Death To The Weird

2006-12-23T20:49:00.000+01:00

I Am Death, Come For Thee!
I Am Dead, Comfort me!

As we are now hurtlin' towards yet another year of a war based on lies, greed and theology,
it might serve the commonweal to explain how, exactly, it got this far.

Well, let's see...

You have a superpower with only two political parties.
And they're both BAAAD! Tweedledu... well, you know the rest.

Except, of course, that this is a false comparison.
Why?
Because there is no Left equivalent of Fox, Cunt-Rash-Coulter, O'Really and Rush-To-Judgement
in terms of vehemence and hate.

("Oh! Oh!", I hear the Self-Lobotomized-Red-State-Incest-Spawn yell, "What about Air America , the Daily Show and the Colbert Report? (The last of which, by the by, had to be explained to certain dullards, before they realized it was satire) ).

But none of those use the same kind of eliminationist KILL-'EM-ALL Fascist rethoric
in any degree CLOSE (if even!) to that of their Reich--- Sorry!--- Right-wing, counterparts.

But the MSMalistas, like the semen-slurry-slurpin' lapdogs that they are,
have given Shrubbery 2.0 a free ride EVERY FUCKING STEP OF THE WAY.

And their unbridled hypocrisy is not just plain for all to see...
It screams to the stars of the firmament with the power of a neutron-bomb-blast.

The American media happily cheerleaded a veritable witch-hunt against Billy-Boy Clinton
because he got an unethical suck-job, but when Bushybrow Junior rapes the constitution,
this is what the media says: "Hey! She ASKED FOR IT!".

And why has the american media devolved ?

Because the right veered SO FAR OFF THE RAILS to go further into their fascist-city-on-the-hill-shining- vision-direction, that they moved the goddamn goalposts.
At the same time, the left moved closer to the "middle".
And what happened?
The media, like the neutered non-entities they are composed of,
swallowed the Newt-bait like it was ambrosia...
instead of the Reich-rancid-regurgitated-spermatoza-swill it actually is.

The GOP now stands for the Great Oligarchy of Penile-Envy.
And, the MSM, having no balls at all, sympathizes to a degree that they'll
swallow the load unquestioned.

And here we are.

2006-10-11T02:24:00.000+02:00

Lying Is Good... If Done In The Name of Gawd

First of all,
sorry for my long absence.

Second,
kiss my delightfully unwiped hairy ass.
You're welcome to floss.

Third,
Denmark may be heading for a rerun of the
"Muhammed-cartoon" scandal.
Turns out that members of *Dansk Folkepartis Ungdom*,
(The Danish Peoples Party's Youth... and, yeah, it's about as fascist as the name itself implies)
got drunk at a political camp outing and had a contest to see
who could be most offensive to Islam.
The result, however, was videotaped and leaked
and caused all sorts of blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, blaaghhh and blehh...
Who cares?
Appearently Iran is going to boycott Danish cheese.
That made me laugh.
In fact, all of this made me laugh. Through my fucking tears.
But not even -I- care about what makes me cry anymore, so...

Here's the real deal:
I have no faith in democracy anymore.
Not that I've decided to become a shill
for totalitarianism, like Coulter,
or Theocracy, like Dobson...
No.
I'm advocating that we all just die right now.
It's where we're heading anyway.
So why prolong it?

2006-05-13T15:17:00.000+02:00

I'm Straight, I'm Queer, I'm Bi...

I'm straight.
Wish I was bi, though, sometimes...
Look at it one way, it doubles your chances.
Look at it another, it doubles the heartache.

