Screaming On The Inside

[speak-clearly]

Words

The other day I was asked if I like to read. I responded with “yes, actually”. That was both a brilliant and a silly answer. Brilliant because it was short and precise, silly because it really didn’t explain anything, it was just a statement...but also it didn’t really reveal the truth. I don’t just like to read, I LOVE to read. I mean, really LOVE it. I can spend hours, days, just reading and reading. I can re-read books I’ve read before and I spend all my money buying books I might never get to read...just because I want the knowledge available if I ever need it. But even that is only part of the truth. it’s not just about reading, it’s really about words. I love words, I love their magic and power.

Just take a moment and read “The song of Solomon” or listen to Al Pacino’s speech in “Any Given Sunday”. Listen to Leonard Cohen sing “Suzanne” or Anisette from Savage Rose and you will know what I mean. Anisette has this amazing raspy voice that caresses the words coming from her mouth, you can almost feel them, taste them. Read Shakespeare or J. K. Rowling, it doesn’t matter. Listen to Bob Dylan or Eminem. I love what people do with words and I love what words do to people.

Take the word “Boheme”. If you pronounce it in french it becomes magic. You can almost feel the warmth in your mouth as you say the last part of the word, and when you close your lips on the “m” sound it’s almost like kissing. “M” is an amazing letter, I love it. Another word: “Enigma”. Or how about “indulgence”? Or a simple combination of three words: “This is me”. Listen to Ryan Adams sin “Dirty Rain”. There’s an amazing example of how a few words can be put together perfectly. And what about the word “fuck”, ladies and gentlemen. Here is a word that can be used for almost anything: “Fuck you”, “fuck off”, “FUCK!!!”, “Fuck me”, “Fuck me?”. There’s so much power, so much raw emotion in the word, no matter how we use it. We need to take care of words like that.

But the ord I love the most is You. It fills in all the blanks. I love it because it’s everything I need. I love it because it’s a promise of something good, something true. I love it because it is about you, it reminds me of you. I love it because I love you and I never want to be without you. No matter if we are close or far I always know that I have you. I love it because it makes my lips purse like I was about to kiss...you

[speak-clearly]

Så stopper vi!!!

For 20 år siden, hjemme i gode gamle Odder, sad en taxa-chauffør og sagde til mig: "de der negere, de tager vores job og vores kvinder. Det skulle forbydes"

Lad mig gøre det klart: Jeg havde ingen respekt for ham dengang, og jeg har ingen respekt for jer i dag.

Hvis I skal sidde bag jeres skærm og promovere liguster-fascisme mens I med tænderskærende pinlighed fejler i at stave "pigtråd" korrekt...så skal I blive helt væk fra mig. Bare tag den næste bus ud af verden, men husk først at un-friende mig på disse i forvejen useriøse medier. Jeg får crap nok på min tidslinje, jeg behøver ikke sidde og se på Støjberg-tilhængere og Glistrup-kloner.

Men hvis I har brug for at diskutere, så er det bare med at komme. Jeg har kaffe fra Afrika, krydderier fra Indien og er sikker på jeg kan finde noget øst-europæisk Balalaika-musik frem. Så kan vi prøve at hæve tag-højden, tage diskussionen op på et niveau hvor den er værdig, i stedet for at sidde og savle ned i sin egen navle mens man kræver “sit land tilbage”.

“Mit land”...slap af, du har ikke flyttet dig en meter for det. Du sidder bare og kræver din playstation 4 mens du prøver at starte din egen motor, som i øvrigt lugter af dårlig benzin.

Her er en sang:

https://video.xx.fbcdn.net/hvideo-xpt1/v/t43.1792-2/12012166_904361336313608_634151862_n.mp4?efg=eyJybHIiOjE4MTMsInJsYSI6NDA5Nn0%3D&rl=1813&vabr=1209&oh=e507619acb9b8dffbc4365b990ac5baa&oe=55F812BA

[savageleewriting]

Some days, we are all that stand between civilization and oblivion.

Some days, you are all that stands.

Some days, the world is full of the worst things. The worst people. The worst words. The worst ideas. The worst memories.

You have pick yourself up, and move forward. You have to be the...

