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. El 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 Tempest-proof.
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.
This morning I was, surprisingly enough, woken up by my doctor who actually called me and wanted to tell me about the results of the tests. Well, the good news is that the ultra sound guy still hadn't changed his mind, but the bad news is that the sample guy didn't take enough tissue, and couldn't say anything.
So, I'll have to do it again. Hopefully, the nurse won't try to hold my hand this time ...
(I hope I didn't sound too hysterical or drugged or what not on the phone. We watched Porco Rosso until 2 a.m. last night, so I wasn't quite awake when she called.)
MSN search must be really crappy, because someone apparently got here by searching for "pics%20of%20girls%20eating%20cum%20xxx" ... There sure are no *pictures* of that around here ...
Anyway, last week I went to the University hospital in Lund to have the tests done on the nameless thing in my left breast. They didn't want to take any X-rays "because I was so young", but they did ultrasound. Judging from the shapes on the grainy screen (even grainier than my TV), while the nurse kept trying to cover my other breast with a towel, the doctor said that it was most likely to be some completely harmless connective tissue mutation. Of course, he couldn't say that for sure, so they also had to take a sample of the thing.
After waiting a couple of hours, I lay down on a bunk, and a nurse and a Polish and/or Jewish little doctor bent over me. The doctor took a really big needle, and the nurse took a firm grip of my hand. She kept asking me if I was all right all the time, as if it was something horrible somehow that the doctor was rooting around in my breast with this giant needle. What's a little bit of physical pain?! The only thing that possibly distressed me at that moment was that the nurse was holding my hand (I don't like it when humans touch me ... *shudder*). Or maybe she was afraid that I'd try to fight myself loose and escape or something.
Well, on Wednesday or so I'm going to call the doctor I saw first, in Kävlinge, to hear the results (of course, the doctor won't call *me*, but I'll have to call *her* - that's how it works in today's capitalist world).
A few weeks ago, I found a little lump in my left breast. It'll probably turn out to be something completely harmless and boring, but in any case I'm going to the hospital on Tuesday to have some tests done on it. (One involves squeezing my breast between two glass plates to take x-rays of it, and the other inserting a large needle into it to take a sample of the lump. Yay, that will be fun!)
Well, when I first discovered it, my first thought was: "No! What if it's cancer?!"
Then, my second thought was, "Yes! What if it's cancer and they'll have to remove the whole breast?! What a neat scar that will make!!!"
(Well, it's not like it would make too big a difference whether I have a breast there or not - the ones I have can only be found with a microscope, anyway.)
Another thing about cancer that can be fun is chemotherapy. Of course, it will make you feel sick, but then, you get to wear wigs when your hair falls out! Also, I suppose it's not only the hair on the head that falls out, but also those irritating bristles on the legs. Another plus. The minus on the latter is that the hair grows back again if the therapy is successful, but at least you regain your health ...
Well, before anyone starts thinking of accusing me of severely bad taste, let's return to the wigs. If I could afford it, I'd buy several wigs to wear at different occasions and moods.
There are plenty of wig shops on the internet ...
Baron Unlimited has a lot of both serious and funny wigs for men and women.
The first one could be for 'normal' occasions (like school), and the second for more demanding occasions (job interviews, etc.).
Féke wigs and hairpieces has a special focus on people under chemotherapy. Unfortunately, they don't allow right clicking on the website, so I can't give them free advertisement as effectively as I'd like to. Or so I thought, before I tried with my ancient Opera 5 browser (I keep it around, since it's pretty much bug proof and thus suitable for surfing after hairy men ...).
Well, it would certainly be nice to have different lengths to choose between (long hair can be a pain in the ass, even if it can look quite nice). If I'd have a short wig ("Laurie"), a mid-length wig ("Brandi") - but not blonde like in the picture, a really long wig ("Janice") and a slightly eccentic curly wig ("Chelsea"), then that would give me some room for play.
Of course, it's hard to tell right now what styles and colours would really suit me - I've just picked the wigs that looked nice to me right now. But trying on many different wigs would certainly be half the fun!
When we went to the supermarket again, we checked the garlic, and it turns out that this particular garlic is not EU garlic, but Egyptian garlic. (There is Spanish garlic, too, which is slightly more expensive, but equally devoid of stench and strength.)
Well, the fact that the garlic is from Egypt is not so good, either.
In Egypt, a big part of the problem with the agriculture consists, basically, in the national debt, because it gives the loan-givers, such as the IMF, the World Bank and US AID, influence in the country's economical policies. The loan givers have been encouraging a more market-oriented policy, and this has led to a number of factors that have changed the Egyptian agriculture dramatically.
