Storgatan 10

In my book also known as the golden house.

Here everything is clear and crisp, the days sunny blue and the evenings and nights a velvety dark, but alas it's getting colder,
for September is coming to an end.

PS. Love this.

Funny II

Whoever they are, they don't give up.

Bottom photo by the Glenn.

The Midseptember pole

Thank you knittees of Sthlm. Mighty fine.

Funny I

Neon my way home

I'm trying to think of the right lyrics to go with this post,
but neither my head nor google is helpful.

Today is borstj and my mother and of course a nice and long
Nordic tango editing session. And oh! The monster is leaving home!

Bye-bye dear monster, you've been a gentle beast, as beasts go.
(In the back you can see the place of the wet death.)

Heading for a fall

I woke up this morning with Vaya Con Dios playing in my head.
Lately it's been this merry tune on and off.
On what grounds does my inner DJ make selections?

Crooked city

The yesterwalk through a warm dark city.
Oh September, how good you are unto us.

If yesterday was a great day - scrubbing the fridge, replentying said fridge, cooking niceties, taking a lovely evening stroll, fetching a bike for the Glenn, getting said Glenn shelf space, the getting of some - today is a most sleepy grey day. The beast in our flat was being inspected on early this morning - the beast is the Drizair 1200 professional dehumidifier that lives in our hallway since the wet death of a radiator last Friday. It's a charming thing with the sound of a jet engine. What's not to like?

Smarrigt!

Bottom photo by the Glenn.

I keep forgetting my camera at home and now we're both toying with his cell. My camera is charged and ready and lurking by the front door, but --- I just don't know why this is so.

Today was sauerkraut, beetroots, soya sausages, tomato and feta cheese dinner day. Smarrigt!

"We regret nothing"

These are pics from the suburb where I grew up, snapshots from a sunny walk I took some time this summer with my mother.
It's not a pretty place and it's quite difficult to find something that's to my liking, photowise. It's a place I always wanted to leave, and that I still fear that I'll somehow get sucked back into, or that I'll wake up one day and realize I actually never left.

Headache day

I guess I've had it coming.

Tonight is poor TV-series and finishing my current sewing project.
Tomorrow is pilates and a day in the park. The - perhaps - last summer weekend of '09 is happening as we partake in blog:age.

Dirty bronze

This late summer post goes out to my leggy looker Glenn - aka 8 Bit Suggah. He was recently rated 1 out of 5 in a test, and I'm here to tell you it's not accurate. I was there. I know.

PS. Winner of best homepage '09: Martial Canterel.
The music's swell s'well.

"End summer with a gay novel 40 kr"

At Hallongrottan, Hornstull.
Photo by the Glenn - lately also known as 8 Bit Suggah.

This week I've been graciously locked up at Filmcentrum Sthlm logging Nordic tango tapes non stop. It's tedious and sometimes tricky work. Cameras with harddrives - and not tapes - must be it, log n' capturewise, n'est-ce pas?

What was once

She was a girl
short for her age
and built like a teacup

Her morning breath
made the wallpapers curl
and caused the roof to set sail


His face was strangely anonymous
as though he had just arrived
and wasn’t sure he intended to stay


All our embraces, kisses and promises
tickets, dishes and mornings in
didn’t leave a mark on history

I thought that if we kept on changing
we could trick time to stand still
but it snuck right up behind me


Our friends split up
got cats and kids
houses, scars and a fashion sense


The flat that was ours
grew bigger rooms
and fewer walls

only to be knocked down
with the rest
of the building

Our street has a different name
and leads to another city
and another day


Next time you see me
you won’t recognize me
Nothing in my appearance
will give me away

'Cos you see my love
what was once
can never – ever – be again

This is a poem I wrote the summer of Berlin '04 for an animated short. The film is yet to be realized, it's one of the (several) projects I hope to get to wring the knickers off next year.


Two of the original designs.

Sing-sing

Les animaux sont arrivés
Jour par jour se travaille

Dans le train
En auto
Sur les bicyclettes

Les animaux sont arrivés
Jour par jour se travaille

Dans le train
Chaque semaine
Sur les bicyclettes

Dans les rues
C’est partout
Dans les places publiques

Toutes les bítes de la cité

Toutes les personnes fatiguées
A les maisons retournent
Les métiers c’est terminé

Regardez regardez

Toutes les personnes fatiguées

Quelle horreur qu’est ce que c’est
C’est la vie juste la vie
Presque la vie

Sing-sing by Eurythmics used to be one of my big favourites, back in the day, of living in Rinkeby and fancying an Englishman at distance. Red wine at my grand mother's oak desk while listening to the constant hum of the freeway. Shabby wall papers, horrible floors - I didn't fancy none up 'cos of the roaches. Once they start living in your toaster and jump (fall?) into your hair from the ceiling - and boy do they bounce! - you start seeing things differently. Long after they had left, all I could think of was leaving the place myself. Except that I couldn't - lest I wanted to go out the way they did.

A beaut

PS. Valentin Loellman's works. Fairytalesque.

Seen

Top photos by the Glenn.


Friday eve we attended the opening of Seen's exhibition at Galleri Jonas Kleerup. The Chevrolet was for his smooth n' bouncy entrance. Oh yeah.

The after summer

The after summer life is taking over,
with artificial light and muted colour.


PS. Love love love Abelardo Morell's camera obscura project.