And I thought I -was- bi for a while.
Around age 18 I had a close friend.
A very close, very dear, friend.
He was gay.
And he was caught in an excrusiating emotional trap.
His parents were rich, formal and ultra-conservative.
I suppose they, in their own way, tried to love him,
but they could never accept his sexuality.
It was too... alien... to their lifestyle.
One night, he came on to me...
Agressively so, which wasn't like him at all.
He was an -extremely- shy guy, normally. Very quiet.
And I kissed him back...
Why? So many reasons... a recent break-up, especially.
But it was a mistake of the greatest proportions.
Because I knew he was struggling
and I was attempting to comfort him...
and myself.
The mistake in it was that I, being a confused teen myself,
didn't get the bigger picture.
He had been fighting with his parents and wrestling his feelings
for so long, that he acted out of desperation.
A week went by after that...
Not a word from him.
Then I saw a notice in the local paper.
He had crashed his brand new motorcycle into the pylon of a concrete bridge.
And he wasn't drunk (even beer made him queasy)
and drugs weren't involved.
It was suicide.
And it broke me into a thousand fucking pieces,
which, to this day, I'm still fumbling to pick up.

He deserved more.
He deserved so much more out of life.
He deserved more from his stuck-up asshole parents.
But most of all,
he deserved more from me.

I've never been able to adequatly say goodbye to him.
(His parents wouldn't allow me to attend the funeral)
So instead I've said "So long and see you later".

A dime for a jukebox dirge.

Goodbye Simon.

2006-04-28T19:52:00.000+02:00

Schoolyard Shuffle

He was one of those kids...
Always dressed in suspiciously white-stained sweats,
exuding the odor of catfood, urine and general neglect.
He had unruly red hair and an attitude to match.
He'd always get into fights
and he'd always end up with blood on his shirt...
guaranteeing a second helping of abuse from his mother when he got home.
Few of us ever invited him to our homes a second time.
Something would always end up missing.
Never something valuable or in any way important...
Knick-knakcs mostly... stuff no-one would miss if they didn't notice
the lack of dust on the shelf-spaces where they were taken from.
And he was a liar.
He would lie so brazenly, cockily and pathetically that we had to humor him.
The alternative would have been worse.
Always claiming he had some rich relative who bought him fantastic gifts
for Christmas and took the whole family for trips around the world.
In other words,
he was insufferable
and I didn't like him at all.
But he was my friend
and compared with the smarmy and greasy jocks and rich-kids
who seemed to know all the tricks and secrets,
he was a better friend than I deserved.

2006-04-28T19:12:00.000+02:00

Fear And Loathing In Denmark,
Part The Third.

Joking Is Serious Business

She was gonna be a compassionate cop
and I was gonna be a drunk.
This was about 5 years ago.
We weren't in love, per se, really.
A mutual affinity, sure.
But not only was she spoken for,
I was a "Head for the bottom of the bottle"-kind of ingrate.
Yeah, I'm still drinking, right now as I'm writing this, in fact,
but there are levels of obliviousness, if you catch my drift.
I remember waking up after a party
at the home of a mutual friend...
I went straight for the leftover gin
as the sun was still struggling its way over the horizon.
She and I woke up simultaneously.
Four other bodies snored next to us.
We had a... heart-to-heart-mind-to-mind conversation.
The kind that, even when the actual words fade into sepia-photograph blurriness,
the meaning and importance of it lingers.
She put it so eloquently:
"Michael, I can never tell if you're being serious or if you're making a joke".

That is a sentence (both figuratively and literally)
that has haunted me since (and -before- I heard it expressed, come to think of it).

When do you cross the line?
And, more importantly, perhaps, where do you -mark- the line?

I still can't think of an adequate answer.

2006-03-31T03:25:00.000+02:00

Alone

Fear solitude... it shows you who you are,
which is something only a very few people can survive.
I am alone.
I have been so before.
Am I lonely?
Yes... but only when I am with other people.
Sometimes it makes me feel like I've given up on the human race.

As Bukowski explained it:
-----------
NOTICE

citizens of the world
I renounce you.

I have
long ago.
but this is a formal
notice.
me against
you.
a restraining
order.

fuck off.
dry up.
vanish.

don't come to
my door
with pizza
pussy
or offers of
peace.

it's too late.

the music has
frozen in the
air
castrated by the
absence of your
presence.
-----------------

The only quality I really admire anymore is courage.
Courage to be emotionally and intellectually honest.
Courage to brave the solitude
and truly face the self.
If you can do so and still crack a joke,
you are alright in my book.

