"onko tuo tyttö ulukolainen"

Wallin anser att slopandet av den obligatoriska svenskan i förlängningen skulle leda till att kravet på tjänstesvenskan slopas och att svenskans ställning som nationalspråk skulle försvinna.

HBL 14.12 2010


Skulle vara intressant att höra vad lärare och elever har att säga om svenskundervisningen.

Börjar själv tänka mer och mer radikalt efter att ha varit inne på goda "låt dom slippa då linjen". Tänk om man istället intensifierade svensk undervisningen, med språkbad och undervisning redan dagis och från första klass.
Plus att elever kunde välja ryska också som tilläggs språk. Kanske istället för franska eller tyska. Ta in spanska och arabiska också.

En hel del finländare flyttar till Sverige och lär sig svenska. Det måste ju vara en aningens lättare om man har en grund, må den vara hur torftig som helst.
Har själv stött på detta fenomen i Sverige.

Har själv pratat med otaliga intelligenta finsk talande finländare om saken och de flesta tycker att det var synd att de inte lärde sig ordentlig svenska. Har också uppfattat att de aldrig haft möjlighet att ens öva upp sin svenska i Finland. Och detta beror ju enbart på att vi svensk talande är för snabba och duktiga på att byta till finska. Eller byter vi p g a rädsla? Skam?

Känner vi skam för att vi tvingar våra vänner lära sig ett språk som man inte ens hör så mycket i i Finland, speciellt södra Finland? Tja, om man inte går till Aktia banken eller Stockmanns.

Satt själv i soffan hemma hos kära pappa på jungfrustigen inte så länge sedan och följde med en av de tydligen otaliga* spårkdebatterna på TV.
Kände mig olustig. Nästan ledsen. Och smått förvirrad. Min pappa som är helt finskspråkig och hans helt finskspråkiga sambo tyckte tydligen att den påtvingade svenskundervisningen bara är skit och ska bort. Jag har alltid känt mig lite kluven till detta, varit inne mer på en lojal ta bort den då linje.
Men nu måste jag säga ifrån, banne mej. Tar in lite punkter:/frågor

A. det är aldrig fel att lära sig något nytt, det kallas allmänbildning
B. en skolelev kan inte välja själv, och skall inte ens ställas inför valet
C. svenska är en bra grund för tex tyska
D. har alltid varit stolt över att Finland är ett tvåspråkigt land, skulle gärna se att vi var ett 3 eller 4 språkligt land officiellt.
E. min bror som är finskspråkig har inte tagit någon skada av svenskan, varför skulle någon annan göra det
F. var har denna debatt sin grund? varför nu?
G. kanske det är sant som Wallin säger: ger vi upp nu försvinner vi så småningom
H. borde inte vi själva, vi svenskspråkiga bli mer öppna och utåtriktade med vårt språk?
I. svenska språket är en stor del av Finland. Om kunskapen om oss försvinner vad gör vi då? Vilka är vi då? det har ju redan skett till en viss del (2006 var jag i ett badhus i nordöstra Finland med min mamma. Vi försökte kränga på mig en baddräkt och diskuterade på svenska hur axelbanden skulle ligga osv. Efter en stund frågade en tant inne i bastun min mor om flickan var utländsk - "onko tuo tyttö ulukolainen". Kära mamma skrattade stort och förklarade att vi pratar svenska med varandra.

Känner att jag måste förtydliga, gå in via ett sidospår: jag känner mig superfinsk trots att jag även pratar svenska. Ibland känner jag mig dock som något av vikande då mina finska vänner utomlands ofta påpekar åt andra att jag är en sånn där som pratar svenska. För det mesta anses det mycket intressant...upplever jag då att jag skulle vara annorlunda än min familj? nehee...men jag upplever ett speciellt starkt band till min mamma - som är min starkaste länk till mitt modersmål. Det är ju hon som har sjungit videvisan åt mig senn jag var liten. Trots att mitt första ord tydligen var ett finskt "mamma", äittä. Se så. Frågar mig själv om jag kommer att känna mig än mer som en främling i mitt hemland pga mitt modersmål om folk inte lär sig svenska i skolor? Undrar vidare om inte kunskapen om oss försvinner så och respekten om "tvånget" försvinner? Vad gör vi då? Blir vi en än mer tystare minoritet? Som i våra hem försiktigt firar Lucia och sjunger modersmålet sång osv osv...


jag återkommer. skall skriva lite på engelska nu. Och sedan lite finska. Kanske prata lite tyska. Jag är nämligen allmänbildad. : )



* har inte bott hemma i Finland sedan år 2000, där av denna okunskap om vad som exakt sker på hemmaplan.

snow blizzard outside, can't sleep. so I think a bit.

can not sleep even if tired.

am thinking about that power point presentation I have been joking about.

perhaps I should make one. it makes sense. it might explain things even to myself. not just to my father and other people who might see it.

like the fact why I left this super job as a photographer.

how things lead to other things and events. how & why one moves, finds herself in new places surrounded by new people and still feeling at home.

as I do.

also thinking about the new work I have done, the great lake.
One friend seemed to appreciate it. as if he recognized something in it. he even laughed a bit at some point.

Another friend said she had watched it several times and that she still felt uncomfortable watching it. that it is so personal. so intimate.
beginning with being pretentious. yes, I agree. that's the meaning somehow.

is it?

where does it exactly become personal?

I mean Im not naked in the footage. And Im not being super sensitive or so.
I am just being quite natural but still aware of the camera at times.

Is it the fact that Im slagging of myself in the voiceover. Saying those things about, ego artist etc. Is that where it becomes personal, even uncomfortable?

well, hell, then its brilliant…

Generation 2:0...

or

Generation 1:0...

which one do I belong to?

I have just read the article "Generation Why?" by Zadie Smith in The New York Review of Books. I feel a bit bad.
She is hitting a sore spot.

Am I living my life on internet? Is my life formed and shaped to fit in? Do I want to create an image of myself for the WWW...
Is it degrading to myself?

Don't I sometimes after meeting a new person go and have a look what I seem like on the internet? my pictures on Facebook, my profile? My web page. Wondering what they might think of me. Wonder if he is ever going to call me...

How fucked up is that?

In the olden days I would have just sat by the telephone...

Women are their own worst enemies

Girls can be mean to other girls, but it is adult women who wish to destroy each other, according to a new book hitting the headlines in America.

Kelly Valen's The Twisted Sisterhood, soon to be published in the UK, reveals that almost 90% of the 3,000-plus women who took part in her survey frequently felt "currents of meanness and negativity emanating from other females".


hmmm....girls. Can this really be the case?

and the most distressing part comes here:


"These secret, social battles are waged, in many cases, by the very same women singing the praises of girl power, feminism, and female friendship in their lives."



Isn't that the ultimate hypocracy? The worst betrayal ever? Or is this also just another way of stopping us from being truly free human beings? As in the Julian Assange case?

Always some ugly capitalist evil powers breathing in our neck?

Anyone?



read article on: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2010/nov/18/women-own-worst-enemies-study

THE GREAT LAKE video 7.14min 2010

Synopsis: we are walking down a path towards a lake in northern Finland. It's midnight. We hear a voice mumbling something in the background. A voiceover describes the situation, over and over again - because she has difficulties doing it correctly. We hear about a persons effort to connect to this place. Later on the camera turns to the slightly drunk protagonist and the voiceover criticizes the action. In the end the subtitles tells us that "she now knows it is not such a big deal". That "she" has learnt to fly.



In The Great Lake I use a private video footage to scrutinize my effort and wish to sense a feeling of belonging.
By creating new voice overs and adding text I re-tell the situation of walking to a familiar lake. I sort of create another narrative of the original material. And as usual I never really come to a logic point where I would have an answer to my hypothesis.
Instead the work changes into a floating state - I give it a poetic ending - which also functions as a political one.
She has learnt to fly. It's a subtle but poetic ending. What do we mean with that? A person who learns to fly is a person who is free. In this case free of boundaries? Free of a past? Or just free of mind?



in my work I draw conclusions. I see connections. I oppose ideas.
I offer more or less strange references.
I explain phenomena. At least I try.
I hand out own theories. Sometimes they are quite naive and banal.
I create visuals, mostly video footage.
I start looking into my mind and the surrounding world that spins around me. I look for clues and create something resembling a script.
I mix up things, I confuse, I recreate my own actions and words.

Sometimes I use games and play as a method. And I try to be funny.
It's often frustrating. But I keep on trying and let the effort become my work. As I see it the outcome is more of a happy ending - it's the process that counts.

At some point the work is done and I look at it and don't know if it's good or bad.

push the button

this idea about thoughts moving as rapidly as the ubahn passing by.

Imagine placing sensors on your head and being able to record the thoughts that way. ¨¨

YOU NEED TO WRITE DOWN ALL SORTS OF EXAMPLES OF THESE THOUGHTS. JUST TRY IT.

also the thing about criticism (w.benjamin about the cannibal). or the thing about that nobody calls themselves intellectuals anymore.

and that criticism always needs a personal starting point.

that you can learn to criticize anything these days, but if its not personal its no good.


more thoughts:

after last nights seminar I came to think that I really wish to have a critical debate.
I.e about this film that I saw recently. Its a film by a good friend. The thing is I did not really like it to be honest. I saw some potential - and I know this person is smart & brilliant . But it was just like a bad tv-show.

Perhaps it was the actors. They were lame sort of TV theater characters. It could have been more weird, more arty somehow.
The scenes were nicely shot. sound was good…but still no.
And the story, sorry it did not feel realistic. And I guess that was not the point but then it was not clear. If it was not supposed to have a realistic feeling it should have been more weird in its visuals and acting performance.

Well, I guess its a first film - and it can only get better. I wish it will!

And so yes, my point was, I wish to talk more. Not just with myself.
(well I do that anyway)

yes, clone me - I could enjoy my own company fully. perhaps even re-produce me without worries, stress and addictions.

just some idea nibbles

in my work I draw conclusions. I see connections. I oppose ideas.
I offer more or less strange references.
I explain phenomena. At least I try.
I hand out own theories. Sometimes they are quite naive and banal.
I create visuals, mostly video footage.
I start looking into my mind and the surrounding world that spins around me. I look for clues and create something resembling a script.
I mix up things, I confuse, I recreate my own actions and words.

