Finglish. My name is Olli. There are 590 posts in this blog and maybe 2 or 3 of them are well written. I'll do better things in the future.
If something I wrote on this blog insults you, just ask me about it. I may have changed my mind about you. I'm not saying I'm wise, but I think I'm wiser than I used to be. I don't want to be a jerk.
Norwegian Wood isn't as bad of a book as I thought at first. When the piano teacher started having sex with her 13-year-old student, I started f e e l i n g i t because it was almost exactly like those erotic nightmares I've been having lately
(But really, most books seem bad at first. They rarely explode instantly, you have to wait a little until you start feeling it)
And yeah, I'm in Norway. Finally, after 11 months. Arrived a couple of hours ago. Midnight Sun. Fog. Reindeer
What all the young Alt Lit writers haven't realized is that great Art is not only about the Present and the Now, but just as much about the Timeless and Universal. Alright, go ahead, write about tumblr and tweets and retweets, but as long as you're not saying anything about Love Hate Death and Life nobody's going to stay and cry and smile with you.
And all these people who've spent their lives with Culture. With Art. Studying it, breathing it, making it. That despite all this they still remain lifeless and boring. Something's not working, you must look closer and listen more carefully.
But new thoughts will come, new days, new prescriptions.
I've really started to write the fucking Ghost book. And I think that I'm finally delivering, baby.
I guess I'm finally doing what I always wanted to do. I should become the new fucking Paulo Coelho. Just kidding. He's not very good.
I don't know when I'm being serious and when I'm not anymore. Everything's just a big dead-serious joke.
Okay. It's getting a bit old.
Ok. I have to stop destroying my soul like this. Because even in the darkest of darknesses, there is always a little light. And even if it's sometimes hard to see, that light never goes out. Not as long as you and I are here, not as long as we can take a deep breath and smile and wait for tomorrows.
I have to give myself a break.
How to avoid this?
I may have some answers. But they must be put to the test.
Because y'know, those Arla commercials are so much nicer than the actual fucking reality.
When other kids started stepping out into the world, drinking every Friday night, kissing each other, having sex, experimenting with drugs, entering bars at 14, challenging rules and adults, living and dying and getting ready to become proper citizens, I sat here in my room eating popsicles and dreaming of my future popstardom.
While my peers spent their nights boozing and partying, I didn't really drink alcohol prior to the age of 18; so now I'm kind of catching up.
And all the other things: sex, kisses, friends, life, death... It's not their time yet.
Don't get me wrong.
I'm ready to fall in love.
I'm ready to kiss someone. I'm ready to have sex. I'm ready to live.
But it just can't happen yet. There's other things to be done first.
A 200-year-old rockfish has been caught by a fisherman in Alaska, amazing locals.
According
to reports, Henry Liebman of Seattle was fishing off the coast of
Alaska on June 21 when he managed to reel in a gigantic shortraker fish
that was swimming approximately 900 feet below water surface level.
Yay. What this incredibly incredible story doesn't tell us is why that ugly creature's life had to be ended. 200 years, 200 fucking years, and then some fucking jerk has to come and end it all - for what? I just don't get it. Why? Why is he the hero of this story? It's absurd. I mean, in a movie about the life of this fish the man would obviously be the Bad Guy.
I am so very sorry, Brandon Teena. I'd like to meet you and kill the people that killed you. I'm so sorry.
If somebody can watch that movie and not feel an urgent need to destroy the people that destroyed Brandon... I don't know. They're evil.
And that fucking police officer. That fucking police officer.
Is this how "men" are?
Is this how "men" are?
Is this how "men" are.
Then I don't want to be a man.
Or... maybe the whole word should be stolen from people like that. Maybe 'man' could start meaning something beautiful. Something better.
________________
P!nk is my mom's favourite singer. A couple of years ago my mom was standing in a stupid little tourist shop, looking for sun glasses on a ferry to Stockholm, crossing the Baltic Sea, and suddenly she had to stop and listen carefully to the song that was playing in the stereos. The song was 'I Don't Believe You' by Pink. Mom told me she almost burst into tears.
I like the fact that mom likes Pink. Pink is a good, gentle, wise, loving person. If my mom suddenly announced that her favourite artist is Kanye West, I'd be very worried.
Because Kanye West is a horrible person. He doesn't make you feel anything real. Except disgust and tiredness. But Pink will sing and make things happen in your heart, because she has a soul, and having a soul is a very difficult thing to do these days.
