2009. I have no time to regret or remember. I fry sausage for lunch and fight to keep my nails pretty.

”Where you keep… grim?” Ana says and I show her the makeup cupboard, feeling slightly embarrassed at its state; the foundations and eye shadows have all gone old and smelly, but she doesn´t seem to notice. I love her sketches, the one she makes of my character´s dress is divine. ”I will present it to you!” she shouts happily and it only takes me a few seconds to deduct that she means to give it to me as a present.

My intern is a transsexual satanist. I kid you not, it´s true! I love my life.

Abandoned

Less than a week ago, I went to Rugen and found Prora. I adore abandoned places. I crave them. It´s appalling, I know, but the drama of it all, the history, the nostalgia, draws me in and fills me with emotion. And I indulge. Like a rich princess in a poor country: ”Qu´ils mangent de la brioche!”

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prora

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P39prep8b0M

I get the idea. A nice holiday resort for the people, that´s not such a strange concept, is it? But put it in context and it´s suddenly chilling; the Third Reich materializes before my eyes and it´s filled with happy families on holiday. Can you see the mothers sunbathing? The fathers helping the children catch shrimps? Where is the evilness in this picture, I ask you? And where am I? Who could I have been in a different context?

My father had seven aunts. So my great grandmother had eight children, her sister had none. The sister was married to a nice German man and one summer they came to visit her family. My great grandmother had so many children, so very many… Such hard work! And with the farm and all… When the sister and her husband went back to Germany they brought with them one of the many daughters. They raised her as their own.

I think she was probably blond and athletic. We tend to be like that.

Was she popular in school during the 1920´s? Did she have friends? What ideologies was taught to her?

When the war broke out she was engaged to a pilot. She was sent to her biological parents in Sweden to get away from it all. I don´t suppose she knew the language all that well. Her fiancé was shot down over the English Channel. When she got the news she committed suicide. That evening my great grandmother claimed she saw an angel.

Do you suppose we all have the ability to grow wings? Do you think that words can change the future?

The devil knocks on my door and his face is familiar. He bends to kiss me goodnight and I want to say no but it´s so much easier to go to sleep. I do so love that lullaby.

Climbing the Eiger´s North Face. Not.

I´m so disappointed in myself. Have been for awhile now, cannot imagine why anyone would ever like to spend time with me.

Went to a party anyway. Took pink, furry pills, just to feel cute, you see. Mixed gin with wine and ended up asking everyone about their sex habits – not as popular as you would believe.

I made a big creamy cake and served it on the terrace – success! But then I sat on the vicar´s lap and it was all back to normal.

My husband says ”Let´s go home!” I ignore him. He leaves and I end up feeling confused. What do I really want? L says ”Let´s watch Croatia versus Italy!” and I´m all ”Yes!!!” (I hate football) and then I furiously cheer on Croatia and end up not knowing who won (probably Italy, right?). J makes meatballs and watch with her husband´s friends, she´s afraid to say she wants Sweden to win so she just shuts up, but is that right, I ask you?

Sometimes I think the veins on the back of my hands grow as I watch them. They´re thick as ropes now and maybe they thrive on my gaze! I want to look away, but I can´t and so they grow and grow… I imagine I can feel some kind of pressure when they want to break free from the skin and suddenly I panic and have to bang my head against the wall. But I´m all alone, no one is here with me, so it´s all in vain.

Do you think I should wear vintage Schiaparelli or something from darling Vivienne? Do you think I care? Lalalalalaaaaaa…

I got lemon trees in pots for my birthday. They died. Not because of the temperature (that I would have accepted) but because of the wind! Apparently it´s too windy here, everything pales and withers. I´m becoming rather pale, although, that´s probably because I abuse sunblock.

Stupid ugly guy upsets me. He´s so very stupid. And ugly. And his voice has a weak whispering quality, we´re talking no stomach support whatsoever, and I want to claw at his eyes every time he uses that voice. But I  wonder about the size of his cock and I despise myself.

I strip and write cool things on my chest and then I take photos of myself through the mirror. The photos turn out average so I throw myself on the floor and scream, but there´s still no one here.

My husband prefers work to spending time with me. And then he wants me to be cheerful, willing and uncomplicated. I should shout ”No!” but the fact is I want that too. Hm, maybe some more pills. Or maybe I should replace my husband with George Clooney? My live in exchange for a coffee commercial.

Zlatan, Zlatan, your hair looks appalling! We are going to lose this, I can´t say I´m surprised. I gave up the right to feel surprised a long time ago, it´s such a fresh, young feeling! And I´m used to losing. I really, truly believe all is lost (sure, try recycling, see if that helps, knock yourselves out).

Do you think I´m cute? I´ll scream if you say no.

Message from Solaria

It´s not that I can say I know for sure I´d prefer robots, it´s just that I can´t say I wouldn´t.

I was walking to the bus stop very early one morning. As I was nearing the end of the road, where I have to turn right, another woman appeared from the left. She was walking fast, clearly going to the bus stop too. I slowed down so I wouldn´t have to get awkwardly close to her and, as we continued, I ended up about ten meters behind her. That´s when I discovered I had misjudged her pace, she walked slower than I expected and I had to slow down unpleasantly much to stay far enough behind her. She really was annoyingly slow. I shortened my steps and started to worry about missing the bus. She was all dressed in black except for a bright blue cap which seemed like an odd fashion statement. By the time we reached the bus stop I was really fed up with her. None of us pretended to notice the other.