At some point the work is done and I look at it and don't know if it's good or bad.

And mostly I think everything is just pointless.


But as W.Allen said in an interview: if you start thinking to much about the meaning of life you wont get anywhere. Or wont have anything done. So instead of thinking I do these things I call artwork. tssss


*Chemical brothers on full volume.

script; today, tomorrow it might change. Again.

i tried to reach Dirk but he did not reply to my question.

Instead I discussed the issue with some other random people. And did my Google research.

I came to the conclusion that in order to even start thinking about roots and belonging one has to migrate. Leave the safe bosom of family.



I am not sure.

Was my effort to connect just another meaningless conservative construction?

(But still; why did I feel the need to connect to this lake in the first place?)
Did I believe I was born from the dark water of the lake or what?

Was it important at all?




Rushdie on Roots, Rootlessness, Migration, on Being Between


"I, too, know something of this immigrant business. I am an emigrant from one country (India) and a newcomer in two (England, where I live, and Pakistan, to which my family moved against my will). And I have a theory that the resentments we mohajirs engender have something to do with our conquest of the force of gravity. We have performed the act of which all men anciently dream, the thing for which they envy the birds; that is to say, we have flown.
"I am comparing gravity with belonging. Both phenomena observably exist: my feet stay on the ground, and I have never been angrier than on the day my father told me he had sold my childhood home in Bombay. But neither is understood. We know the force of gravity, but not its origins; and to explain why we become attached to our birthplaces we pretend that we are trees and speak of roots. Look under your feet. You will not find gnarled growths spouting through the soles. Roots, I sometimes think, are a conservative myth, designed to keep us in our places.
"When individuals come unstuck from their native land, they are called migrants. When nations do the same (Bangladesh), the act is called secession. What is the best thing about migrant peoples are seceded nations? I think it is their hopefulness. . . . And what's the worst thing? It is the emptiness of one's luggage. I'm speaking of invisible suitcases, not the physical, perhaps cardboard, variety containing a few meaning-drained mementoes: we have come unstuck from more than land. We have floated upwards from history from memory, from Time."

looking up in the skies and seeing that,

the clouds move as there'd be some frames missing.

dream 20.10 2010

(uuuh)
have done s.thing bad by mistake. s.thing stupid like breaking s.thing and now will end up in prison for 12months. am preparing for that, packing things, have heard that the prison beds smell bad so I'm looking for my sleeping bag. There is a prison ward around me, he is nice and understanding. everybody around me is nice and understanding. But the strange thing is that I have told this only to 1-2 friends but suddenly everybody is there to console me which pisses me of. I even get text messages wishing me luck.
Well, we arrive to the prison. And I'm told that I cannot bring my dog with me. My dog who is behaving really badly btw. I apologize for my lack of dog training. He is not really an Alpha Male. Im in tears because I know he will now forget me. I'm walking in the prison garden (which is full of trees and plants) when another inmate confronts me and says I'm being treated differently than the others and that I will suffer because of that. I tell her to calm down and take her in my arms and hug her. Telling her that we should be friends.she softens.
Then I get the news that I only need to stay for 1-3 months. I'm really happy for that but its a bit bad as I was going to a residency for these months and am wondering if I can postpone the residency. then I realize that the prison time will be sort of like a residency and I ask my mother to bring all my sketch books, pencils and other books. I'm gathering a huge pile of materials to bring with me.
It does not feel as a such a bad place anymore. And I'm already joking around in the cafeteria. My mother says she'll come around with my dog every other day. He wont forget me. And my mother says that she is not angry with me - the same thing could have happened to her.

After all this not a bad dream even if it has its stressful moments.

hoppas det är bra med dig.

Får frågan : hoppas det är bra med dig.
(den får man ju ofta, men hur svarar man. oftast. allt väl. inget o klaga på. Har varit bättre mm. själv då?)

vad svarar man då?

när är det inte bra? hur är det när det inte är bra?
lite halvbra. halvdåligt. halvskit. riktigt skit.

då det inte är bra är typ då man är riktigt sjuk och har bara 20€ kvar på kontot och inget jobb i sikte.

så, tja nu är väl allt egentligen skitbra.

om jag bortser från en rejäl begynnande alkoholism.

Men alla tror ju bara att jag skämtar. Även jag själv.

Men tänk om det inte är så. Tänk om jag om ett år är helt nerdekad och hänger på Hermanplatz med hundgubbarna.

Då har jag i varje fall en hund.

attention span on mosquito level

what can I do?

here we are trying to figure things out about our lives?
and in the meantime taking time to also worry about the bigger picture - and realizing time after time that we are not doing enough. that we are doing nothing.

Bonus thought: World war III coming up. Nice one. 10 points extra if it's a nuclear war.

Think about this word then: community. local community.

what can I do about or within my local community

(this dyslexia is killing me - I feel worthless - again turning at your self…)

I left my local community. I decided to give a fuck about it.

or?

to be honest I don't know if anyone cares but I did do something, I worked with a gallery project for 3 years. I worked really hard. I thought it was huge. Back then. Now I just say I contributed to my local art scene. But that's just art. Culture. What good does that do? It's not clinging to nuclear buildings shouting your lungs out. Not standing in front of masses of scray soldiers how are about to invade an innocent village. It's just a bunch of exhibitions...openings and wine.

Now I have a new local art scene in Berlin. It's so much bigger. Actually it's huge. There's so much going on that I can't even sometimes bother. Do I need to contribute? Do I want to contribute?

What is the option? What am I doing otherwise?

Ok. What am I doing? Be honest now.

- I'm a lot at home by my computer. I write. I have a blog. Some of my texts become voiceovers for videowork. Video which I don't really even know if I should call videowork as it's mostly quite simple footage shot in 1 shot.Irrelevant narratives.

- listen to music. of course on my computer.

FUCK. Now I lost it. My attention span is shorter than a mosquitos.

What did I want to say again? what was my point? Did I have a point?

I was standing smoking in the kitchen talking out loud. I believed I said something brilliant. And I remembered I had totally forgotten about Chris Isaak.
I returned to my room and sat down to write down my thoughts and got carried away. Starting the usual whining. Self blame. Self criticism. Pity.

And then zero. Nill. Nothing.

This is sort of a big issue. It might mean I have some sort of a disorder. ADHD.

I can not focus. as I said already my attention span is on mosquito level.

I guess the point is that I need to solve this issue of contribution.

What do others do about it?

Do they?

something old something new

poler man slits emellan. poler jag slits emellan.

jag säger ofta HÖGT: vad fan håller jag på med?

Varför i helvete kan jag inte vara som dom andra o bara nöja mig med att bo i mitt hem, hitta nån bra karl få kids osv.

- Nina, vad fan är det för fel i det?

Nej, det är inget fel i det.

Men jag är inte redo. Jag är rädd. Jag är rädd för att få panik o dra o skada alla runtom mej.

Jag har en underlig nomad i mig. Eller nej - kanske nomad, men så här är det:

när jag var ung - då bestämde jag mig för att åka runt. jag skulle inte bli som dom andra barnen. jag skulle ut i världen. Jag svor en ed på att jag skulle göra så.

senn fastnade jag i Sverige. i nästan 10 år.

Inget fel i det. det har varit underbara 10 år. med underbara människor runtom mig. människor som finns kvar.

Men, detdär jag lovade mig själv...jag har känt mig besviken på mej själv. Att jag inte gjort som jag lovade mig själv.

och när jag åkte till Montreal 2009 vaknade nåt till liv i mej. Jag började förstå saker som jag längtat efter att få vara med om:
egentligen spelar det ingen roll var man är.

"efter samtalet med Juliana om Europa versus USA och speciellt européers nedlåtande syn på USA blev jag berörd. touched.

någon knut öppnades. i varje fall lite.

there was something unlocking in my head. an old stubborn way of thinking had to give away - and that's great. Everybody should celebrate that.

See, I think I've been secretly thinking stupid things about the European greatness.

But that's not right. not at all. that way of rationalizing is shit. complete shite.

Well, yeah there are great things, people, traditions, foods here but so is there all over.

Borders suck. At least mental ones."

ja, och sedan Paris samma år:
funny, it's like from time to time I don't feel I'm in Paris. Or to be more correct I don't feel away from home. And when I hear the tourist boat pass I look at it with amazement: thinking, wow, where am I? Am I in Paris???? what, you must be joking.

It's a similar feeling I had in New Foundland. While being there I'd constantly believe I'm somewhere in Ireland , Scotland or northern England. And when I'd see the logo "american standard" on the bathroom sink I'd be a bit perplexed - thinking - weird, why would they have that here?
And after a second remember - oh, yes, this is Northern America...

Today I almost told Pauline that I thoght this city is very French - uh, well of course- it's fucking Paris!

What is going on in my mind?

Somehow this makes me feel even more sane, I'd dare to say, even healthy.
All places are home to me.
Good.

Och nu är jag i Berlin...fortfarande på min grande tour eller letar jag efter en plats som känns som hemma (såklart jag ofta tänker på HEMMA, Helsingfors...)

there I was walking on the streeet of a unfamilar city,
but feeling quite nice
smiling to myself
I was happy

i had left all safety. but i was not uneasy at all.
I felt quite free.

I was going to all these openings. parties. meeting all kinds of new people
and not feeling strange about it at all

but still. or still, I was feeling somewhat tied up.


But just realizing that made me a bit more free. I hope.

Because perhaps its the idea of that so called fulfilled life that was holding on to me . and it was exactly that that is tying me up/down. making me feel empty. that my life is not perfect, that I'm missing out on something. That I can not fully enjoy my new experiences. like a needle pushing into me...

our lives on internet

this is something I've been predicting alreay before Facebook Twitter etc. I knew that I would be spending my life for a great deal by the computer & internet.
But I did not know that all my issues would be solved & dealt with there.
Like all these astrology mails...I must have signed up for something by mistake. Its not really annoying mostly amusing.
And as I love seeing patterns and strange connections with most things that happend and surround me, well, then even these funny mails fit in.