2006-03-29T21:17:00.000+02:00

Fear and loathing in Denmark,
Part deux.

The distant, melancholy sound of a train setting off
for parts unknown.
Railroad tracks.
Railroad tracks stretching to the blistering horizon,
is what I see when I think of you.
Railroad tracks, birthday cake and crushed knuckles.

Our love was but a brief stay-of-execution.
Your cousin and your brother tried to kill me,
and even though they failed, they came far too close.
Not only was I a worthless westerner,
I didn't even believe in any celestial configuration
of the wayward western pantheon.
My hands still show the scars I got closing the fresh wounds
with fire.

But I saw and sated you...
And received more in return that I could ever deserve.
I gave you my farewell on my nineteenth birthday,
slinking of down the newly paved road, heady with the smell of freshly molten asphalt and lost in a dream of what would and will never be.
We both deserved so much more.

Those who know love best,
are those forever scorned.

2006-03-19T21:28:00.000+01:00

Fear And Loathing In Denmark:
A Savage Journey Into The Memory
Of A Maniac. Part 1.

(ca. 8-10 years ago)

I was just walking into the classroom, when the drugs started to take hold.
My teacher seemed to be alternately swelling and contracting... like her body was in the grip of some fearsome flesh-molding tide...
and her face seemed to be melting... a puddle of purple wax.
Conjugating Latin is never easy, and if your breakfast consists of acid and martini you've got an extra handicap. Nonetheless, I passed the exam. Which, of course, merited a celebration!
So there I was, later that night, feeding a pet pig, who's fur I'd just dyed, pork rinds, while listening to the Velvet Underground's "Sister Ray" blasting out of the huge speakers hung in my new girlfriend's apartment.
Suddenly my girlfriend, let's call her Jane, says to me, outta nowhere:
"My ex just got out of prison today. He might show up".
I stare at her, not quite sure what to say, when there's a knock on the door. I laugh out loud at the absurd timing, but Jane jumps up, frightened, and turns down the volume a bit. Then she sort of tip-toes to the door and opens it, keeping the chain on.
Words are exchanged, but I can't make out what is said.
Then the door is kicked in, and this big, hulking brute stomps in,
glances around, and zooms in on me.
"Great", I thought, "Here we go".
The beast approaches. He stands looking down at me.
I remain seated on the sofa... pour another mix of chocolate milk and whiskey. He just stands there STARING at me, real intense, real potential-for-violence vibes radiating from him.
Then, finally, he asks, in the most raw anguished voice:
"Are you the one she claims to love now? Are you the new fly in her web?".
I raise my glass, give him a knowing half-smile, and drink.
He nods and sort of leans down to whisper:
"Don't get caught. Take it from me, jail is easier".
Then he squeezes my shoulder in a sympathetic way, turns around
and walks out.
Jane looks from me to the door and back again.
She gnaws her lower lip, then asks:
"What... what did he say?".
I point to the half-empty bottle and say:
"That I'll probably need a lot more of this stuff".
The pig grunted in agreement and I resumed petting him.
Never underestimate the wisdom of animals.

2006-03-07T13:39:00.000+01:00

THIS IS NUTS!

Sometime in the near future I am going to have surgery.
I have something called hydro-cele.
Basically, fluids are filling up in the right side of the ballsack.
It is now the size of a fist.
I've always known I'm a ballsy guy, but this is ridiculous!
And I've gone and done a less than clever thing:
I've read how the surgery is performed...
which did nothing to soothe my nerves!
In the old days, they merely drained the sack with a syringe,
but since the dangers of infection were too great, and that
it wasn't a permanent solution, they've changed the procedure.
Now they make an incision, take out the testicle sack (STILL ATTACHED!)
drain and fix, then put the inner sack back in the outer sack and close up again.
Waaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!
Anyone wondering why I feel a bit nervous?
*shudder!*
The horror! THE HORROR!!!

2006-03-04T13:07:00.001+01:00

Computer Games:
Why Do They Suck?

