SpurvNiklas

some things
are so brittle
they will
break
if you speak them

some things
are so frail
they will
lock you up
and hold you down

for everyone tells
little white lies
I have made a little
white mask
just so I can
talk to you

for
some things
don't change
with time

Luminescent. The word tasted sickly on André's tongue, like he had bitten into an apple without looking, only to find it rotten. He regretted coming here. He had gone to wish him well, but now he couldn't. Who would even use a word like that? He was without a doubt pretentious, André though, and he didn't even know it. This person, he wouldn't even offer it a second thought, how he made other people feel, how he thought he was above everyone. There he stood in the blue back lighting and suddenly André hated him. He hated his trendy jacket, his all too cool hairstyle, his jeans, his eyes, his face, but most of all André hated this poem. The others were eating it up, but not André. A room full of shining eyes, didn't they hear how tired it all sounded? André grabbed his glass. There was only the bitter, foamy residuals of his beer there and he swallowed it down with no sense of enjoyment. After this he would go, he thought. That was the lights suddenly went on again. He hadn't been paying attention. Was it over already? What was the time? As André, forgetting about the modern wonders of cell phones for the time being, searched the room for a clock, it caught his eye. A man with a trendy hairdo was looking straight at him. And he was smiling.

The beer would have to be squandered, André though, but as he was turning around on his chair he heard it. "Hey!" The voice struck André with the silent realization that he was cornered. "I didn't know you would be here." These venues are so small, it's criminal! Surely the ability to get from the stage to the back of the room (where André had been hiding) so quickly must be a fire hazard. He turned around to face an outstretched arm. He took it instinctively, something he immediately regretted. Damn his natural politeness. "I'm Joacim." His smile seemed genuine, it only fueled the flame burning silently within André. "You are André, right?"

"Right. Yeah." Why must he be so awkward all the time? Not that he wanted to impress this phony, so-called poet. He just wished... he wished he could make him feel as small as he did right now.

"Marie-An wants to talk to you, you know." His eyes got a slight serious streak to them without ever really ending the smile. He seemed genuinely concerned and friendly. Was this how he manipulated people?

"Yeah, I know." André had been ignoring the calls. He knew what she wanted to say and she knew he knew, dammit. It was over. Why couldn't see just leave it there? No she wanted to be "friends". She wanted to feel better about herself, that is. And she wanted to see him cry.

"She's coming over later, I could leave you two if you wanted to?" His forehead was wrinkled with concern now. Such a do-gooder. Was this what Marie-An wanted? Did she think his clichéd rhymes were charming and sensitive? André shook his head. He had come here to become friends again. He had changed his mind, but now he saw it was pointless. He didn't want to see her again. After all, André had been the one to break up. She had forced his hand, though. It couldn't go on like that. She had been so jealous. Never mind that she had caught André with that girl that once. That was only one time and she knew it. She knew, but she wouldn't let it go. No, it was her fault. She was smothering him. It was painful, but he had done the right thing.

"Hello?" Joacim's face was downright worried now. André realized he had been just sitting there, silently. Had he been talking?

"Sorry," André lied, "I just came to think of something." It was the truth and it sounded like a lie and an evasion. Well, it was an evasion. He really should be better at those by now.

"Will you talk to her?" The silence was deafening. Had everyone left already? Ah, these lights were so bright.

"I don't know." Come on now, André. "I have a thing." A thing. A fucking thing. Really. André slipped his arms into his jacket.

"A thing?" He fucking acted like they were old friends. "Are you sure? She really want you to be friends, you know."

"Yeah, I only came to calm my nerves." They both knew he lied and they both pretended not to, which suited André just fine. "I didn't know you were going to be here." André got up from the chair, but as he was going to walk away he felt an arm gripping his. He met Joacim's eyes.

"Did you hear what I said up there?"

"Yes," André lied and tugged his arm back. He left for the door without another glance. He walked with quick paces, past the last remaining clientele. They ignored him with their shining eyes. He was ready to welcome the dark outside. That was all he wanted now. He loved the dark. The dark and Marie-An.

As he walked away from the door, leaving it as far behind as he could, he remembered and he forgot. He forgot Joacim, he forgot where he were. He remembered sweet words and soft hands. A whispering voice beside him, the morning sun peeking through the curtains. He felt he was there again. He couldn't see it himself, but as he was swallowed by the dark, his eyes emitted a soft glow, like they were burning. Yet they weren't.

ever since I started
walking I've noticed
him
everyday I pass his window
and he pretends he can't
see me peering in

he hides behind no curtains
unseen but noticed
in his no home
he also walks
sometimes
like me
alone

when he wanders
he never goes across
the street
sideways glances
all the way
at his feet

his autumn eyes
are locked on stories
he will never tell
there is winter in his
steps
by now I know them well

crimson leaves
must seem burgundy
to him
sometimes I wish -
waiting for that
flash of whim

that I could dare to
raise my voice
to speak and hear
to hear his tale
be one to say
'there, there'

I slow my pace
he comes behind
the lights are dim
I turn around
and he looks up

I think I'm him

we nod our heads
we're brave, we smile
like all is fine
but nothing is
the moon is up
it's way past time

so I go home
I wander slow
I pass his place
and he is there
a snowflake falls
it's not my face

and then I know

Fikk jeg oppmerksomheten din nå? Ja, hvem ville tenkt at jeg noensinne ville forsvart Le Pen? Sannheten er at det gjør jeg ikke, men jeg tror ikke mannen gjør seg selv noen tjenester ved å skrike i mikrofonen - han har langt mer å tjene på offerrollen han og den europeiske langtutpåhøyresiden nå kommer til å innta.