How on earth can they ask the questions I'm asking myself?

and yes, please, its the right time to laugh. I'm such a silly Sex & the city woman. Of course not in posh New York. Rather crack whore chic Berlin.

anyways, this is a littel example of the stuff that amuses me every day:

Dear Nina,
Still clinging to a relationship that's over? Sometimes it seems you can't let go of someone, no matter how hard you try. Find out what he's really thinking -- and if you should wait for him or move on -- with a free psychic love reading. New customers, choose your special offer: Get the first 3 minutes free, or enjoy 10 minutes for only $1.99!



would anybody pay for that?

ANNAN

SD har fått mycket röster för att folket är missnöjda i Sverige. Och det är dom för att vi har haft en moderat höger regering som påstår sig vilja fixa allt men i verkligheten har gjort det svårare för låginkomsttagare att klara sig.

Så allt har blivit jättefel. Missnöjet har lett till att SD fick så mycket röster. Dom missnöjda borde ha röstat på tex miljöpartiet eller socialdemokraterna istället.

Men varför blev det inte så?

Antagligen just for att dessa partier inte har vågat diskutera problem som finns. Men å andra sidan vet jag att Mona Sahlin har talat väldigt mycket om segregationen. Men den finns inte ute på landsbygden. Och det är där SD fått mest röster…

Så, en klassiker, då rätt väl bemedlade folk får det sämre skyller de allting på invandrare. Invandrare som inget hellre vill än att få jobba och smälta in just som det är. Få svenska vänner, integreras, dela med sig av sina erfarenheter och ta del av andras. Men så har det inte blivit för att Svergie är segregerat och det är svårt att få "bra" jobb om man har ett lustigt efternamn. Det är nog att heta Lassila.

Det är också svårt att få en bostad med ett lustigt namn. Och ännu svårare om man inte har en fast tjänst i kombination med ett lustigt namn. Och så ser det ju ut för alla oss med lustiga namn. Det är svårt för oss att få någonting över huvudtaget hur mycket vi än kämpar. Även om man "bara" heter Lassila. Efter 9 år har jag ändå lyckats få ett deltidsjobb och en hyreslägenhet, men allt tack vare mer eller mindre skumma faktorer. Arbete för att jag kan finska. Bostad för att jag är en bildkonstnär.
Otaliga gånger har jag sökt arbeten där man speciellt efterfrågat ansökningar av folk med annan etnisk bakgrund än svensk. Kopij, Carillo, Sederowsky, Lassila….vi har alla sökt samma jobb och alltid fick Anna Lundgren jobbet.

Det är inte Annas fel men man blir sur på henne.

Dethär är verklighet och jag ljuger inte. Inte ett ord.

trots att jag inte är den "värsta" sortens invandrare, jag är ju bara en liten finne. en acne plump i Sverige.

Men jag gillar ju ändå Sverige. och det gör Kopij och Carillo också. Jätte mycket!

Men vi förblir alltid där med stämpeln "annan" i pannan.

and then this Kafka story...

An Imperial Message
by Franz Kafka
Translation by Ian Johnston


The Emperor—so they say—has sent a message, directly from his death bed, to you alone, his pathetic subject, a tiny shadow which has taken refuge at the furthest distance from the imperial sun. He ordered the herald to kneel down beside his bed and whispered the message in his ear. He thought it was so important that he had the herald speak it back to him. He confirmed the accuracy of verbal message by nodding his head. And in front of the entire crowd of those witnessing his death—all the obstructing walls have been broken down, and all the great ones of his empire are standing in a circle on the broad and high soaring flights of stairs—in front of all of them he dispatched his herald. The messenger started off at once, a powerful, tireless man. Sticking one arm out and then another, he makes his way through the crowd. If he runs into resistance, he points to his breast where there is a sign of the sun. So he moves forwards easily, unlike anyone else. But the crowd is so huge; its dwelling places are infinite. If there were an open field, how he would fly along, and soon you would hear the marvellous pounding of his fist on your door. But instead of that, how futile are all his efforts. He is still forcing his way through the private rooms of the innermost palace. Never will he win his way through. And if he did manage that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to fight his way down the steps, and, if he managed to do that, nothing would have been achieved. He would have to stride through the courtyards, and after the courtyards through the second palace encircling the first, and, then again, through stairs and courtyards, and then, once again, a palace, and so on for thousands of years. And if he finally burst through the outermost door—but that can never, never happen—the royal capital city, the centre of the world, is still there in front of him, piled high and full of sediment. No one pushes his way through here, certainly not someone with a message from a dead man. But you sit at your window and dream of that message when evening comes.

http://www.kafka-online.info/an-imperial-message.html

just as I was feeling better I receive this email...

Dear Nina,

What is your purpose for this lifetime? Are you on the right path? Are you making the right decisions? Did you know that the placement of the Moon in your birth chart indicates karmic tendencies that you carry over from your past lives, and that the Sun in your chart reveals your life purpose and the lessons you need to learn? Let your complete Destiny Reading show you how to keep in harmony with your life's purpose. Order through this email and you'll save 20%! Try a free sample reading before you purchase, for a preview of this powerful reading.

pointless. what should I do. blablahblah. eating in bed.

reading about artcollectors made me depressed. left me empty.
i got to think about my own work - realizing its pointless. I've said it before. many times. it's old news. but I also felt that most of the images of art in this little berlin art magazine also was fucking pointless.

I looked up at my Berlin ceiling and sighed. There must be something else I could do. Something more valuable. I got up and smoked a cigarette while I toasted some bread. Comfort eating. WHat the hell if I end up fat. Nobody cares about me anyway. I sat down and smoked and hoped I would remember my thoughts about this art magazine situation. I lay down in bed with my old laptop and started typing.

What else could I do? I typed. Arial. 12p.

What else? Or if I would start by looking critically at my own work. What was it all about? Really. Was there anything of importance in them. Because I like that sentence or question. What is important. or. What is important?

I recalled something I said out loud back in the kitchen by the table while smoking.
I did not start making art because I thought I would sell stuff. I was never interested in selling or buying things. If that would have been the case I would have studied finance. I would have started my own business. A company.

Yes, someone in this magazine said: When bankers meet they talk about art. And when artists meet they talk about money.

If you dont have it you talk about it. As with dreams. If you dont have it you dream about it. And talk about it. What you would do if you had it.

if Im hungry I think about what I'd like to eat. If I dont have money I think about what I would buy if I had some. If I dont have a man in my life I make up fantazies about them. I dont have a dog - so I envy people who have one.

thoughts sorted. Feeling better. more important.

Surprise - I'm angry!

yep. sure.

it's one of those days when things just fuck up. at least seem to fuck up. But after a while when its getting darker, after a glass of wine it all seems better. Why wince over higher rents, expensive dentist bills, disappointing love affairs when a family of bears will be killed just because they are talking a walk somewhere in the woods, but a bit to close to another species.
That fucking species that invented nuclear power,weapons - that spreads disease, pollution, hatred and evil. That is by 80% full of evil and himself.

that's all for today

(and by the way a friend of mine once said, something really smart - a disappointing affair is like a classic cold, it hits you bad, you suffer but you'll always get over it in a couple of days. With swollen runny eyes, yes.)

(and for the record: my teeth are fucking perfect!)

SURVIVAL KIT

SURVIVAL KIT FILM PROGRAMM
September 4, Dirty Deal Cafe
19:30 – 24:00 Films by Isabell Spengler in RIGA WHITE NIGHT program
Screenings: 19:30 A, 20:15 B, 21:00 A, 21:45 B, 22:30 A, 23:15 B/ Entrance free
September 5, Cinema Riga
19:30 Isabell Spengler’s Talk "Surviving Hollywood" & selected films
September 6
16:30 Tanja Ostojić’s Talk “Crossing Borders: Development of Diverse Artistic Strategies”
In EU House
19:30 Cinema Riga
Open Studio of New Belgrade Chronicle: Gazela Settlement
Tanja Ostojić, 2006, 6’
Naine - a woman
Eléonore de Montesquiou, D/ EST 2009, 15’10
Our Pride and Glory
Meggie Schneider, D 2009, 13’
Critical Review on Icelandic Power Structures
Nina Lassila, 2009, 15’
September 7, Cinema Riga Picture from “Our Pride and Glory”, M. Schneider
19:30 Rien ne vaut que la vie, mais la vie même ne vaut rien
Brigitta Kuster & Moise Merlin Mabouna, D 2003, 24’
Sans Papiers
Tanja Ostojić / David Rych, 2004, 14’
Shedding Details
Laura Horelli / Gerhard Friedl, 2009, 25’
September 8, Cinema Riga
19:30 Passing Drama
Angela Melitopoulos, D 1999, 66’
September 9, Cinema Riga
19:30 I Will Arrange Everything. It Will Be The Best Film Ever.
Gitte Villesen, D 2010, 45’
September 10, Cinema Riga
19:30 New York Memories
Rosa von Praunheim, D 2010, 89’
September 11, Cinema Riga
19:30 I Will Arrange Everything. It Will Be The Best Film Ever. (Repeated)
Gitte Villesen, D 2010, 45’
Installation s in EU House (September 6-10, from 10:00 – 18:00)
Kreenholm (part 1-3)
Eléonore de Montesquiou, D/EE 2009
Metal
Eléonore de Montesquiou, D/EE 2009, 6’30

true love will find you in the end...Daniel Johnston...

what a beautiful song, and I enjoy it without weed (for the fucking record, I'm not on weed I'm watching Weeds on tv).

...wonder why I bother getting into debates with silly people.
about different topics. Probably because the topics are important.
But why are there so many stupid jealous evil bastards on these forums?

What's bugging them?

How can we change them?

Jag menar. Jösses flickor! Vad är det för fel på vissa?

Var kommer all dendär negativa energin ifrån. varför vill man inte se lösningar. varför bara tjata och skuld belägga. Varför alltid insistera på att finna en syndabock? Varför inte rotera och lufta till lite?

Nu ska jag inte påstå att jag är fröken idel sunshine.

nej, jag är cynsisk djävel till kärring ibland.

Men, inte när det gäller viktiga ting.

What does the heart say? Why not follow?

and about licking...

