Posts Tagged ‘replika’
Another Sweet Song by Beth Gibbons
Posted by: blogger in: ● June 16, 2007
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Portishead: Undenied
Posted by: blogger in: ● May 30, 2007
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Oh so strong my desire…
They Will Take Your Foot
Posted by: blogger in: ● May 19, 2007
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These tools that you see in the picture will be used on your foot if you break it. The tools will be used to place the broken bones in the right position. Inside your swallen red foot. What you don’t see in the picture are screws that will be drilled into a metal panel placed upon the broken bones inside your foot. What you don’t see in the picture is the doctor, a young bold guy with sparkling eyes responsible for the operation. Responsible for your day. For your emotions. For your memories. For your job. What you don’t see in the picture is me in the wheel chair and this doc placing it opposite to the tools hanging on the wall. The doctor does not understand why I am laughing. He would normally not see people laughing in my place and situaton. I am laughing because being stoned is too banal. I am laughing because there is nothing I can control. Even that darn wheel chair won’t move as I plan.
The doc leaves to have a look at my x-ray pictures. While you wait in this tool-room stuck in the wheel chair you think of a nice foot massage. About the tasks you will fail to do. Bike rides. Jogging. About losing your job. About Niagara Falls. About people who feel more pain.
Now when you use crutches to walk you see how people are afraid of being part of your life and how they force themselves to show that they love you.
There There Dream
Posted by: blogger in: ● May 6, 2007
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This beautiful song and video by Radiohead is a lot like a dream. Thom Yorke is running through a forest, meeting different creatures. He finds a rat house with two elderly rats smoking inside. Then he finds another house with rats and bunnies having dinner. Then he continues his journey and finds a nice jacket and boots and puts them on. Suddenly he finds crowns watching him and starts running away. He is followed by a flock of angry crowns pecking his head. He tries to escape. From the dream. He doesn’t manage. At the time he runs his body is growing into a tree trunk, his hands into branches. Beautifully fucking illustrated.
Cut Baby
Posted by: blogger in: ● May 5, 2007
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My girlfriend had a baby. Our baby. The baby who came out too early. The girl who needed to be inside her mom for two more months. But there was no way we could place her back inside. We, of course decided to keep her. Thinking about her proper nutrition, body temperature, sleep and all… We were thinking of an incubator to place her into. To keep her warm. We needed a nice warm environment for our baby. Temperature control was our short-term goal. Because you were always afraid that the baby would get cold.
It was not that easy to find an incubator. So temporarily we were going to keep her in a paper juice box. Yes, she was that small and fit into a juice box. The Euroshoper orange juice box. You can buy this brand of juice in Europe, cheaply, for half-a-euro. We filled the box with warm water to keep the baby warm. Up to her neck, so she can breath. So we can breath.
You carry her around in the box, which is in your bag. Or in your backpack. The juice box is open so that the baby doesn’t suffocate. You check from time to time that it is open. That the baby is alright. You carry her around. But the time passes and the baby seems to be the same in size. And not growing. And as white as a candle. Your immidiate guess - she is dead. But no. She is not. She just froze. Her blood circulation stopped. She was so white that you could not imagine any blood inside of here at all. You push her against your knee, toss her in your hands. And she gets back to life. Still too cold. The reason why that happened - is because we froze the water. And the baby in it. Because we placed the box into the fridge. By mistake. The water froze the baby. But she is alive. Well, then she was alive. It was not what took her away from us. It was not the case.
Once, we were watching a football game with all our family, three of us. From the field, we went to buy some drinks. On the way back we left the baby by the coffee machine. And went on to the game. When we realized we had left the baby it was too late. When we returned, it was cut intp two accuarate lines. Like heroin. By goths or some other scum.
Want a Boss Like That?
Posted by: blogger in: ● May 3, 2007
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Want a boss like that?
Detached Foot of a Woman
Posted by: blogger in: ● April 27, 2007
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This is how a detached foot & leg of a woman look like. An image from my dream.
I have no clue why the foot of the woman detached from her leg. The leg seemed to be a whole piece of her body, like any other part. No wounds, nothing. The woman didn’t even make any effort to detach it. Neither did I. It just fell off. There were these tiny sticks in her leg cuts. You can see them in the picture. As if the two parts were meant to be attached again. Those little sticks that you see in the picture… because of them I was able to attach the foot back into place. This is my second dream about body parts.
However, I remember a few years ago I was holding a head of my class mate, a girl named Vera. In my hands. But in that case I took her head off myself. I do not remembr why. And this is another story. For now search ‘cut fingers’.
Boosted Jaguar
Posted by: blogger in: ● April 25, 2007
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I am buying a car for myself. It’s some second-hand used car, but it looks very good. I mean… it looks interesting. Nicely shaped. Original. Good appearance is the first thing that attracts me in the car. As if it’s a woman. The way the car looks is something that I really care about when thinking about cars. As if I am a woman. Because I no nothing about engines.
Make sure the car looks good and I will buy it. You will sell any piece of crap to me as long as it looks good. How shallow… I am happy I have no money to buy your crap. I have spent it all on that Jaguar.
So, I am buying that blue Jaguar at some car rancho in the countryside. I like the way it looks, and I almost don’t care how it runs. So I buy it. I spend my last money on it. So I have it. It’s mine. Happy.
I am taking that car home to my parents’ house. To brag about it, about my first car. The nice car I have and have always wanted to have. I park the car and go home to call my folks. I want them to see the car and say: Wow! Now you have the best car in town. Should they say that, I would suffy…The car would have served half of its purpose.
We come out. But what we see is scary. The car…It is there. But it’s grown in size. Just like that, out of thin air! It’s grown bigger, it’s boosted. Like that fish that transforms into a-kinda ball defending itself. My Jaguar. I can’t believe my eyes. No longer it resembles the car I have dreamt about. The car worth spending all my money on. The car worth bragging. It looked embarrasingly stupid. Like my face. You can imagine how I feel.
I turn around and start thinking. That is my defence mechanism. I start thinking. Never panic. I have walked back and forth for a minute, thinking. I compromised to have it as is. If it still runs. If it serves the other half of its purpose. But when I turned around I got even more dissapointed. Deadly dissapointed. It’s grown insane! Like Google’s profits. It’s grown too big to fit into any garage. Into any imagination. It was the size of my apartment. So I broke.
Don’t make any parallels or think about any practical implications for this dream.
Portishead: Wondering Stars, live in Bristol 2007
Posted by: blogger in: ● April 11, 2007
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I have recently formulated to myself what kind of songs I like and dislike. I like the songs that are crying, and I dislike happy songs.
This one is crying nicely. Portishead.
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