It is sad, but a fact.
The art-form with the biggest potential is having that potential wasted in large measure.
Most games are shoot this... and then shoot that... and then shoot...etc.
Which can be fun, in and of itself, but when that is almost all there is, it becomes a problem. Okay, then there's games based on sports, but why, really?
Why play a game ABOUT PLAYING A GAME?
You could just go play the real thing! But these games, Shooters/hack-and-slash & sports games seem to be a 90% majority of the market.Which is an awful shame, as computer games could be the ultimate form of art... an interactive one.No wonder that a lot of smart, mature people sneer and jeer at games, when all that seems available are merely colorful tests of hand-eye-coordination with little content.

Of course, there ARE good games, games that try for something more, that delve into studies of character and develop and tell real stories.
They're just few and far between...and when they ARE made, they are usually very niche-oriented.For example, one of THE best written games ever, Planescape: Torment,was not only an Advanced Dungeons & Dragons product, but also setin a sub-genre within THAT, the Planescape setting.
So a niche-within-a-niche.Not that you'd actually have to know anything about the roleplaying gameto play Torment, but it may SEEM that way to the uninitiatedand so may frighten them off, making them miss one hell of a well-wrought story.
The way that your "alignment" in the game (A sort of measure of one's ethics)is dynamic and changes to reflect your actions and statements isvery well done.I could go on for hours about this game, but that will require a post of its ownat some point.

Another great title is "I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream", based on the short-story by Harlan Ellison.You play the characters of the story,prisoners held in a weird subterranean world by the insane supercomputer AM (as in "I Am") who's destroyed therest of the planet, one by one, dealing with torture and mockery dealt out by AM.Plus, the characters all have something dark in their past they must deal withand which AM uses to ridicule and belittle them.The real shock, when you get to the end of the game, is thatthere IS NO WAY TO WIN... at best, there's an honorable way to die.The stories of the characters deal with the Holocaust, rape, murder and jealousy.Not subjects one would normaly associate with something termed a "game".But that is exactly what makes the game such an experienceand help elevate it to the level of actual art.That it deals with heavy issues and does so without apology or pulling punches.Also, Harlan Ellison himself was involved with writing the gameand even "stars" as the voice of AM. A superb experience.
Here's a link to Ellison's reasoning formaking the game:http://members.aol.com/blaksheepj/index2.html
Other great games I might rant about later:
Fallout 2.The Longest Journey.Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines.KGB (American title: Conspiracy)....................................
So why are so many computer games so imbecilic?
Well, why are so many movies? So much music?
Because people are imbeciles, that's why!
And that includes YOU.

2006-03-01T17:06:00.000+01:00

Once More We Delve
(and devolve)
Into The Greatness Which Is Me!

Had my seventh migraine attack today, oh joy!
As if my life wasn't littered with enough obstacles and annoyments.
Like being fiercely unemployed (and unemployable) and poor,
being the bearer of a savage heart which always threatens to break loose of its cage o' ribs,
and generally being able to draw breath...
Luckily I had an inuit woman from Greeenland to massage my scalp.
Greenland is still, in some sense, part of Denmark,
so it is only natural that she should service me so ;-).
Seriously, though, she is one tough bitch, hard as nails, and funny as hell,
with a weird fetish for Danish police-force history.
(She's got a collection of DK Police riot helmets!... Which, I'm bettin',
get more exercise at HER home than they do in actual fact...)
We're such a placid, if not downright -lazy- country, that way.
A famous comment about our country is that: "The revolution was cancelled due to heavy rain".

In other, even -more- important news,
I'm close to being an e-mail cuckold in North Carolina.
K.... I adore, and adhere, to you.
Know this, if nothing else:
That as long as my over-exerted heart continues to pump a reasonable fascimile of blood
you will not go -unworshipped-.

P.S.
K.... I'm runnin' outta sap! How DARE you extract so much from me?

P.P.S...
Oh, yeah, there's also some martial arts fool with a waning hairline in California
who's continually trying to get me to grow up...
HAH! As if I didn't know he's the author of a book of PAN!

2006-02-22T18:03:00.000+01:00

You're Innocent When You Dream...

What's more important:

Freedom of speech or cultural courtesy?