Now when your dog tries to lick your face, you should have a better idea of what he's trying to communicate. He may simply be hungry and asking for a snack. Obviously, you won't regurgitate some food at that signal, but you might respond affectionately and perhaps give him a treat, such as a dog biscuit. He may be communicating submission and pacification-the adult version of goodwill in puppies. Basically, he is saying, "Look, I'm just like a puppy who is dependent on big adults like you. I need your acceptance and help." Alternatively, he may be showing respect and deference to you as a more dominant dog in his pack..."

Excerpted from How to Speak Dog
© Stanley Coren All rights reserved
Reprinted by permission
Dr. Stanley Coren is a professor of Psychology.
He has written 6 books on dogs and is the host
of the television show Good Dog!

Wagging tails - dog tails - why dogs wag their tails

Wagging tails - dog tails - why dogs wag their tails
(Excerpt from How to Speak Dog)
Dr. Stanley Coren

"....In some ways, tail-wagging serves the same functions as our human smile, polite greeting, or nod of recognition. Smiles are social signals, and human beings seem to reserve most of their smiles for social situations, where somebody is around to see them. Sometimes, vicarious social situations, as when watching television or occasionally when thinking about somebody special, can trigger a smile. For dogs, the tail wag seems to have the same properties. A dog will wag its tail for a person or another dog. It may wag its tail for a cat, horse, mouse, or perhaps even a butterfly. But when the dog is by itself, it will not wag its tail to any lifeless thing. If you put a bowl of food down, the dog will wag its tail to express its gratitude to you. In contrast, when the dog walks into a room and finds its bowl full, it will approach and eat the food just as happily, but with no tail-wagging other than perhaps a slight excitement tremor. This is one indication that tail-wagging is meant as communication or language. In the same way that we don't talk to walls, dogs don't wag their tails to things that are not apparently alive and socially responsive.

A dog's tail speaks volumes about his mental state, his social position, and his intentions. How the tail came to be a communication device is an interesting story.

The dog's tail was originally designed to assist the dog in its balance. When a dog is running and has to turn quickly, it throws the front part of its body in the direction it wants to go. Its back then bends, but its forward velocity is such that the hindquarters will tend to continue in the original direction. Left unchecked, this movement might result in the dog's rear swinging widely, which could greatly slow its rate of movement or even cause the dog to topple over as it tries to make a high-speed turn. The dog's tail helps to prevent this. Throwing the tail in the same direction that the body is turning serves as a sort of counterweight, which reduces the tendency to spin off course. Dogs will also use their tails when walking along narrow surfaces. By deliberately swinging the tail to one side or the other in the direction opposite to any tilt in the body, the dog helps maintain its balance, much the same way a circus tightrope walker uses a balance bar. Quite obviously, then, the tail has important uses associated with specific movements. However, the tail is not particularly important on flat surfaces, when a dog is simply standing around or walking at normal speeds. At these times, it becomes available for other uses. Evolution again seized an opportunity and now adapted the tail for communication purposes.

It is something of a surprise to many people to learn that puppies don't wag their tails when they are very young. The youngest puppy I ever saw systematically wagging its tail was eighteen days old, and both the breeder and I agreed that this was quite unusual. Although there are some differences among the various breeds, the scientific data suggests that, on average, by thirty days of age, about half of all puppies are tail wagging, and the behavior is usually fully established by around forty nine days of age.

Why does it take so long for the puppy to start wagging its tail? The answer comes from the fact that puppies begin wagging their tails when it is necessary for purposes of social communication. Until they are about three weeks of age, puppies mostly eat and sleep. They are not interacting significantly with their littermates other than curling up together to keep warm as they sleep or crowding together to nurse. They are physically capable of wagging their tails at this time, but they don't.

By the age of six or seven weeks (when we start to see tail-wagging behaviors on a regular basis), the puppies are socially interacting with one another. Most of the social interactions in puppies consist of what psychologists call "play behaviors." It is through playing that puppies learn about their own abilities, how they can interact with their environment, and most important, how to get along with other individuals. A puppy learns that if it bites a littermate, it is apt to be bitten back, and perhaps the game it was playing might be terminated by its now angry playmate. It is at this point that the puppy also starts to learn dog language. It is not clear to what degree these emerging social communications are prewired, but learning is clearly needed to refine the use and interpretation of these signals. The pups learn to connect their own signals and the signals provided by their mother and their siblings with the behaviors that come next. They also begin to learn that they can use signals to indicate their intentions and to circumvent any conflicts. This is where and when the tail-wagging behavior begins.

One place where conflicts are likely to occur is during feeding. When a puppy wants to suckle its mother, it must come very close to its littermates as it crowds in to find her teats. Remember that this puppy is now coming close to the very same individuals that might have been nipping, jostling, or chasing him a few minutes earlier. To indicate that this is a peaceful situation, and to calm any fearful or aggressive response by the other puppies when they too are pushing toward the mother's teat, the puppy begins to wag its tail. Tail-wagging in the puppy then serves as a truce flag to its littermates. Later on, puppies will begin to wag their tails when they are begging food from the adult animals in their pack or family. The puppies come close, to lick the face of the adult, and they signal their peaceful intentions by tail-wagging. It thus becomes clear that the reason that very young puppies don't wag their tails is that they don't yet need to send appeasement signals to other dogs. When communication between dogs is needed, they rapidly learn the appropriate tail signals.

Tail language actually has three different channels of information: position, shape, and movement. Movement is a very important aspect of the signal, since dog's eyes are much more sensitive to movement than they are to details or colors. This makes a waving or wagging tail very visible to other dogs.

Evolution has used a few additional tricks to make the tails even more visible. Wild canines, like wolves, often have great bushy tails, which are easily seen at a distance. In addition, many tails are specially colored to facilitate recognition of tail signals. Often, the underside of the tail is lighter, to make the high-tailed signals quite visibly different from signals involving the tucking of tails into a lower position. Many canines will also have distinctive markings to make the tail tip more visible. Usually, there is a lightening toward the tail tip, or perhaps simply a white mark which defines the tip of the tail. In other canines, the tail tip is noticeably darker. Either of these two color contrasts helps to make the end of the tail more visible, and this make movement and position cues easier to recognize...."

fortsättning om skelning mm

tänker fortfarande på detdär med min skelning.
att folk nog missuppfattar mig ofta. när jag tex tittar på deras hund(ar) så tror dom att jag ser på dem. hm. men det är lättare med hundar. det har alltid känts som att hundar fattar vem jag är. Ibland undrar jag om dom ser mig som en i gänget - som en hund. we chew the same bones.

har gått in på dethär ämnet förr. skrev en text som hette "why I like dogs", nehe, jag kom ihåg fel där. här är den

When are sad people happy? Or what makes sad people happy?



I always feel good when I see a dog. Dogs are good. Generally their minds are not fucked up like ours. That's why they make me feel good. They just wag their tails, sniff around and bark occasionally. I might be wrong but the feeling I get by seeing a dog is good and calm so what else can I think? People make me nervous. I can't trust them. You never know what's going on in their minds.



Usually I don't get good vibes when watching "happy families". I don't believe their happiness is true or then the sight of them just bores me, or even worse, sometimes it scares the shit out of me. This is obviously an age problem. What else could it be? Everything is explained with something, the fear of getting old, fear or dying, fear of vanishing.



I'm not extremely sad but I can be very melancholic from time to time. I also feel that I'm afraid of a lot of things. I never feel empty or tired. I feel restless and angry. Full of thoughts, ideas bursting inside me. I feel that this world steals my freedom, it steals my precious time. I feel I'm taking part in a long game of monopoly and that I can't get out or quit. And if I would quit I wouldn't know where to go, except heaven if there is one. This "not knowing situation" makes me sad. I understand the situation very well but I don't know the solution nor do I have an explanation. It's like understanding eternity. It's impossible, but you still try and when you get tired you get sad, some people call this melancholia. Some philosophers even divided people into four categories according to their personalities. One of them was the melancholic one. Saturn influenced these people strongly.



You could say they are nostalgic dreamers but I believe it's more complex than that.



I don't have any explanations yet, nor am I a professor in psychology, astronomy or philosophy. I'm simply a curious artist. I'm not looking for a remedy or trying to get cured, because the feelings I have make my life exiting and even worth living.


ok. nu handlade den texten inte så värst mycket om hundar. Plus att jag nog har förändrats lite på vissa punkter. Som det med lyckliga familjer, numera avundas jag dom mer eller mindre. det beror på. Om dom är sånadär Latte familjer - då blir jag mer avskräckt. Men om dom har en tatuering eller en hund eller bara ser så där lämpligt coolt trashiga ut. om dom dricker en öl. om dom inte tramsar för mycket.

ok. satan också. om dom ser ut som att en av dom kunde vara jag.

där kom det. nu har jag sagt det. ja, ja. jag vill ju också. vadå? uppleva lycka med ett gäng folk man kallar familj.

det var ju lite nära här ett tag men kortslottet rasade. tack och lov får jag väl säga nu i efterhand. ridå liksom. ridå for the fucking madman. han som var allt det där fantastiska man trodde men som sedermera och rätt kvickt faktiskt började droppa ned sina aggressiva bomber på mig. som tur skrek jag senn NEJ.

efter det tänkte jag länge att hund får det bli.

just some thoughts on everyday stuff

when reading about Fransesca Woodmans "Some Disordered Interior Geometries" I do get the feeling that I understand her. I also get the feeling that I'm a liar. A coward. Not doing the work I'd want to. More sort of doing the work I'm expected to.
I have got to take time, relax and think things over. What was important again?

Also reading a book I must have started reading years ago, but at that point found it dull or something. It's Immortality by Milan Kundera.
This time I got into it quickly. But during the first chapter I got angry with the writer. What a fucking chauvinist. Asshole. Writing these dreadful comments about the older woman by the pool. I felt tired and a bit disappointed. Betrayed.
But after some days I decided to go on reading. Trying to neglect the chauvinism. And well, I've got to say that this book contains some interesting thoughts. For example this thought about the beauty of cities. wait. I've got to take the book out and find the exact words: (Avenarius) there isn't a single angle of view from which cars wont be visible from the back, from the front, on both sides. Their omnipresent noise corrodes every moment of contemplation like an acid. Cars have made the former beauty of cities invisible.

well. that was a quite simple thing I fell for. There is more. Like the section where Goethe and Hemingway meet after death and discuss their positions. And their image. It's nice. It's a wonderful tempting idea. And yes, I do enjoy the book now.