Prices have become higher, which is beneficial for the big landowners, but not for the small family farms and the poor city dwellers - whose number rises ever more, as the small scale farmers have no choice but to leave their farms and move to the cities. Subventions for grain, fertilizers and machines have been abolished (again beneficial only for the big landowners). Last but not least, large-scale efforts have been made to direct the agriculture towards cash crops - exclusive products like strawberries or, indeed, garlic, which are meant for the foreign market, and eliminate the possibility of self-sustaining agriculture. While the agricultural potential is used for cash crops, the country has to import its own food from other countries, and thus becomes all the more dependent on others.
Well, judging from the assortment in our local supermarket, Sweden is pretty much in the same situation right now.
Ainur brought me a little black plastic pig from Japan, that smells just like the My Little Ponies of my childhood. Today I found the website of someone who has several of these little pigs, both black and pink, and lets them do all kinds of bizarre things.
Mihai chewed up a piece of raw garlic the other day. After the first bite, he shouted, "Waah! What's this?!" No, he had not found a new friend in his food. What made him so astonished was the lack of aroma.
Back home in Romania, he told me, he would smell of garlic for weeks if he ate one small piece. His aunt was constantly complaining that she could not cook anything that wasn't supposed to taste strongly of garlic after having cut up some garlic, because the smell on her fingers was so strong and lingered in everything she touched.
Indeed, I had noticed the same during my visit, and had found Romanian garlic to be much stronger than what I was used to, just like the taste and smell of all other vegetables, fruits, etc. was much fuller and nicer.
We tried to figure out why there was such an immense difference in Swedish and Romanian garlic. One reason could be that the Swedish garlic has been bred and/or manipulated to reduce its smell, as many (stupid) people don't like the smell. Another reason could be that the mass production prevalent in EU farming has produced not only tasteless, watery tomatoes and cucumbers, but also tasteless, watery garlic.
Considering that Romania will become a member of the European Union in 2007, this is quite alarming. If the Romanian farmers will follow the EU Common Agricultural Policy's incentives and turn to mass production, and eventually produce garlic that is just as devoid of any strength and stench worth mentioning - then what will protect them against the vampires?
This weak garlic will not help against those creatures, Mihai assured me. And he should know.
Read more about the European Union's Common Agricultural Policy:
Blood, devastation, death, war and horror dream # 6 952
It's not like I always dream of blood, devastation, death, war and horror, but it's just that I think this kind of dreams are the most interesting and the most worthy of writing down.
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Myself, my wife and our adult daughter were eating out at a restaurant. The hall, furnished in mostly red and black, with heavy wooden furniture, was strangely empty, save for a couple of slightly disquieting people at a table further away - an Asian woman and a middle aged European man, both strongly built, with smooth movements and somehow empty faces. When we had finished our meal and tried to spot a waiter in the gloomy restaurant, the couple from the other table got up and started walking towards us with slow and relaxed steps. The man's face was cracked by a disturbing smirk.
They explained to us that the price for eating a meal at this restaurant was to fight them. And from the look of us, they said, it would be over soon, so there was no cause for worry. They handed us swords from a hidden cabinet in the wall.
I was the first. Nervously sweating and uncertain in my step I clutched the sword, as the man charged. His sword moved so fast I couldn't even see it. My body could hardly sense all the individual wounds he gave me, for his blade flashed so fast through my bodily tissues that my torso and abdomen were one single splattering wound within seconds. It hurt like hell, and I slumped down on the floor. I could barely see from the corner of my eye how my wife came forward, wielding the sword they had given her. She looked desperate but brave. Then, all went black.
At some point, I came to again. My wife was lying next to me, our daughter further away. There was blood everywhere. Strangely, it didn't hurt as much anymore, and I could move. My wife was conscious, as well, and she said she was all right again, too. I tried to get up, and I realised that all my wounds had healed again.
Suddenly, the man who had cut me up before started laughing at the other end of the hall. He said that they had apparently forgotten to mention one detail. The price was not only to fight them once, but to fight them *forever*. The food had given our bodies the ability to always heal up again after being torn apart. And, who knows, maybe at some point we would beat them - "But from the look of you guys - I don't think so." They lead us into another hall, which was full of people sitting on benches in long rows. All of them were in the same situation as we, and had to "fight" these two people, get killed, come back to life, and do it all over again, time after time. I glanced at my wife. From the look in her eyes, it just might be that she at some point would indeed beat them. As for myself, I didn't feel too good about this. Eternal hell was waiting. We would be killed all over again, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year. How could I ever learn to swordfight like them? I couldn't possibly beat them.
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This dream might be inspired by a thought I had at some point yesterday, about computer games, and how some of them seem completely impossible the first few times you try them, but after a few months, or weeks, you beat the hell out of the game without effort. Hey, I could make a fighting game based on this concept ... if I could program games, that is.