Being a Dane and living in Denmark, this whole "Muhammed Cartoon" brouhaha

has made me wonder...

Not about my own opinion, so much, which is the same as before,

but about the motivations/sanity/gullibility of certain people.

To me, freedom of speech is damn near absolute.

As my arch-nemesis/somewhat clever friend Reluctant likes to say:

"You can't yell "FIRE!" in a crowded theater when there isn't one."

That I can accept.

But he's also said (paraphrase):

"You have the right to speak, but not to be heard".

Which seems deceptively reasonable and true...

unless, of course, you really think of the ramafications.

The press, wether gag-ordered, leashed, owned

or just "suggested to",

(Free Press? Ain't NO such thing, miss Blueeyes),

will always slant things towards satisfying the presumptions

of the many, unless they can hear a groundswell beneath

a worthy underdog opposition and decide

to gamble on -that- wave.

The press is a whore in the most capitalist sense:

It covers (or rather, wipes) its ass with ideals

and then rakes in the ad-money.

Hey, in comparison, at least hard-working prostitutes offer something

that is comparatively worth the price.

My point is,

unless you -get- anyone to listen,

your freedom of speech seems shallow.

Saw the news last night...

Some disgusting English "historian"

was convicted in Austria for denying the Holocaust.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

I'm so sick of these sort of measures.

Countering Nazi-mentality with Nazi-mentality...

Bravo.

What have you got then?

A turd, by any other name, still smells like shit.

I'll quote Patti Smith:

"I'll fertilize my lawn... with what's running from your mouth".

I consider freedom of speech the way Vaclav Havel

once put it (paraphrase):

"Think not only of freedom of speech as a protection

for your own most beloved theories,

but also as a defence for those utterances

with which you'd most vehemently disagree".

Amen,

and fuck all the Gods.

2006-02-02T12:56:00.000+01:00

Reality. What is it and how do we escape it?

It is, of course, nothing but an agreed upon and tainted concencus.
There really -IS- no objective reality.
Or, rather, there might be but we'll never know,
as the simple act of observation changes and interprets the observed
Reality?
Reality is whatever our mind presents to us, filtered through our senses.
I am an atheist, in the sense that I consider all present explanations of the divine as mere
alibis for one group to enforce its reality upon others.
Reality is, indeed, manufactured.
It is formed in the mind.
It is the synapses firing at the right stimuli to produce organic orgasm.
Sticking to strict scientific observances, there is only one being in the world,
and that is I. Or you. Or someone.
Basically, we can never prove to each other that we exist independent of the senses of the one observing us.

The victors write the history-books, someone once said.
True, but I'm willing to bet that whoever said so had his own villains and benefactors firmly
etched in his mind.
But wait!
Am I really saying that there is no such thing as absolute evil and/or good?
Even when pertaining to my -own- conceptions of such?!?
Yeah, I am.
I will fight to protect your right to expression no matter how abhorrent your ideas may be to me.
Just as I will fight unceasingly to prove to you that you are wrong.
Ugly is the Jew who denies his Nazi executioner any human feelings.
Ugly is the Nazi Officer who denies his starved prisoner the same.
Ugly is the human race, regardless of its myriad colors and creeds,
when it denies that its opponents are acting out of anything other than the best intentions.
Ugly are we all.
Live, and if possible, learn.

2006-01-31T21:20:00.000+01:00

Hey baby, what's good?

Well, shit goes as follows:
Maybe one or two passages in the Bibbble(tm)
condemn (specifically) male homosexuality.
Compare this to the passages pertaining to
worship of false idols (Among which are numbered: Hovind, Robertson, Falwell), the place of women in the family unit (Make me dinner and shut yer face)
and the simple fact of existing
in this moldy old world.
Okay, assuming you've done your homework,
why is it that especially U.S. preachers are so homophobic?
Psychological explanations have been put forth,
mentioning "scientific laws" such as procreation,
yet several studies of animals, in particular ducks, have shown that animals are just as homoerotic as us "sentient beings".
Besides, why should a supposedly omnipotent creature frown on the curious variations of his own creation?
Why spew invective at people inventive
enough to utilize the anal n' oral canals?
(And thereby triple the enjoyment of us heterosexuals as well)
If God IS, indeed, omni-everything, he'd know how it'll all end beforehand, making our human destinies predetermined and thereby robbing us of free will.
But if we DO posses free will, then God can't be omni-everything,
as he'd know how everything would turn out...
rendering us all merely bit-players in his moronic joke.

