Latest ten days of posting

Weblog | I don't like the word blog, it's ugly. Anyway, new content happens here. (Swedish dito)

About me and the site | Twenty-something male who likes text. Obsessed with things such as books, reality, communication, and one or two tv-shows.

Archives | Things written here since... well, 2001. Some of it is good, some is utter shait.

Books | Books read, not books written. So far I've struggled to maintain unpublished.

Photo | I like my camera and it likes me.

Links | Outwards, away, flee.

e-mail | J. Nicklas Andersson

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2001-10-20

Right now, one hour after the zero hour, the exam felt frightenly easy. It’s almost — almost — so that I feel suspicious of my success. Nevertheless, today, right now in this very moment, I feel free. Free to worry about other things instead. It is in other words back to normal again, but first: fooood since I’m starving here.

I am not the most social person I know off, quite the opposite. Some of my friends can waltz into a room and start talking to complete strangers without second thought, well, except for one. He slides in; talks to some people and then declare that they’re idiots. I simply declare them idiots from start, and then refuses to meet them. (Almost had a Freudian slip there and wrote “meat”.)

Among unknown people, I feel uncomfortable, out of place. I have in most cases nothing in common with them, and they have no patience for my idiosyncrasies. Last year, for instance, I studied media and communication. The subject was, at least towards the end of the second semester, fun, but the people in class where strangers. I probably knew more about them, than they about me, but that is because there where not much for me to connect to. They where pale ghosts. It is better this year, but the large population of my English-class are ghosts too. It might sound weird but, in an eerie way, it’s comforting.

Today, after watching the regular double-bill of Doctor Who on BBC Prime (great timing I might add, there is no room for another episode on the tape and the Doctor regenerated), I realised that I felt more antisocial than usual. I want to sit in solitude and either watch Sleepy Hollow or read Mervyn Peake without interruptions from silly humans.

Yes, Mervyn Peake, author of Mister Pye, the Titus Groan-books (often miscalled the Gormenghast Trilogy) — one of the true literary geniuses ever born and snatched away from his existence prematurely.

Oh, and you should read the interview with Noah Grey and I wish it could have been colder in the air today.