Tinet is a cartoonist, illustrator, letterer, graphic designer, editor, translator and pig-keeper.

Other parts of Tinet's internet presence are, for instance:

The main website

Another blog

The Blog of Swine


and some photos on Flickr


<< February 2004 >>
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Favourite entries

¤ Mum and Ainur were visiting
¤ Sunny Saturday
¤ Cheap thrills
¤ Labour Day
¤ Definitely no Sergei Elmgren III
¤ Mum was here
¤ Nordens ark
¤ Cool weather today
¤ Piggies in my bed
¤ Black & white
¤ Two collages
¤ Bankhar mä!
¤ Lilac skies
¤ Kickass industrial sites
¤ Mayday
¤ Views from Pankow and a backyard
¤ Kugelblitz & cuddly 'street art'
¤ Shameless exploitation of workers and communists
¤ Berlin, Berlin
¤ Cuteness
¤ More Berlin
¤ Ouch, my feet ...
¤ Frosty collage
¤ Another fine old house hits the dust
¤ Horror and pigeons
¤ The smooth sides of houses
¤ Streets of Lund 2006
¤ Hungry for Hills
¤ Skärhamn
¤ Foggy sun
¤ Furry puppies
¤ Snow and a sleeping little baby
¤ Around the railway tracks in Lund
¤ The moon
¤ Lund in October
¤ The steaming sea
¤ Misc. scenes from Orust
¤ Territorial disputes
¤ Road Trippin'
¤ Sergei's tail
¤ Yellow
¤ The sleepy kingdom of Princess Mitsu
¤ A house, graffiti and a rook
¤ Green
¤ Feather canyons everywhere
¤ Sky and earth
¤ Misc. perspectives on Orust
¤ Mushrooms
¤ Fauna
¤ Flora
¤ A window
¤ Green landscapes
¤ My babies
¤ Dead house
¤ Dead elk
¤ Views on our home
¤ Pictures from a spontaneous cycling tour
¤ A parking lot in Malmö
¤ Twilight sky
¤ A once nice house
¤ Serpieri, the flying pig
¤ Yukata madness
¤ Rundown allotment garden
¤ Bristly!
¤ Furry!
¤ Home
¤ Dead animals
¤ Ängavallens gård
¤ Gothenburg
¤ One of the 2-3 pictures that actually came out perfect
¤ Where animals travel to their death
¤ Winter in Kävlinge
¤ Orient and Occident - blurry concepts!
¤ My baby is such a tease
¤ Eggs are interesting
¤ Here's the wuffie!
¤ The Carpathians
¤ Anti-kitsch
¤ Sunset over Kävlinge
¤ My cuddlymunchkins
¤ Streets of Lund
¤ Food

¤ Elephant digging up old bones + a burglary
¤ MSU in my subconscious
¤ Bad puppy
¤ The mansion
¤ A dream of menstruation in Sin City
¤ My dreams are so nice sometimes (aka Russian Policewoman)
¤ Desperately trying to reach MGU
¤ Blood, devastation, death, war and horror dream #6
¤ Family life
¤ Dreams, bloody dreams
¤ I need a sword
¤ Tony Blair & Lenin haunt me

¤ My thoughts on the presidential elections in France
¤ Just google it! - Nana version
¤ Meat has it all
¤ The amazing world of Swedish copyright laws
¤ Anna Politkovskaya
¤ It's about time we all get out and vote for love!
¤ Bilal's Nikopol vs. Moore's Promethea: Being possessed by gods and forced to have sex in comics
¤ Tinet's kitchen of pain
¤ The hymen is an evil MYTH!!!

¤ Gouache
¤ Pigasso paintings
¤ The Light comes from the Right
¤ Some kind of Valentine
¤ 2006 - a card and a snow Mitsu
¤ Serilda
¤ Standing on eggshells
¤ Mmm ... surströmming
¤ Rudolfo from the rapeseed fields
¤ The freedom to not choose
¤ Red China Comics
¤ Till alla svenskjävlar som inte klarar av att sätta komma i ert eget språk
¤ The Kostroma Elk farm
¤ The boob diaries part 4 - conclusion
¤ The boob diaries part 3
¤ The boob diaries part 2
¤ Breast cancer can be fun
¤ Why can't I wear a skirt and still be one of the guys?
¤ Garlic update #2
¤ Garlic update
¤ EU garlic is no good against vampires.
¤ I want to learn Maltese!
¤ Dirty men in the public library
¤ The marvels of life #4637
¤ My new life as a one-armed bandit
¤ Severiina exposed
¤ Severiina - a tale of an obsession
¤ On drawing techniques
¤ TschöRmen
¤ I might be going insane.
¤ 15 reasons

Some favourite blogs:

Baci dalla provincia
Yellow Peril

Nyt on yö.
Minä kuljen yksin
tyhjiä katuja.
En tiedä, mihin olen menossa,
hyvä kun tiedän mistä
olen tulossa,
ja ruumiissani
soi tuhat kaunista ja
voimakasta sävelmää,
minun koko menneisyyteni,
ja silmissäni loistavat
tuhannen ihmisen silmät,
silmien takana tuntemattomuus,
tätä naista ei tunne kukaan,
se ei ole vielä täysin syntynytkään,
ei kukaan tiedä
mitä se on tulevaisuudessa.