I should read so much more instead of watching i.e Weeds. It just makes me want to start smoking weed.

Another thing that buggs me, or bugged me for some hours was that a friend that I consider a friend told me that my eyes or my glance is horrible. It's a traumatic thing. Yes, I do squint. And yes, I have even been to see a doctor about it. Because somebody in my past thought it was difficult to speak to me. I guess he sought perfection...well,the doctor said "Nina, you wont go blind. No need to worry. This operation can be done - but in 95% of the cases the squinting comes back."

So I'm a fucking squinter. And soon making a squinters united T-shirt.

So bugger of those who have a problem with it.




B245-DES185
Review Of Immortality, by Milan Kundera
Copyright © by Dan Schneider, 10/7/05

Immortality is probably the last novel by Kundera that shows him at his best. This book, translated by Peter Kussi, released in 1990, is the last of a trilogy that includes the great The Book Of Laughter And Forgetting, and The Unbearable Lightness Of Being. While Immortality is not a great book, and not in the class of those other two books, it is certainly a good book that continues Kundera’s metafictional ride through the 20th Century.
The nuts and bolts plot is about two French sisters, Agnes and Laura, and the man they are involved with- Paul. Except that none of them are real- they are the fictive inventions of the metafictional Milan Kundera who, after an old lady motions to a swimming instructor at a Paris spa, somehow becomes infatuated with the name Agnes, and decides to write a novel called Immortality. He says, ‘At the time, that gesture aroused in me immense, inexplicable nostalgia, and this nostalgia gave birth to the woman I call Agnes.’ Of course, there are detours- whole sections of the book that are philosophic musings between literary figures like Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Ernest Hemingway. Also along for the ride is Professor Avenarius, a possibly real character who has been metafictionalized, who consults with Kundera on the progress of his novel, and whom Kundera rewards with a copy of his earlier novel Life Is Elsewhere. If this seems convolutes it is, and a bit unnecessary, although the more straight-forward passages in which literary and real world heroes come and go are better, and the philosophizing is first rate.
In many ways Kundera has taken what started with Vonnegut- the metafictive realm- and moved it to its next level. However, this book is not on a par with his two earlier masterworks, and the utter narrative convolutions are the book’s undoing, what separates it from them. Where they are fresh and playful this novel, at times, seems on the verge of collapsing upon its own cutesiness. Also, the lives of the four ‘real fictive’ characters never grabs ahold of the reader like those in the earlier books. Yet, overall, this is balanced by the great ideas put into life, death, art, and immortality.
But, this is not a book for the would be Kunderaphile to start with. Its convolutions may put them off from reading other of his works, and this book also marked the last gasp of greatness, as Kundera, since then, seems to merely be aping his former greatness, as his polypersonaic skills have faltered and he’s become much more generic and predictable in both forms and ideas. Where once Kundera’s interruptions of story were whimsical and refreshing, even by this novel, they seem more affective than effective, and his characters less individuals than personifications of themes. Agnes is not really Agnes, but a symbol of the human yearn for deathlessness, which then is rehashed by Goethe and his lover Bettina von Arnim- a woman who would nowadays be classified as a groupie of the rich and famous. Here is the symbolized Agnes:
She walked around the pool toward the exit. She passed the lifeguard, and after she had gone some three or four steps beyond him, she turned her head, smiled, and waved to him. At that instant I felt a pang in my heart! That smile and that gesture belonged to a twenty-year-old girl! Her arm rose with bewitching ease. It was as if she were playfully tossing a brightly colored ball to her lover. That smile and that gesture had charm and elegance, while the face and the body no longer had any charm. It was the charm of a gesture drowning in the charmlessness of the body. But the woman, though she must of course have realized that she was no longer beautiful, forgot that for the moment. There is a certain part of all of us that lives outside of time. Perhaps we become aware of our age only at exceptional moments and most of the time we are ageless. In any case, the instant she turned, smiled, and waved to the young lifeguard (who couldn’t control himself and burst out laughing), she was unaware of her age. The essence of her charm, independent of time, revealed itself for a second in that gesture and dazzled me. I was strangely moved. And then the word Agnes entered my mind. Agnes. I had never known a woman by that name.

Professor Avenarius, to use another example, is not a professor- even if he really exists- so much as Kundera’s own rebellious streak, for this man’s great joy is puncturing automobile tires, which are seen as enablers to the destruction of the real by the phony- i.e.- modern civilization.
Of course, these merely symbolic characters are not symbols in their realm, and when the Professor puncture’s Agnes’s husband’s, Paul’s, tires he is delayed in getting to a hospital after Agnes has been in a car accident, after swerving to avoid a would-be suicide. She dies minutes before Paul’s arrival. She joins the already dead, like Goethe and Hemingway, who moan on about the curse of their immortality, for, as Hemingway bitches, ‘Instead of reading my books, they're writing books about me.’ Yet, it’s these more overt declamations, that are so rare in The Book Of Laughter And Forgetting and The Unbearable Lightness Of Being, which infest Immortality with too much didactic preening. Part 6, the Rubens chapter, which stands alone and apart from the rest of the book, does not work, and is an example of where Kundera starts going wrong. It is a tangent without necessity- in short, it’s excess for the sake of filling out a novel that, at 345 pages, is too long, and was in need of trimming, not padding. Too much of the book never fully coalesces. In his two great novels they do, even though that coalescence is not necessary.
And while I reiterate the fact that this is Kundera’s best book, after his two masterworks, there is only so much breaking of the fourth wall that is needed to convey the metafictive nature of tales, in general, and this one specifically. Sometimes walls are not only necessary, but enough.

greg. gregorius

greg. gregorius

min älskade vän. min vän i över 16 år.
min vän som minns hur svårt jag har haft det. min vän som alltid slickat mig på kinden.
Min älskade Gregorius von Leavenworth. Grand Old Man.

Jag visste att du är gammal. Jag har vetat det länge. Men du har alltid varit en del av mej. Min familj. Nu är du borta. Din fysiska fina lurviga kropp är borta.

Du har alltid vartit den finaste fina hund som finns. Efter min Brutus.


Så om jag får lov. Det känns rätt nu, kan jag. Kan jag kanske få en vän.
En liten Bertha Gorgeus? Efter dig o Brutus. Mina fina herrar. Dom bästa djävla terriers som finns. Dom bästa finaste vänner en Nina kan ha.

jag sa att jag inte skulle gråta.

Men jag gör det.

Jag har gråtit hela dagen. Jag vet att jag kommer att sakna dig så. dendär gården kommer inte att vara samma nu när du är borta. Jag minns ditt skall. Din bossighet.
Nu är du borta.


dom säger att du bara är en hund.

men för mig är du mer än det.

ja, jag vet att du hade ett bra liv. det var nog så. Jag vet det.

life

I say: life is like tetris...at the end the colorful pieces start coming way to fast and there's a huge chaos of disorganized piles of stuff...and then you just give up...saying fuck it...or?

AT THE MOMENT IN SEVERE CHOCK FROM THE NEWS THAT A CITY IN SWEDEN IS GOING TO CLOSE DOWN ITS ONLY MUSEUM OF CONTEMPORARY ART.

jag vill kallas nordisk...

min sk nationella identitet börjar mer o mer kännas som ett dilemma för mig. jag har vridit o vänt på det och har nog kommit på en lösning men frågan kvarstår; varför ska det vara så stort? eller är det ens det? är det jag som förstorar upp något?

ok. bakgrund till frågan.


jag är finsk en medborgare. år 2000 flyttade jag till Sverige, mer eller mindre på heltid. jag är en bildkonstnär. i många sammanhang beskrivs jag som finsk och i rätt många också som svensk konstnär. själv föredrar jag att beskriva mig som nordisk. Bla för att jag har varit verksam i hela norden på ett sätt eller annat. ja, även baltikum. jag har vänner från hela norden och baltikum.
2009 åkte jag till Berlin, nu är det 2010 och jag känner att jag inte vill bo kvar i Sverige. Men jag vill inte förlora min svenska identitet. har jag rätt till den efter alla dessa år som jag varit verksam där? har jag rätt att få vara lite svensk?

det tynger mig.

jag vill kunna bo i tex Berlin och ändå känna mig helt nordisk. även på papper. dethär är ju också en ekonomisk fråga. jag har varit verksam både i finland och sverige. Och fått erkännande och stipendier i bägge länder. Det borde ju inte vara en knivig fråga. Eller? är det det?

Jag känner ju tex skotska människor som bor här i berlin, de stöds av både brittiska och tyska fonder numera.

En tid man investerart någonstans borde inte gå till spillo.

Således ansöker jag om svenskt medborgarskap och blir en finsk svensk medborgare. det är egentligen rätt naturligt då jag är född i Finland men har svenska som modersmål.

Och efter denna passning kan jag bo och verka var jag vill.

EXPERIMENT 5:10

Raumerweiterungshalle April 29th 2010 Berlin

All participants were asked to bring a picture of someone (alive & kicking) they have an empathic relationship with.

After a a relaxation exercise the participants were given instructions on how to proceed with focusing on and connecting to the person on the picture that they had brought along.

The idea is simple. By focusing and connecting to a person on a photograph there might be an incoming telephone call or another way of connection. If this does not happend one can also make contact to the person on the picture by calling them to check wether the target person was thinking of them.

After the event the participants were asked to let me know if their focusing had proved to work. Here are two results from the event:

hallo nina,
i was in your performance last night, short dark hair, red shirt....
so...it really happened to me, it worked! the woman on my picture
wrote me an email directly after the ceremony in the halle, i just
received it. we didnt have contact for lets say one week, so its
really a bit funny....

S got a "sign" from the person she was focusing on. They had not been in touch for months. The person wrote something to S on Facebook.