Hvorfor et bilde av Fleksnes kommer opp når jeg søker etter bilder av Le Pen kan man bare spekulere i

For de av dere som ikke et hva det er snakk om her: Europaparlamentet hadde en minnesmarkering i forbindelse med Utøya-massakren og det ble hentydet til Le Pens kommentarer rett i etterkant av terroraksjonen hvor han i bunn og grunn sa at det norske samfunn kan skylde seg selv. Jeg er enig i kritikken mot Jean-Marie Le Pen her, men det er vel knapt passende å ta opp i en minnemarkering. Le Pen er irrelevant i forhold til det som faktisk hendte og en slik markering er ikke stedet for å ta opp politikk, uansett hvor rett man måtte mene seg å ha. Uansett ble det nå slik til at Le Pen klikket i vinkel etter at ett minutts stillhet var ferdig og møtet var over (det så nå ihvertfall slik ut).

I følge de som ledet ordet brøt Le Pen reglene ved sitt utbrudd, og det får så være, men jeg mener fremdeles de burde latt ham snakke. Hvorfor? Vel, mannen hadde tross alt fått kritikk og da burde han, som han selv sier, få lov til å svare for seg. Mer taktfullt hadde det nok vært å ta det opp senere, men her kommer mitt andre poeng inn i bildet: Le Pen tjener neppe på å fremstå som hysterisk, men han tjener stort på å kunne fremstille seg som undertrykt.

Denne posituren er det noe kjent med

De så-langt-til-sjøs-at-jeg-bare-ser-blått-høyrevridde ser ut til å like å fremstille seg som en undertrykt majoritet og underdog i mange land. Dette er noe vi kjenner igjen her hjemme gjennom Siv Jensen og FrP som gladelig gråter på TV og generelt ellers liker å fokusere på det de kaller angrep mot dem. Dette gjør de av en eneste grunn: fordi det fungerer. Det både sanker sympati for partiet og mobiliserer velgere i deres harme mot de rådende kreftene som er så slemme mot høyresiden. Denne effekten kommer Le Pen nå til å kunne tjene grovt på. Hans uttalelser får legitimitet fordi han avbrytes. Hans to påstander vil sees under ett, "jeg blir forsøkt tiet og Norge er selv skyldige i terrorangrepet" når han på dramtisk vis kan fremstille det som han faktisk blir undertrykket.

Faktum er at Le Pen kan og vil ta opp dettte senere. Han vil debattere dette og han vil måtte stå til rette for meningene han deler med Breivik og den politikken han vil føre. Slik som det er nå har han et argument han vil kunne bruke som vil få det til å se ut som det er noe i denne Eurabia-teorien for mange, og dét er ingen tjent med. Ja, bortsett fra Breivik, da selvfølgelig.

PS: Ingen politikk burde diskuteres under en minnesmarkering, men hvis jeg skulle tatt det med i vurderingen kunne jeg jo ikke hatt den sensasjonelle overskriften, så nå får jeg heller gjøre som lett er og be om tilgivelse. Fred være med alle ofrene fra 22/7 og måtte vi aldri glemme.

alene med meg selv
stikker jeg
kjepper i tiden
innover er alt jeg ser
kosmologisk zoologi

et sted
løper apen fra meg
jeg etter
for noe kryper
i meg
si meg
når det har gått forbi

hør, tikker
filosofen?
han tror han har
utlært seg
lært seg å
erklære
uendelig falitt

et sted i
stjernehavet
finnes du'et
men i nuet
har jeg ingen
bølgelengde;
tar ingen skritt

se, ber jeg
til kirurgen,
hva jeg har blitt
jeg har noe
på hjertet -
min egen parasitt;
mitt eget hvelv
med drivved i siden
alene med meg selv

"Det er virkelig
stressende å måtte
skvise lykke ut
av hvert sekund"
sa han og
så over
på meg der jeg
satt, anstrengende
tilbakelent;
"men jeg antar
det blir verdt det
til slutt."

I'm a slave of repetition

I'm reminiscing all the time

away

what have I earned by getting older?

from what I remember times were

no more golden back then

all I gave me was a pen

with no logo

matchstick pogo

I never wanted the high life

so I ended up o lo-life

piece of skit

the laughter track

pinches my shoulder

lets me know it's

reality

fatality

come rain or come shine

life is a land mine

and you'll have to

lift your legs

in the end

scream and bend

I am no freak,

smarter than

any old Greek

I wont let the ruins

get in the way of my dreaming

all the while

my thoughts are streaming

off

to an early grave

I'll be a zombie before

you know it

I lie

my name is Dave

aim for the low bit

so I know of land and lay

I'm a slave of repetition

of my lack of real ambition

or so I hear me say

He had been awake from his slumber for several minutes when he finally built up his courage and bumped her slightly on the shoulder. She was lying with her back to him and didn't seem to wake up at once, but he knew better. He could sense her eyes opening although he couldn't actually see it. He didn't know why he was so afraid.