P is my favourite coffee place. Their coffee is the best and I know what I´m talking about, I´ve had coffee on three continents and I pay close attention to detail. So my favourite barista at P is E. She makes me coffee every week and we smile and make small talk. She is the daughter of my childhood best friend, she knows this and so do I. None of us has ever mentioned it.

There are times when I might tell people a little bit more about myself and let them in. Afterwards I usually feel like I have a bad taste in my mouth -- a combination of scared and upset (light). You´ve read Asimov´s The Naked Sun, right? I think I´m becoming a Solarian.

I care. I care about you. I care about you not knowing my name. We´re estranged.

From Russia with Love

The center of this tarte is still slightly runny.

I´m not depressed, just a tad sad. Tad sad, tad sad, tadsad. And then I can´t sleep properly, Haha.

…and small pebbles are placed on her eyes. Those are annoying, they get in the way.

I miss you. I made pasta, would you have eaten it? Like, I made it from scratch, in an ideal world you would have loved it.

Okay, then. All right. Or: alright? Who knows? Not me, I´m foreign. Not Russian, though. That would have been cool (think Metro 2033).

I shoveled the porch. So heavy. Went through half of it and felt exhausted. See, if I´d have done it properly, like directly after every snowfall, it would have gone smoothly, but no, I let it sit, and now it´s all heavy and packed and shaped into symmetric flakes. The story of my life; postponing, postponing, postponing. Don´t you just love it when I repeat myself. Sort of requires U loved me from start -- hehe, u:r bad. Can I do this without vowels? Cn I? I is a vowel

My son is playing Hedwig´s Theme on the keyboard. Don´t you find it fascinating that it´s part of their context? Like all of it. They´ve never lived in a world without cell phones. Remember Neuromancer.

I can´t make the music come into my phone. That´s a really bad thing. The computer won´t recognise the phone (cell phone, obviously). So no music. Makes my walks boring. All that silence, I can imagine almost everything, but I can´t make music come alive. Music rules. I want my music back.

Am sad and tired. Tried sleep. What now, then?

I bite through the crust, I bite through your skin and it´s all so runny, such a delightful mess. I don´t think blood tastes of umami, you just made that up! If we make everything up it stops making sense! Gravity is a force of its own, you can´t make up new rules to mold it into the rest of the system, that will only move you further away from the truth. Don´t you see that? You say: there are no truths, and I agree, but making up your own truths is still not the answer, I´m sorry, but it just isn´t.

Release me now. Enjoy. Be my guest. Thank you.

I´ve killed without repercussion. It´s all about context. There really are no truths. Bend down and touch me, please.

Sex with Sixten

I´m going to try something new and tell the truth. T says I lie when faced with an audience and he´s right, but only because the audience respond to my stories and if I make them better, funnier, larger than life, I´ll get such incredible feedback and that´s obviously better than crack.

So, audience, shall we try for some truth?

Last week was an unusual one. A dance company, The Vanaver Caravan, was in town and I took some classes. Very brave of me and very much fun. Also, we went to their performance and I now pretend I´m cool woman from ancient Senegal music-family. My kids are embarrassed and so would you be if you could see my living room dance act.

I also wrote and performed a short monologue for doctors attending an education in insurance medicine. Again, very brave of me =) It´s been ages since I did something like that, but it was so much fun. I love the adrenaline rush! (And I love getting praise!)

Then I read something I liked. And I remembered why I love writing. It´s so strange that I sometimes forget. Like everyday life puts a grayness between me and my creativity and I forget what excites me. The things I´ve been writing lately have been too practical, I think, like that monologue. The freedom in writing escapes me. But maybe that happens when I don´t have enough time to devote to writing, I don´t know. I will have to find time and balance between the hard work that writing also is and the lust that makes me want to do it.

T enthusiastically phoned me from the supermarket telling me that he´d tasted horse meat and it was brilliant, so was it alright if he bought some? I really think we have to be able to eat all sorts of stuff in order to save the planet so I said ”yes, of course,” thinking horse couldn´t be that bad (meat is meat ismeatisnutrition).

He cooked the horse beef and I ate some, objectively agreeing it was good, but my mind screamed nooooo! And I felt sick and why am I like this? I´m killing Earth! Yes, you can blame me! Rational people will eat rats and cockroaches.

I´ve moved into the subway system that snakes under my house and the creatures living here are something else, I tell you. Björn, the pale radio guy broadcasts at secret frequencies and if you tune in next Thursday you´ll get a delicious recipe on horse and baked root vegetables. The kids down here hare off in all directions at the sound of my laughter, I think it must be a forgotten human expression, but they´ll be back in a second if I sing. I´m digging a hole. I might have lost heaven, but I won´t give up on valleys! I´m thinking I can probably manage an ocean given enough time. Oh, that and water -- I also need to find water. Woodlice sometimes come to help me. Gigantic ones that scared me initially, but do you know, they´re the friendliest creatures I´ve ever come across; so gentle and interested. ”Why hole?” one of them said and when I explained they just started to dig =) Sixten, the one whose carapace has a certain shimmer to it, comes everyday and stays when the others have left. I think he´s into me. Will I invite Sixten to share some fermented potato soda in my tent tonight? I think so. And if I let go of my fading flashlight and he crawls over me in this stale darkness that has become my world then so be it, stranger things have happened.

Oh, well. Small steps, friends, small steps.