- Mirka Lattunen


El a întins spre mine o frunză ca o mână cu degete.
Eu am întins spre el o mână ca o frunză cu dinţi.
El a întins spre mine o ramură ca un braţ.
Eu am întins spre el braţul ca o ramură.
El schi-a înclinat spre mine trunchiul
ca un umăr.
Eu mi-am înclinat spre el umărul
ca un trunchi noduros.
Auzeam cum se încetineşte sângele meu suind ca seva.
Eu am trecut prin el.
El a trecut prin mine.
Eu am rămas un pom singur.
un om singur

- Nichita Stănescu

Kunst ist nicht ein Spiegel, den man der Wirklichkeit vorhält, sondern ein Hammer, mit dem man sie gestaltet.

- Karl Marx

The Hermit’s Song

A hiding tuft, a green-barked yew tree
Is my roof,
While nearby a great oak tree keeps me

I can pick my fruit from an apple
Like an Inn,
Or can fill my fist where hazels
Shut me in.

A clear well beside me offers
Best of drink,
And there glows a bed of cresses
Near its brink.

Pigs and Goats, the friendliest neighbours,
Nestle near,
Wild swine come, or broods of badgers,
Grazing deer.

All the gentry of the county
Come to call!
And the foxes come behind them,
Best of all.

To what meals the woods invite me
All about!
There are water, herbs and cresses,
Salmon, trout.

A clutch of eggs, sweet mast and honey
Are my meat,
Heathberries and Whortleberries
For a sweet.

All that one could ask for comfort
Round me grows,
There are hips and haws and strawberries,
Nuts and sloes.

And when summer spreads its mantle
What a sight!
Marjoram and leeks and pignuts,
Juicy, bright.

Dainty redbreasts briskly forage
Every bush
Round and round my hut there flutter
Shallow, thrush.

Bees and beetles, music-makers,
Croon and strum;
Geese pass over, duck in autumn,
Dark streams hum.

Angry wren, officious linnet
And black-cap,
All industrious, and the woodpecker’s
Sturdy tap.

From the sea the gulls and herons
Flutter in,
While in upland heather rises
The grey hen.

In the year’s most brilliant weather
Heifers low
Through green fields, not driven nor beaten,
Tranquil, slow.

In wreathed boughs the wind is whispering,
Skies are blue,
Swans call, river water falling
Is calling too.

- Unknown old Irish poet

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Sunday, February 01, 2004
A dream

I don't know if this is the right place to put such a long entry, but here is a quite interesting dream I had this morning.

¤ ¤ ¤

I need a sword.
Legend says that one of my ancestors, Eldar the Brave, once fought the forces of Evil. In a hidden room of my castle, he found the Sword. He knew exactly what to say to open the vault, and he knew exactly what to do to draw the sword out of its sheath. You see, there were mighty spells on both of those things, but he cracked them all right. He fought Evil with the Sword, in the hall before the vault, and he defeated it.
Sound corny to you? Well, it’s my turn now.

Today, I’m going to meet the forces of Evil in a duel in that same hall before the secret vault where the Sword is, returned to its sheath by Eldar the Brave after his victory. And I need the Sword, otherwise I’m done for. Otherwise we all are done for.
The forces of Evil have announced that they will send a representative to fight for them. It’s a terrible slimy blob full of furuncles and absess, who spreads a stench around itself that’s making the whole country sick as it is travelling towards my castle. I wonder what it will be like to meet this thing in a swordfight.

I’m running through the halls, looking for a sword. I’ve lost it. I stumble into the weapons room, but all I can find there is a small dagger. ‘It’s better than nothing’, I think to myself, and grab it.
Armin comes into the room. ‘Where have you been?’, he asks. ‘We’re waiting for you.’
‘I need a sword’, I mutter, fully aware of how crazy the situation is. I’m going to fight the forces of Evil tonight, and hopefully defeat them like the good old Eldar did. But honestly? I’m not so sure I’ll make it. Just look at me. I can’t find my swords!
Suddenly, Armin hands me a sword, a big one, in a black sheath with red tassels. ‘Here’, he says. ‘Your sword.’
I take it without a word and run out of the weapons room. I have a sword. But it’s not the Sword. I need to find that vault.