«I just had a dream», he said softly.

«Mmm?» Her guise was broken with the unconvincing surprised tone of her voice. He had grown to love these little games she played with him, although he had to admit they could become an annoyance at times.

«I dreamt that I was Hitler.»

«Hm. In old Germany you mean?» She scratched her eyebrow with the back of her hand and let go of a slight yawn.

«No, I was living here and now, but I was Hitler.»

«What do you mean you were Hitler?»

«I was him. I looked like him and my thoughts were his thoughts, but- it's hard to explain.»

«I get ya.»

She went in for a good morning kiss which he immediately came to regret dodging away from.

«Don't be like that.»

«Like what?»

«All condescending and... you know, I had a real experience here and you don't even want to listen.»

«I'm listening. You were old Hitler.»

He reluctantly let her get her kiss this time, though he felt the temperature of his blood increasing.

«No, you see this is what-»he began a little too loudly before catching a glimpse of her look, which calmed him down. He hadn't really explained yet, he realized.«I was Hitler as he were during, I guess, the beginning of his ruling. No, maybe even before. It's a bit weird, because he- I was wearing a uniform, but I seemed young.»

«So, like a uniform from the First World War-»

«No, no, no. It's just my sub-conscience, you know, when you picture Hitler you picture him in a Nazi uniform and stuff like that.»

«I hear you. Want some coffee?»

He gave her spine a spiteful look as she got up from the bed and strolled over the room.

«Sure.»

«So», he could hear her rummaging through the cupboards in the kitchen, «what did you do?»

«What did I what?»

«When you were Hitler, what were you doing?»

«Oh. I did, well, nothing really. It was really bizarre because I did stuff I would always do. Or stuff I would always wish to do. I saw some friends in the dream, I don't remember what we said to each other, but they didn't seem to notice who I was. And I patted a dog at one point.»

She reappeared in the doorway, leaning lightly against the frame.

«So you weren't really Hitler. You just looked like him, dear.»

«No, I really was Hitler. You wont understand. I was him.»

«Well, I'm trying to but it's hard to imagine my little snugglebunny being a terrible mass murderer, that's all,» she said while approaching the bed before sitting down by him.

«No, but I seemed like a really nice guy in my dream.»

«Hitler isn't a nice guy,» she said with a hint of an edge to her voice.

«No, but-»

A slight shadow seemed to fall over her eyes and she evaded his look.

«Can we stop talking about this?»

«Wh-»

He observed her in silence. He noticed her slender and pale neck which was curving away from him, revealing a thin strip of sunlight that made her skin look completely white. When she glanced back at him she had all the grace and coolness of a swan in her gaze. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't. She caught his eyes intently as she said:

«Were I there?»

«What do you mean?»

«Were I there, in the dream.»

He paused.

«No.»

Først, til alle dere som lever under steiner og ikke har hørt om Minecraft må jeg bare si at det er på tide at dere drar de slimete kroppene deres til interenettet og anskaffer dere spillet hvor man "plasserer blokker mens man løper fra monstere", som formulert av spillets egen skaper.

Eller venter tålmodig til det blir dag og monstrene tar fyr.


La meg nå gå videre til selve hovedpoenget ved dette innlegget: min nerdete kreasjon. Jeg har ganske enkelt laget en ganske gigantisk rettsal (slik jeg forestiller meg en etter mange års studier av amerikansk filmer og tv-serier). Så, før du simpelthen sprekker av spenning, la meg introdusere deg til Minecraftheims kjeltringers mest fryktede bygning (og, merkelig nok, spesielt med tanke på størelsen, en av de eneste bygningene i hele "byen"):

Forsiden er i klassisk gresk stil med detaljer i gull. Legg merke til den lekre lavabelysningen.

Videre fra inngangspartiet ledes du inn i et hjemmekoslig venterom...

... før du endelig entrer selve hovedrommet, eller "dommedagssalen" som den kalles på folkemunne.

Nyt utsikten over det tradisjonelle dekoret fra galleriet.

Et dekorativt tak med vindu bringer inn sollyset om dagen...

... såvel som dødsangsten om natten.

Er du heldig får du muligheten til å iaktta dette synet selv etter å ha vært inne i selve rettssalen.


Skjønt, du burde nok ikke regne med det.

Du ender sansynligvis opp her.


det er aldri for
sent
å gi opp
natten er
aldri så mørk
som nå
du Sisyfos, du
Sisyfos
la det ikke gå
inn på deg
at alle vet
du går feil
vei

ditt smil
er en uferdig
perle, en
musling full
av sand
gjort er
gjort og spist
er spist
sier du og
tenker på barna
i Afrika

og slik går nå dagene
til de ikke gjør det
lenger

(Den som stirrer på solen får fort

glimt i øyet)