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 So far I've struggled to maintain unpublished.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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A written monologue about early mornings

-- I’m up by nine although I don’t have to, and everything is kind of sleepy and sort of runs together in the blurred edges because I couldn’t get to sleep until three am even thought I tried really hard, but so far I must say that I like it; it is not as if I haven’t done this before — it was just a long long time ago and I’ve sort of forgotten the feeling, the feeling of actually having a whole day ahead, and it’s a bit daunting I guess, but I’ll rise up to the occasion and just embrace it and enjoy it as much as I can; I must do this again but without all the grammar mistakes and the horrible punctuation because when I look back at what I’ve written I’m mortified, really, especially since this is supposed to be some sort of monologesque thing and it’s hard to speak like this without even one full stop

02-10-19: snow

internal self one: There’s snow outside.
internal self two: Yes.
is1: Snow. It’s still snowing.
is2: Too bad we hate snow.
is1: We do?
is2: Yes. Remember the long rant about the evils of snow?
is1: Do you mean the one with the snow and the boots and how the feet — particulary the toes — get cold and a bit numb? I had forgotten about that.
is2: ...
is1: I want to go out and do some of that photography stuff.
is2: Not now you don’t.
is1: Yes, I do. I’m going to go out now and... It looks really cold out there.
is2: Great perception you got there.
is1: Bite me nerd boy.
is2: Do you notice that the snow remains in frozen form even after the impact with the ground?
is1: ...yes...
is2: Still want to go out?
is1: No, not now. Maybe later.

Drunken confidence

In a slightly intoxicated state and after too much of Tenacious D, Tommy and I decided that we should record a dialog with the digicam. A few further ado’s later, we had come up with a script. He came up with the script, I was at the bathroom. I hooked it up and said action.

     -- Have you read the latest X-Men? I delivered the line without both skill as well and meaning. It all came out rather flat.      -- Why are you always on about X-men, Stan? He said it almost in the same manner as I would have used.      -- I want to be one. At this point Monty Python, if they ever see this, can probably sue us.      -- What?      -- I want to be a superhero.      -- You wanna be a superhero?! But you can’t be one. My mind blanked, I couldn’t remember a thing. I looked down on the table and tired to get back in the right place. It failed. I blame Tommy as he tried to go up to John Cleese-level in pitch. He didn’t succeed.      -- Don’t you bloody repress me!      -- I don’t repress you... You don’t have a spandex-suit. What are you going to wear? Slippers and a weenie? In my mind everything came to a halt. What did he say?      -- It’s a beanie faggot. Oh, fuck. What did I just say?

Now. Much can be held against the script, even more can be blamed on against our acting ability, but really, some of this was actually in the script. The “weenie” was supposed to be “beanie” and I just tried my best to work the correction into the script. That was probably the one thing that worked. Lines disappeared and were lost as the sidekick’s illicit handwriting made it hard to read. My God, in hindsight I wish I had read it all in advance and changed it. No really need now, as the camera didn’t want to record us with sound nor picture. The mic was all static noise and everything looked black due to incompetent lightening.

17/4 -02

-- So, does anyone have a car and can drive me home? Or do I have to walk half past three in order to watch South Park?
-- I’ll have to wait for Anna, and then we’ll be headed to the post office.
-- Do you got a car?
-- Well... Ahh... I plead the fifth.
-- God damnit. So I have to walk home. Fine. Okay, but I don’t think you’ll laugh if I’m murdered on the way though.
-- We promise you, that if you die on that short walk, we’ll be laughing our asses off.
-- I agree, we would.
-- So you really don’t have a car?
-- Well, yes.
-- Can you drive me home then?
-- After this, I’m going home. I’m not going that direction
-- But, but they have opened up a part of the road. You can drive through.
-- Busses yes, cars no.
-- No, you’re wrong they have opened a new road, I promise. Drive me home and I’ll show you.
-- Something tells me not to.
-- Fine. I’ll walk.
-- You can always walk home and fetch your own car.
-- You’re not taking me seriously, are you?

What if dialog on the street

-- This man. Is he?
-- Yes, he’s suffering from post-consumer stress. Judging from his pulse and brain activity he has not bought anything for at least half a year.
-- What?! Including food?
-- No, on his breath I can smell chicken salad. He might still be saved. Do you know the CPR?
-- Well, yes, but...
-- No buts mister. Here, take my money and run to the video store.
-- Okay.
-- You’ll be okay. You’ll be... okay.
[ten minutes later]
-- Uhuhh. Uhuhhh. They... They only had the first season of M*A*S*H. Season two was... Uhhuuuhhhuhuha. It hasn’t been released yet. Not on dvd.
-- Damnit! Damnit twice! Quickly, we got one more chance and if we fail, this man is a goner.
-- He’s dead anyway.
-- Shut up! Grab his legs and we’ll carry him to my car. Hopefully my VHS-recordings will be enough. Yeah. Hopefully.
-- He’s not heavy at all.
-- Keep quite and pray that he didn’t hear you. You don’t wanna go there kiddo, don’t ever go there.