In the hallway I run into my old mother. She has completely lost it since my father died, and she doesn’t remember anything that has happened less than twenty years ago.
‘Why are you running like that, my boy?’ She’s frowning with loving worry.
‘I need the Sword, mother. Do you remember where it is?’
She starts rolling her eyes and shaking her head. But then, she suddenly lights up. ‘Oh yes, I think I do know where the Sword is. Why are you asking, my boy?’
‘Could you please go and get it for me, mother? I need it.’ I’m begging her. She agrees gladly and goes off somewhere. Maybe she will find it and bring it to me.
It’s only then that I remember that, according to our nice little family legend, the spells of the Sword will only work in favour of the person who opens the vault and draws the Sword out of the sheath. So, if my dear old mother finds the vault and gets the Sword, it will only answer to her. In my hands it will be useless.
I need to find that vault.

I run across the halls and corridors of this big, dark and drafty castle of mine. Then, all of a sudden, I spot a broad staircase leading downwards. I somehow know that this is the way. Maybe luck is on my side, after all?
I almost start to smile. But that crooked smile freezes in my face when I see that everyone is already there in the hall before the ‘secret’ vault. Everyone already knew where it is. Why didn’t they tell me?
How terrible to be the last to arrive. My friends are giving me slightly strange looks.

I’m supposed to say the spell now and open the vault, and do the magic trick to pull the Sword out of its sheath. The blob will be here any minute.
But it’s no use. I don’t know any spells. The doors of the vault remain shut, mocking me with their silence.
My head is spinning.

Armin and Endelan are suddenly by my side. ‘Pull yourself together’, Armin mutters to me. ‘They will be here soon.’
Endelan hands me something that looks like a big sheet of silk paper. ‘Here’, he says, ‘take this. It is a formidable shield. It weighs almost nothing.’
I stare into his blank elven eyes. I take the bloody sheet of paper, and wrap it somehow over my left arm. How are you supposed to wear this thing, anyway?

I breathe deeply, and look at the ones who have gathered. Besides my people, envoys from other castles and cities are also here. Even the three big babies in chains are here, sitting on the balcony and watching me closely with their pitch black eyes.
I look down at my hands.
My sword is gone.

The sweat runs down my back, and I look around, trying to act casual with all these people watching me. They have put all their hopes in me. I’m the only one who can save them from the forces of Evil. And I’ve lost my sword again.
My eyes fix on Endelan. ‘Where did I put my sword’, I whisper to him. He gives me a blank look. ‘Your sword is with the one you gave it to’, he answers, and hands me my sword.
I didn’t know he had it. When did I give it to him? It must have been when I was wrapping this stupid elven silk paper around my shield arm.
It’s funny that I didn’t remember that.

I have a sword. But it’s not the Sword. If I don’t find the way to get the Sword, I’m lost. Everyone is lost. I break out in nervous sweat again. But I must not wipe it from my forehead. People would see it. They would know I’m losing it. They would know all hope is gone.

I can’t quite help twitching nervously when the boys suddenly announce that the representative of the forces of Evil has arrived. I look up. There’s something descending the staircase.
It’s a little bulldog.

I get confused. Has someone let his dog run around? Is this some kind of joke?
But the boys announce the entrance of the representative. This is the representative. The representative is a little bulldog.

The opening ceremony of the duel passes through some kind of confused haze. I don’t understand anything anymore.
The boys finally call the duel opened. As I attack, I somehow see myself from outside my own body. I watch myself as I, with a supercilious grin, cut off the bulldog’s head without effort. I watch myself watching the dog’s head roll across the marble floor, spitting blood.
But as I watch, I know something is wrong.
Something is happening with the head.

The people are still cheering. They think it’s over. They think I’ve won.
But I know it has only just begun. And I know I’m going to lose.

I need the Sword. I suddenly know that to open the vault, I need to find the right sword among the couple of dozens of swords that are hanging from an iron bar by the wall. I need to find this one sword, and pull it out of its sheath. Then, the vault’s door will open.

Behind me, the dog’s head is changing its shape. I can tell from the frightened and surprised outcries of the people. I can tell from the stench. I don’t need to look. I know what’s happening.
The sweat is running down my forehead, and I try to see the sword I need to open the vault and get the Sword. Time is running short. I can hear my opponent slouching towards me already, faster and faster, with sounds that make my bones chill. All the swords on the rack look exactly the same. I know that if I take down the wrong sword, the power of the right sword will vanish. I try to concentrate, but I can’t fix my eyes anymore. They are jumping uncontrollably over the dozens of identical swords.
And now I must turn around and fight, for the Thing has almost reached me.

My thoughts are a mess. I block a couple of attacks with the elven paper. Funny, it really works. But the slimy blob grabs it, and with a casual move, it pulls it off my arm. The elven paper is gone. I attack. My sword cannot cut its slimy flesh.
I need the Sword.
Everything is lost.

I need the Sword.

¤ ¤ ¤

Posted at 2:34 pm by turukhtan

February 2, 2004   07:53 PM PST
Mitä siinä on niin pelottavaa?! Mä näen jatkuvasti unia, jossa mä olen joku muu ihminen.
February 1, 2004   07:32 PM PST
Äiti, ei se ollut sinä! Enkä se ollut minä, vaan joku kolme-nelikymmpinen mies, jolla oli parta!

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