I also brought a photograph with me, and tried to connect to my brother Jussi in Finland. After the exercises I made a telephone call to him, but he had not been thinking about me at all. He was more surprised that I called. So perhaps I'm not such a good sender, more of a receiver.

TheMobileBox - "privatarkiv 08/05 2009 - 17/05 2010"

TSSK Reality Check Trondheim Norge

Med utgångspunkter i Trondheims statsarkiv söker konstnärskollektivet
upp platser i det offentliga rummet. Genom interventioner konfronterar
de nuet med historiska dokument och i samtal med förbipasserande
aktiveras utsagor från historieskrivningen. När förbipasseraren
ögonblicket senare bes återberätta om mötet med de tre konstnärerna
inför en videokamera uppstår en förvirring. Positionerna blir
otydliga. Från att ha varit en medpart i ett samtal förskjutst
förbipasserarens roll till historieförmedlarens.
Dokumentationen från interventionerna i stadsrummet sammanställs med
utdrag från statsarkivet i kollektivets egna privatarkiv som sedan
doneras till Statsarkivet. På så sätt invaderas tidsdokumenten av
nutiden och återförs i en hermeneutisk spiral.
Det donerade privatarkivet innehåller även annat material från
projektet; epost, inbjudningar, biljetter, kvitton, ansökningar och
projektbeskrivningar utgör en grund för att kunna göra sig en bild av
konstnärers arbetsvillkor inom fältet för socialt engagerad konst på
2010-talet. Genom att upplåta sig själva som objekt för framtida
forskning hoppas konstnärkollektivet bidra till att belysa de
strukturer som annars ofta förbises.

ja men great.

solen skiner. det är vår. känslor svallar. och mer jobb trillar fram - så ja, Samsonite artist minnsann.

Klart det är ju just så jag vill ha det. En massa jobb. Projekt. nya verk. nya kontakter. nya nätverk. nya erfarenheter. ny kunskap. bygga på allt gammalt liksom.

Det är väl det vi s a s eftersträvar? Eller?

Det är ju vackert. Men varför låter det alltid så fult? att skapa kontakter, nätverka?
Det låter så business aktigt. Men det är ju inte det.

Ser ju framemot nya samtal. nya möten. nya vänner.

Och senn då, varför låter det lite sorgligt med nya?
Som om det gamla försvann, blir ersatt av nytt?

Fastnar för gamla ord. Sentiments.

tja.


men sådär generellt sagt: Fuck! jag är skitnöjd!

(trots att dom mörka tunga molnen nu skymmer solen)

ok!

good try. never did this before. yes, blog virgin. never wrote like this.
what to I want to express today? something brilliant or just foolish?

rrr.

read loads of things about Kurt Cobain today. How did I get into that? aah. of course, because of spotify. And then again Kurt made me think of this lover I had. WOW!!!!
Naah, not to get to exited here. This man is not really like Kurt. There might be some similarities though. And dont dare calling me Courtney. heh.

Noh, just thinking of these syndromes. And how we treat that. I know he has a fucking issue - FUCK!!!!!!

Well, what else. Been watching Sex & the City way to much. Realized I might be Mr Big! Nasty. Not a good thing. Needs re-evalution? i can't be that big or bad? No way.
Am I a bully?

yep, I am a terrible woman! I smoke. I drink. to much of both.

And I'm happy.

Know what?

My best friend?
I love him.

want to know more; coming later....

så mycket att säga. som vanligt. men samtidigt så tom

tänker på det där med gammal hund. Kristina Lugn.

och optimistisk människa som blir besviken för ofta.



men, vad gör man?

man borstar tänderna.

lite tvål och så blir allt bra.

och så är det väl en ny dag som kommer.

ingen räds nåt här.

Nej. inget ont här.

bara litet.

PERKELE.

MEN FINT ÄNDÅ ATT DET SKER EN DEBATT I HEMLANDET OM INVANDRING. ÄNTLIGEN!

INTE BARA SKYGG TYSTNAD.

NU MÅSTE VI BARA HJÄLPAS ÅT ATT BULTA NED DOM KALLA HÅRDA MÅLA FAN PÅ VÄGGEN TYPERNA.

ELLER NEJ, INTE BULTA NED, OMVÄNDA!

GO!

One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Material place.

Far safer, of a midnight meeting
External ghost,
Than an interior confronting
That whiter host.

--Emily Dickinson--

while painting papier mache crow, remembered this story.

have had some funny bird encounters this spring.
a month ago I AM SOOOOOO sure I had something going on with a huge crow (kråka?) in Slottskogen. I stopped on my bike to write somehting I just remembered and I happend to have crisps with me, and when I looked up there was this huge crow with a damaged wing watching me at about a 2m distance. And I said: vill du ha ett chips? (do you want a crisp?) and Christ ....it "hopped" towards me and kept staring at me. so I threw a crisp and it ate and came closer....I threw another and kept on talking to it....and it was about 40cm from my feet. Then another crow came and both of them were scared away by some people. But when they had left my limping crow was still there and I said "ok nu ska jag gå" (ok, I've gotta go) and it came even closer and I said "nähä, ska du ha mera" (naah, you want some more?) and it hopped closer and I got a bit scared because I thought it might come ON me....so I just threw some crips, said goodbye and cycled away...weird...... I'm pretty sure we had something going on there.


MORE STORIES ON http://www.ninalassila.com/storiesfromfriends.htm

I WOULD NEVER JOIN A CLUB THAT WOULD ACCEPT ME AS A MEMBER

"To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer.
To be happy is to love. To be happy then is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you're getting this down."
-Woody Allen

when things come true

So, my aim is to continue and develop the project further as the field of telepathy is quite large. There is quite much research about this, i.e biologist & scientist Rupert Sheldrake has a lot of theories that try to explain telepathy and to prove that there is a something called the morphic field, similar to the sixth sense. The work and theories by Sheldrake inspire me and I'm intersted to conduct some research and experiments myself within an art context.

"Sheldrake argues for a new concept of the mind -- one not bounded by the brain, but operating through fields of influence that he believes are present throughout nature.
He suggests these "morphic fields" organize the development and behavior of animals, plants, social groups and mental activity, from human and animal telepathy to such everyday mysteries as the synchronized swooping of flocks of birds.
"I don't claim to explain all these things or to understand them," Sheldrake said. "I say, here's what seems to be going on."



EXPERIMENT 2:10
Avenue d'Italie 85 Paris May 16th 2009
Most people have had the experience of turning round feeling that someone is looking at them from behind, and finding that this is the case. Most people have also had the converse experience.This experiment was done with a group of friends in a appartment in Paris. The outcome was quite surprising and fascinating.We all agree this is something quite normal. Could this be something we could improve and have use of in life?

NOTE TO SELF

GÅ I KLOSTER

GÅ IN I DIG SJÄLV

SOM TRINI SA.



KRAM.

1 och 1/2 timme

går ut 1 1/2 h. tar U7 från Rathaus Neukölln, byter på Hermanplatz till U8. Går av vid Rosenthaler Platz, upp mot Kastanienalle 57. Hämtar nyckel åt Eeva Liisa.

ett finskt par pratar på U8. dom pratar om att vi finnar är skogsmänniskor och lite råa sådär. att det inte är underligt att svenskar inte gillar oss. Kvinnans telefon ringer o jag tänker att jag ska fråga om jag ska hålla i hennes kaffekopp medans hon pratar. Men vet inte om jag ska fråga på finska eller svenska. Vilket blir bättre?
Den finska mannens plastpåse har ett hål i botten. När dom stigit av vid Alexanderplatz rullar en ensam apelsin iväg längs vagnens golv.

Det är plötsligt vår. Känner mig varm och lite fånig i min vinterkappa o ryska scarf.
Men glad ändå. Väldigt fri. Som om jag bara kunde lyfta och flyga.

En söt pojke, kanske t om man, ser på mej o ler, jag ler tillbaks. Ett av mina större leenden.

På hemvägen i U8 får jag ögonkontakt med en äldre man som ser turkisk och trött ut. Folk läser och löser korsord och sudoku. En amerikansk cockerspaniel sitter nervöst i en inva vagn.



På Elbestrasse ser jag en pudel (Putte Lassila lookalike). Hans människa, 60+ tanten, har exakt samma frisyr som han. Dom går nog till samma salong.

Det fungerar att isolera sig i 2 dygn och sedan gå ut. Det är så mycket mer man observerar.

Hillevi Wahl skriver i DN och Nina tänker...

oh! läser om Hillevi Wahls bok om ätstörningar.

Det är ju något jag levde med länge.

och jag blir så glad när jag läser följande:
Om jag ska hårdra det, tror jag att många anorektiker har ett stort kontrollbehov, medan bulimiker är äventyrliga spänningssökare. Jag är en sådan som alltid varit lite för mycket, älskat för mycket, velat för mycket. Jag har haft ett behov av att tas i bruk, att all min potential utnyttjas. Därför passar det mig bra att ha tre barn eftersom de kan använda all min energi, suga i sig av min kärlek, säger Hillevi.

Och jag håller med henne så in i helvete när hon skriver:
Nu är jag otroligt lycklig, jag får ibland höra att jag är äckligt glad. Men när du haft det som jag är det lite som att du gått omkring med kronisk värk, och så plötsligt en dag är smärtan borta. Det går nästan inte att förstå känslan, det är så skönt, som att kasta av sig en tung ryggsäck, man flyger.

Jag känner ju exakt så. Jag har haft lite problem med definitionen om kontroll. har inte riktigt känt igen mig på den punkten. Har ju känt att jag kanske är raka motsatsen. Har flytit omkring och sökt mig spänning. Och på nåt tokigt sätt vetat att jag kan finna spänning genom att vara snygg (spänning= kärlek, uppmärksamhet, äventyr). Men sedan har det visat sig att mitt friska fina leende och min varma person har varit ett ännu bättre sätt att få spänning. Och fan vad jag har upplevt!!!!