7/5 -02 15:35

-- Oh yeah, you don’t have an email. Did you know that there are recites now in March on British Studies?
-- No...
-- Well, it is. The fifteenth I think.
-- Don’t forget the phonetics.
-- Is that also now in March?!
-- Yes.
-- Yeah.
-- Three exams in one month? Are they crazy?!
-- How would we know?
-- I don’t want to do three tests. How far between are they?
-- I think two of them are in the same week.
-- What... Shit. And this started out as such a great week.
[A few minutes of silence.]
-- What happened with him?
-- Shock and trauma. More coffee?
-- Sure.

7/5 -02 10:14

-- Hi. And what can I do for you?
-- I would want a chocolate ball and, a-hum, a, a glass of water.
-- Would you like anything else?
-- No thank you.
-- That would be eight kronor. (1 US$ roughly equals 10 kronor /Ed.)
[She takes out a fifty kronor note and hand it over. Inside the editor’s head a voice with a remarkable likehood of Chris Rock says “Can you change a hundred?” The editor barely manage to keep quiet but he succeed. The girl on the other side of the cash register turns to those next in line.]
-- Hi. And what can I do for you?
-- Two coffee please, nothing else.

28/2 -02

-- Did you see?
-- See what?
-- The senior, she took a handful of napkins and then put them into her bag over there.
-- No, I missed that. A handful?
-- Yes.
-- What the hell is she going to do with a handful of napkins?
-- I don’t know. Senior stuff probably.
-- Senior stuff? No, on second thought I don’t want to know.
-- Oh, she’s not going to use them. They’re far too expensive for that. She’ll probably keep them in a drawer somewhere. Maybe even in a box stacked away in the attic.
-- Right. If she wants to use something like that, she’ll only have to go out and have another coffee or something.
-- I’m not sure seniors are allowed to drink coffee.
-- Sure they can, just not black. But then again, if it isn’t black it isn’t a coffee.
-- Coffee-coloured milk then.
-- Right. Milk in the coffee together with a voodoo mixture of Viagra, Amphetamines and Opium.
-- My God! No wonder they’re as crazy as they are.

25/02 -02

-- Are you sure we can do this?
-- Sure we can. It is a real typographic word after all.
-- Well, okay. I think we need to do something with it though. Split it up with a hyphen here and pull up the font size to look like this.
-- Ha! Great, great. Someone will choke, hopefully. Too bad there is not much else one can do to make people raise their eyebrows in this country.
-- The only problem is that some idiots will misunderstand and assume it is some kind of generation novel about drunk buffoons that run around at parties, take drugs and sleep with quasi-celebrities.
-- So? It’s their own fault.
-- Point taken. “Stupidity sorts out itself.”
-- Who said that?
-- Bugger if I know. It sounds good though.
-- Probably true too.

9/5 -01

– What the fuck is he doing?
– He’s Burning Feet Man, protector of the weak and saviour of the lost. You see. He, eh, helps people finding the right directions by running around. With his feet on fire.
– He’s insane.
– It’s Tom Green. What would you have expected? A three hour long dialog Woody Allen-style?
– No, but he’s Canadian. I expect more from them than this.
– Ah! Because of Them you mean? Them with capital T, H, M?
– Correctomundo. Everything Canadian, as long as it’s funny, comes down to one thing. Todd Booster.
– Well, curse you too, Evil Galactic Warlord Larry.

7/5 -01

– It’s sickening I tell you.
– What?
– This is. This whole fucking thing, it’s Saturday fucking night and what do they show? The Eurovision Song Contest — the sanctuary, the last outpost for bad 80-ies-music scene. My brain rot from within, even the titles are bad.
– Come one. It’s camp-value-bonanza; it’s so bad it’s good.
– No, it isn’t. I’m not drunk enough for this — hell, I’ll never be drunk enough. Give me the remote.
– You’re not changing the channel!
– Give me the remote!
– No.
– I recorded Shooting Fish yesterday...
– You did? Shooting Fish, you say? Damn, well, why are we watching this shit?
– You tell me. You, Tell me.