Imagine this:
God is omni-everything, all-powerful and perfect.
Why, then, did he create the earth and us?
IF he WAS perfect, he'd have no need to do so.
He was -already- all that he could be.
So in creating us, he abdicated his right to own the throne.

Bleeh.

Seriously, wether or not a god/gods exist, I could care less so far.
First of all, prove that there IS a God/Gods, THEN prove that they correspond to your particular sect.
THEN I -might- consider you as more mature than a five-year-old.

Any takers?

2006-01-25T03:49:00.000+01:00

Me, at a poetry reading a few years back.

2006-01-24T23:39:00.000+01:00

Who The Creepin' Fuck

Is Michael S. Olsen?

Well, it's quite obviously ME, you retard,

so quit with the dumbo questions.

Ah... I see. You want to know more about me?

Why? What are you after? Nosy bastard.

Alright.

Let's do the basics, shall we?

Name's Michael Søndberg Olsen.

I'm a 26 year old guy from the tiny frozen windtossed

realm of Denmark.

And before we go any further, let's make one thing clear:

I despise you all,

irrespective of race, creed, color or cream filling.

Just letting you know where you stand.

So what DO I like?, you no doubt wonder,

which only goes to show the general level of your feeblemindedness.

Well, I like many things, great and small.

Pointing out what an assjack you are, for one.

I also enjoy listening to the grainy,

gorgeous weirdness of Tom Waits.

Reading Erwin Neutzsky-Wulff, Douglas Adams, H.P. Lovecraft, Harlan Ellison, Hunter S. Thompson etc. etc. An eclectic mix for damn sure. None of these lists are exhaustive, mind you, just casting random pearls before you swine. Hope you choke on 'em, you slobbering beasts.

I love throwing stones at the glass houses you tend to keep your minds in, as my garganormous brain is kept in a veritable mental fortress, and I only lower the drawbridge

to those with V.I.P. passes.

Hmmm... what else?

Oh, yeah, blowjobs, I like those, too.

Let me finish off by adding that I am also, at heart,

a very humble guy.

2006-01-24T22:44:00.000+01:00

It Should Never Have Come To This...

I know I should have been more careful.
The moment I saw Reluctant's name in my in-box

I should have thrown the entire PC off the french balcony

and out into the snow;

and the moment I read that thrice-damned e-mail,
I should have slit my throat ear-to-ear and followed the hardware,

spending my last few moments in this world

spraying cryptic red patterns on the virgin frost.
The consequences of not pursuing this prudent line of action

will haunt me for the rest of my days.

And the most awful and damning of these consequences is this:

what you are looking at now.
My own blog.
There are (were) few things I've foresworn in this existence

and ranking right up there with never trying to mate

with a duckbilled platypus, was having my own blog.
It smelled like futility.
It stank of being in contact with a multitude of morons.
It fairly reeked of being a waste of time.
In other words, it seemed like WORK.

So how did I get lured into this abyss of blathering known as "blogging"?
(By the way, I loathe that word: Blogging. Henceforth, I'll call it Flogging,
a concept I am much more in tune with).
Well, it was all Reluctant's fault. He baited me.
He sent me an e-mail announcing the birth of his blog
and begged me shamelessly to post a comment on it.
And I, being the friendly, benevolent and trusting sort that I am,
set off post-haste across the vast wastelands of the net to do so.
But to my utter horror,

I found that I could not post any sort of comment on his blog
lest I had one of me own!
I was never so torn in my life:
Commit what I deemed a sin against nature, or let down a friend?
And since you're reading this, I don't have to tell you what I chose.
But I will never forgive him for putting me in such a predicament.
In fact, I am plotting revenge at this very moment.
More on that in a later post...