Ibland går ju jag in i ett mörker då jag minns all skit och all ångest och egentligen mest hat mot mig själv. Det började ju nog som barn. Att jag var annorlunda. Att jag inte var söt. Att jag såg ut som en pojke. Minns något fint dock, min morbror som alltid skrattade åt mina skämt, även när jag var liten. och så sa han en gång att jag kommer att bli en bra diplomat. Det lät fint. Så jag snodde det och skrev överallt att jag skulle bli diplomat.
Men jag ville ju inte vara en söt tjej i rosa tutu. Jag tyckte ju på riktigt ÄRLIGT att det var löjligt. Jag ville ju hellre leka med grannpojken i dendär båten som stod o övervintrade i en trädgård vid vårdhemmet i Veikkola.
jag ville hellre cykla i sandtaget än göra plié. Och det var och är inget fel i det. Det var mitt val. Jag ville ha spänning redan då. Jag ville vara fysiskt aktiv. Och jag minns hur ledsen och besviken jag blev då jag inte fick vara med och bygga trädkoja i Manamansalo med männen och pojkarna utan tvingades bli kvar i stugan med kvinnorna och flickkusinerna.

Senare valde jag träslöjd i skolan. Min (enda) vän Ingela hade lovat att också välja det. men hennes mamma tillät inte det. Så i flera år var jag den enda flickan i träslöjden. Men det var ok. Jag gillade lövsågen. och grabbarna var snälla. Henrik Larsson svetsade en bit åt mig på pilken för att jag tyckte det var otäckt.

Sedermera skulle man ju i något skede bli attraktiv för att man var "kvinna". Det första minnet jag har av detta är hur tjejerna i klassen (vi var nog omkring 12) vill frisera om mig. Jag skall ha håret löst - inte på svans. Jag blir generad. Dom har alla läppglans. Jag vill ju bara ha det så enkelt och praktiskt som möjligt.

Senn får jag mens. Det är äckligt. Jag hatar mens o sex o sånt.
jag ska aldrig röka cigg eller dricka alkohol.

På sjuans klassbild har jag blont långt hår som hänger fritt och rosa läppglans. jag börjar röka. Och senare dricker jag väl nåt. I samma veva börjar jag bli mer o mer fixerad vid min kropp. På julen ser jag ett program om en engelsk flicka som har bulimi. hon kräks upp sin mat. och så dör hon. jag har ätit en massa konfekt och tänker: shit, det där kan jag ju testa en gång. Så jag kräks upp konfekten. jag minns att jag tänker att det bara är en engångsföreteelse. Men så fel jag har då.

Det kommer att ta ännu ca 10 år tills jag är helt friskförklarad. med många upp och ned gångar. och ett år som i princip är helt borta.
Det är för djävligt. Exakt som Hillevi Wahl säger. Ingen större skillnad på mig och missbrukarna på Sergels Torg.

Dream 11-12.3 2010

I'm in a house that looks a bit like our summerhouse in Manamansalo Finland. But its in Lusaka, Zambia - its the house I grew up in on Lufubu road 111 (number is not correct). I'm alone in there. I'm perhaps singing, behaving a bit funny. There are lots of colorful flowers in there. I say to myself: "aah! Now I understand why older women make such a fuss about different vases - when you're older you get your own flowers - you're not anymore waiting to get them from someone else."
There are some dried white roses that I'm fingering and looking at. Suddenly there's a knock on the door just next to me. I hide on the floor and creep to the bathroom. There I take of my stupid KING outfit (a big velvet coat and a sort of a hat/crown) and throw it in to a closet. I'm feeling embarrased, a bit frightened and ashamed. I check my reflection in the mirror and discover that I'm wearing tons of makeup, red cheeks and red lipstick - but I have a young mans face (a bit like freddie mercury) with a thin moustache. I seem to bit around 30. That's strange I think as I believed I was a woman.
I keep thinking about calling 112 (911) and repeat my address Lufubu road 111. I sneak back in to the room and see a man in a grey suit looking in through the window. He can't see me. he leaves. its silent again.

story written by 2 people on Skype chat.

Dusty Tom was born on a rainy day, sometime in Autumn in a small town. It might have been October.

Dusty Tom was born in small house in the small town
that was so small that she never got a name.



Dusty Tom lived alone with his mother.


Dusty Toms father died by leaving, nobody knows where.

Dusty Tom believed, that his father was an undercover agent.
His father had just done the step to protect his family.
For Dustys mother he was dead

The days of Dustys youth were lonely.
and he never made plans.
For anything.

Dusty Tom was the classical breath in and out guy. He drifted along like a piece of wood in a river.
No one could help him


it was the trip of his life.

Later Dusty Tom worked in a restaurant.

The audience:
- so, he did not do anything? was he boring? silent?
-the girls didn't like him?
- not even Nasty Nina?


Nina was different.


like Dusty Tom.

They were rebellious, punk by nature.

The audience:
-but they met?
-and what did they do?
-did they find his father?
- and get arrested?


- put in jail for years?


First they gave their town a name, Soulless city.

And then they left. They escaped together on the river that took them to another town. This town had a name. It was called Pygmahhan.

In this town no body knew Dusty and Nina. So they did not need to change names. But they did it any way - because they had dreamed of new names since the day they were born. Especailly Nina. Dusty did not really care, as usual. But he did it to please Nina. And to be honest he was a bit afraid of her to.

Jag utgår själv ifrån ett väldigt öppet sinne och ser att min främsta uppgift är att skapa plats för tankar om ett nytt sätt att se vår värld, kanske även tankar om ett utopia. Jag anser också att det är viktigt att som konstnär röra sig i olika fält inom tex vetenskap. Och det är något vi verkligen kan göra, terrängen är fri och möjligheterna många. Den skotske konstnären Pavel Büchler har beskrivit denna möjlighet enligt följande:
"The artistic licence is a kind of a passport. The artist is always an itinireant, a messenger, an explorer, who operates in or among others territories. The artist comes and goes, takes away and brings back. As a temporary resident the artist still remains a stranger...but the presence of a stranger may be just what it takes for the rest of us to feel at home.
The concept of research rather than production, and the spirit of enquiry and speculation rather than executive desicion making may be a good place to look for a common ground."

går på damernas på Mikrobryggeriet i Trondheim. det slår mig plötsligt att jag är en dam i blå skjorta och örhängen. Som går på damernas i ett främmande land. Långt bort från mamma o pappa. Det känns bra att vara konstnär tänker jag. Gillar mina vänner. Det blir bra samtal. Trots att jag är smått korkad. Och lite full.

minns ingen anledning men det låter bra

avuton hjälplös helpless

inför generationer av män . som bestämt alllt.
även hur hon skulle vara.

därför är hon arg. hon kokar*. för att hon inser sin litenhet inför dem.
hon inser sin hjälplöshet. sin oförmåga att skapa någon som helst skillnad här.
hon ser hur fel allt är. hon ser t om hur man kan rätta till saker men hennes oförmåga att tala ut hindrar ju henne.

hur fan i helvete ska vi hjälpa henne.

det finns många som försökt genom att glida in genom att ta an samma roll som opponenten. det har inte fungerat i längden.
de som gjort det genom smicker o stora bröst har till slut slagits ner o skrattats ut.

var finns det rätta vapnet?

detta är ett krig.


* kokar inombords, kokar i stora kastruller

Om it-girls i DN feb 2010- något jag hetsade upp mig över

Om it-girls som har det DN på Stan februari 2010
Kvinnor fångar i högre utsträckning än män ”zeitgeisten” genom hur de klär sig, konsumerar och agerar. Det blir så eftersom manlighet är normen, och därmed varierar mindre över tid (precis som manligt mode är en fråga om ”stil”, kvinnligt om ”trender”).

jag vet inte varför jag skriver dethär. Jag vet inte varför jag reagerar. Samma dag har jag läst Lena Endres svar om anklagelserna mot teaterns sex trakasserier. Endre har helt rätt. Och jag tycker att vi istället borde diskutera varför unga människor vill bli "it-girls". varför det är viktigt med ytliga värden. Varför det är så viktigt att vara trendig i Sverige.
Faktum är att Sverige är skit tråkigt. På grund av denhär trendhetsen. På grund av att folk inte vågar vara sig själva. På grund av dendär oron att inte vara "rätt" och passa in. Det säger hur många som helst jag träffar i Europa. Det säger många svenskar själv också. Visst är det är vackert folk men...Jag vill inte ens försöka förstå varför man har velat diskutera dethär ur nåt slags genus perspektiv. Dethär handlar ju fortfarande om objektifiering. Domhär sk it-tjejerna kommer också atr bli gamla och rynkiga trots skönhets operationer. Hur ska de då se på sig själva? Tror de att de kan minnas sin ungdom som nåt slags mata hari tillvaro, Marilyn Monroe? Vad strävar de efter? Har de mål i livet? Varför pratar vi inte om det? Ja just det, någon designade ju skor. Gjorde ett Varumärke av sitt namn. Klokt...gjorde alltså ett objekt av sig själv. utan att egentligen säga någonting. Utan att tillägga någonting utom lite skor, parfym och lukter som någon stackars ängslig fjortis suktar efter. Paris Hilton parfymerna reas alltid ut i tax free butiken. Undrar varför?
– När man talar om it-girls är det just kopplingen till vad man under den speciella tidsperioden uppfattar som förfining, som blir status, som är avgörande. Det är också tydligt att om man ska bli stilikon så gäller det att förhålla sig till den rådande sexualmoralen. Det finns ett absolut samband mellan manifesterad sexualitet och låg status och vad som uppfattas som sensualitet och hög status, säger Katarina Rosengren Falk.
Förfining och it-girls. Oh, please, koppla inte ihop dessa två ord. Jag känner en riktig diva. Hon har personlig stil, hon kan sjunga och spela en massa instrument. Hon gör låtar, video, fotografi, kabaré. Hon har studerat på universitet i Riga. Hon studerar i Berlin. Hon gör shower på opera barer och sunkiga hak. Hon klär sig i svart nät och bjuder publiken på burlesk, visor, kyssar och vodka. Det är förfining. För mig är hon en förfinad girl who has it. Men hon konsumerar inte som svenska it-girls, hennes pengar går till studier, hyra och nya instrument.
Hon glider inte omkring Stureplan med en skitdyr string i sitt vaxade anus. Hon tjänar inte i alla fall pengar på det som dessa svenska it'girls gör. Nej, nu låter det som att jag är sur. Nej, jag är inte sur, jag är förbannad. Och jag är ledsen för att få barn, hjälp kanske en dotter som vill bli it-girl på Stureplan, i ett samhälle där man tycker att zeitgeist handlar om förfining handlar om hur man klär sig, konsumerar och agerar. Jag tycker att ordet status är kul på Facebook, men annars tar jag nog inte ordet i mun. kanske om jag pratar om marital status.

Det är måndag på Södermalm, stan är tanter och tragik, och jag skriver det här i tidningen: Allt är grått. Glamouren lyser med sin frånvaro även när Michaela Forni kommer till Rivals lunchstimmiga kafé, direkt från läkaren med konstaterad halsfluss (”jag hostade blod i helgen”).
Ok, ja såklart. här har vi det igen. Tanter=tragik. Det 'är det här vi borde diskutera. Det är här genus problamtiken gäller. Alla hatar för satan äldre kvinnor. Speciellt om dom blir tanter, för då har dom tappat DET. För numera är det förfining att ha höga stövlar (och säkert nån äcklig string) o klänga i dj-bås o dricka champagne o åka taxi och skapa varumärken av sig själv. Och glömma att man kanske blir tant nån dag och inte får vara med i dj-båset. Bara hoppas på att man har lyckjats haffa åt sig nån status karl så man kan ha råd med skönhetsoperationer med vilka man kan dölja tantspåren.
Ah, Lena Endre exponera din tant kropp mer! please! det kanske behövs.Fan, jag ställer upp, jag kan komma med och exponera min smått sjaviga medelålders ölmage kropp! jaaa!

– Vi går ut jämt, fast vi har noll på kontot. Det spelar ingen roll om vi har det eller flera tusen – vi dricker alltid champagne, vi åker alltid taxi, vi går på minst fem premiärer, events, fester i veckan. Men sedan sitter vi hemma och äter nudlar.
detdär är precis som människor i forna östblocket. det spelar ingen roll hur man bor eller vem man egentligen är så länge ytan skiner. Minns att jag satt och kände mig skitledsen över unga kvinnors livsval, då jag satt på caféér i tallinn 2004 och observerade unga damer på gatorna. Det såg ut som att det enda de höll på med var manikyr och pedikyr. Vad vet jag, kanske de läste medicin vid sidan av. Tyvärr hörde jag av pålitliga källor att majoriteten av de unga kvinnorna drillades redan från barn att bli perfekta vackra varelser vars mål är att hitta en rik man. Jag har aldirg heller sett lika många Armani kostymer i gatubilden som sommaren 2004 i Tallinn. I Estland, ett land som varit del av det mörka Sovjet hur länge som helst. I ett land där man fortfrande spelar upp nationalhymnen varje morgon från kyrktornet i Toompeanmäki.

inlägg i debatt om invandring till Finland

Sverige är inte på ruinens brant. Kriminaliteten i Sverige är väl inte högre än på andra ställen i Europa. Tror att det bara anmäls fler fall än i andra länder. Bör även påpekas att våldsbrott mot tex kvinnor i Norden i majoritet begås av nordiska män inte män med utländsk bakgrund. Det stora problemet i Sverige är integrationspolitiken. Den finns ju inte. Man vill så gärna vara goda och snälla men systemet fungerar inte.
Invandrare i Sverige har ofta normal eller hög utbildning men får inte jobb pga sitt namn. Har själv bott i Sverige i 10 år och upplevt detta, det enda jobb jag fick var anknytet till mitt finska språk. Att uppnå en fungerande integration tar nog mycket längre tid än vi tror. Människan är inte så snabb. Vi måste säkert vänta ännu länge innan vi har ett fungerande mångkulturellt samhälle med rätt till olika tankegångar. Och medans vi väntar så lider nog inte vi svenskar och finnar någon nöd. Tro mej.
Sudda bort nationella gränser och blanda er gott folk - det är framtids receptet!

sure

there are things I dont like doing.
And things I like doing.
I'm depressed. I do not know. But look at this shit.
I mean. Seriously.
What is it? Are you feeling bad about yourself? Not happy?

Its not really that.

I never wished to stand on a huge stage in front of an audience. It scares me.
All those looks. The expectation.

I'm not in for earning loads of money and prizes.

I do not know. perhaps I'm depressed.

See, I like doing nothing. I like talking. Having real conversations. I like laying down somewhere nice thinking to myself. I like seeing friends and talking with them. I like talking to strangers too.

And I really hate going shopping if there is not anything else to do. People do that. I try to avoid it as much as I can. Of course I fall into that bate too. Most things are just so meaningless. And actually bad. And they sicken me.
I hate having jobs earning money. Especially dumb jobs that just promote a consumerist society. I do not like the musts. I want to choose my own time to do things, when I want to lay down, when i want to go for a walk. When I want to write. When I want to eat. When I want to water my plants.

I want a garden. I like seeing things grow.

I guess I'm in for the so called simpler things. If that's what you want to call it.
Yesterday I saw that a plant that I got from a friend had something new and red on it. Perhaps a flower! So I have made difference. To that plant. It made me happy. It still makes me happy.
And today, it is a cold day, I heard this cat mewing. So I ran downstairs and let it in.
That also made a difference. To the cat. Its not cold anymore. Somebody heard it.

We should listen more.

I'm not saying that I'm totally unambitious. But I dont want any bonuses. I dont fancy going to the moon either. I'm afraid of space. I'm happy here. Seeing things grow.

Its all about this dumbass stupid competing. Winners and loosers. I'm not into winning. Actually I could win a prize for being a good looser.

I just want to be. To chill. See things grow. See the spring. See the birds on the sky. Swans on the lake.

I guess you say I sound somewhat depressed. lacking of energy. But I think I'm perfectly energetic. I'm writing this. I'm capable of forming words and sentences.
I'm even going to have a sauna tonight. That's nice. It will be warm and there might be a good conversation about lets say sustainability.

One of my absolute favourite things to do is sleeping. My dreams are extremely entertaining.
I love eating nice things. I like smoking and drinking good wines. I like reading. And hearing beautiful music. Sometimes even energetic crazy music.

And seeing things grow of course.

What about your art work?

Well. it is also sort of growing. I guess. Right now I think I must accept the way things are. And grow. If I wont grow my art wont grow. There would be a standstill.

But see, this silly game of winning and loosing, this dumb game of consumerist monopoly spreads its long ugly arms all around me and drags me into the plastic dungeon. My growing stops because there is to much shit around me. I can not breathe because the air is dirty. I can not see because nothing is real.

Somebody or something prevents me growing.

Well, I know there is not such thing called THE SYSTEM but all these slimy things I need to do to EARN my freedom is just killing me. If not killing - at least saddening.

I have tried to see the positive sides - but now that I have tried and tried I know it is not good. It is the same bullshit I expected it to be.
I am not saying the people are dumb or so. They just enjoy winning to much and besides they do not seem to have the energy to relax and think things over.
They might also be lacking of courage.
Because it is scary of course. Because it is enormously depressing.

Yeah, if I get a grant form foundation BLABLA I will for sure know where the money came from in the first place. From some freaking plastic cellphone sales obviously.

Everything is about merchandise.

Sell. Buy. Sell. Buy. Sell. Buy. Sell. Buy
Pay. Earn. Pay. Earn. Pay. Earn. Pay.

debatt inlägg nu igen

Kyllä Ruotsalaiset ymmärtävät ja jotkut jopa rakastavat suomenruotsia! Hello!!!!Suomenruotsalaisethan ovat muumeja. Niin, tietysti suomalaisen ääntämä ruotsi ei ole sama asia, vaikka usein saavatkin "muumi" nimikkeen Ruotsissa.
Ruotsissa on monia eri murteita, esim Skånen murre, jota on aluksi aika vaikea ymmärtää. Mutta kunhan ihmisiä lähestyy niin kielivaikeudet katoavat. Kysymys on ehkä enemmänkin sosiaalisesta kanssakäymisestä. Tämä on ehkä (perusjuntti)suomalaisen suurin ongelma...
Itselläni on tuttuja ympäri pohjoismaita - yritämme kaikki puhua omaa kieltämme (suomi ja islanti ovat sen verran erilaisia että silloin vaihdetaan yleensä englantiin) ääntämäällä sitä "skandinaaviksi".
Anyway: haluan vaan sanoa että ei englantia ole pakko käyttää, ei ainakaan koko ajan. On hienoa jos ainakin yrittää oppia naapurien kieltä. Tässähän meillä suomenruotsalaisilla on etu! Ja tack för det! Ikävä että meidän veljet ja sisarukset eivät halua liittyä tähän joukkoon.
Sitä paitsi Finlandssvenska on aivan ihana murre! Islantilaiset puhuvat ruotsia melko samalla murteella!sitä et tainnut tietääkään!

dream again strange of course what else

I'm somewhere on a plaza walking, but its also a big house. there's quite many people of different age. There is something wrong with my feet: they are dirty and sore, I'm walking in a strange way, not really stepping on my heels. I need to wash my feet and find socks/sandals. But I can't find any help. I'm standing somewhere counting chopsticks. It's difficult because I want to arrange them in a certain order. they are quite different from eachother.
Then I'm in Cité des arts in a studio. there are about 4 artists there. And F. I'm asking people how long their residencies are. Then I tell them laughing that 6 months is the max how long a residency should be. That over that time is like moving. and that in 4 months a artist should be able to create a huge master piece. F looks a bit angry, and I try to smooth it down by saying that the size of an art piece doens't really indicate its master piece quality.

then I'm watching a shooting that happend behind cité des art on a monitor. there are lots of people trying to find cover, running. and bullets flying in the air. I'm not sure if I find this amusing ...?


then I'm suddenly talking to jepa and Joski about horseback riding. that I could swap my mamya 7 lens for riding on their horses. They are impresed by my lens. There is a horse muffling my hair. I like it.
I tell Jepa and Joski that I don't think it would take me a long time to remember how to ride a horse.

blessed

you are all stars on my personal sky.

I HAVE A SKY ABOVE ME. AROUND ME.

ITS FULL OF SHINING STARS. MY FRIENDS.

I AM A BLESSED GIRL.