[speak-clearly]

C'mon

C'mon baby, let's do it. Let's make love. Right here, right now. Or wait, let's do it when it gets dark, the old fashioned way. Let's turn out the lights so we can really see each other. Let's forget everything we've been taught by the fashion industry, the porn industry and Oprah Winfrey. Forget the silicone boobs and the liposuction...it's your imperfections that give me a hard-on anyway. Your faults and flaws and crooked teeth. Your beautiful mind. I want to hear your labored breathing, want to listen to the stubs of my beard dragging across your landscape as I explore your secrets. I want to feel your nails digging into my back and my mind, want to drown in your pools, your pain, your sorrow, your pleasure. I want to hear you scream "DONT.EVER.FUCKING.STOP". And I won't. I will take up the challenge, go to work. I'll work until my muscles ache and my mind blurs...and then I'll do another round. I'll look ridiculous in my white and flappy birthday suit, but it's ok. It's for you. I'll show all my own flaws, but it's ok, because I'll be showing them to you. I'll even let you know that I'm afraid of dying without you. And when we're done I'll go to the balcony and have a smoke, my dick standing out like the world's smallest exclamation point, marking the success of my explorations. My flag. And then I'll come back to you, and I.WON'T.FUCKING STOP. And when we wake in the morning I hope your breath stinks so I know that you're really real. And if it does, I'll kiss you again and again...and then I'll make you breakfast. After I've had another smoke

[speak-clearly]

FUCK

Today I'm going to walk around my house naked...all day long. Because I fucking can. Maybe I'll even throw on some loud music. I'm thinking Tarbox Ramblers or even some old Sex Pistols. It's going to be fucking loud.

I'm going to let it all hang out. My white legs, my skinny arms, my absence of a six-pack, my tongue. I'm going to be right in your fucking face. Maybe I'll even make a mohawk.

I will be sending thoughts to Fabio or Fucknut or whatevever the fuck these models are called, wishing I will never be like them, working hard to never be politically correct, to always have tobacco-stained teeth and a broken nose from lost bar fights. 

I will devote my living days to be mentally and physically unattractable to the women who like those little fucking chihuahuas and shitty talent shows with fucking anorexic models who'll never make it anywhere anyhow.

I will follow my fucking desires, not waste a penny on saving up for old age or a new burglar alarm for my house. Come take my shit, it's worthless anyway.

I will no longer listen to your fucking crap about how I am supposed to live, and what I am supposed to approve of. Your big white straight teeth make me want to throw up all over you.

Fuck off and let me be me

Have a nice fucking weekend everyone

[speak-clearly]

To You

I love you, I know I do.

It's not just because my shrink says so. She's real smart and all, has studied all her life to be able to tell me this for a godly amount per hour...but it's not because of her.

It's because everything seems more clear when I think of you, more in focus.

So many days spent feeling like I'm living behind a veil, vision blurred and sounds distorted, like I'm not really there. Here.

But then you enter this broken playground that is my mind and all of a sudden I am bombarded with the clarity and beauty of everything...even the horrible stuff.

And maybe that is what scares me the most, that this is what you do to me. Show me that I am actually alright, make me feel good about myself.

How dare you change the interior of the existence I have spent so many years building? This living room of self loathing and personal doubt. What right do you have to show me that I might be a good person?

But you do, and you keep on pointing it out, no matter how much I try to prove you wrong. You keep lifting that veil.

You make me want to create and that also scares the shit out of me. Because what if I fall short...or even worse, what if I succeed? Then who am I?

...and even though it pisses me off, I really like that about you.

So yeah, I love you. There. Period.

[speak-clearly]

In these halls of ruin

I have a room in my mind where I sometimes go, Just to get away from her, you know.

It's the only place I have where I can let anyone know what's wrong, how she spews her poison and picks at every fault I do, does everything she possibly can to show all my errors to you.

The way she keeps you hostage and forces you to decide between me and her all the time makes me so sick that I feel like my head is going to explode...and it leaves me powerless because I can't engage in it, won't be part of it.

I bow my head, nod and agree, just to be able to survive and make sure that you survive too. I need to play this game until you're old enough to decide for yourself, until you're old enough to see and understand. I need to wither away in my own life just so I can make sure you bloom in yours.

I know it is partly my own fault for not being more of a man, standing up, putting the foot down, what-fucking-ever. But I am what I am, and this is how I help destroy everything. I am caught in my own self-inflicted misery, I roam the halls of the hell I have created.

But I smile, because of you. So that you might not have to endure all of this, so that it might not have to weigh you down. And you will never know.

And that is why I sometimes go to my room in my mind. To have a place where I can lock myself in, scream and tear at everything.

I had no idea you could hear me in here...

[speak-clearly]

The new mac pro...no wait!!!! #torktrashcans

[speak-clearly]

#namnam #ilovenorway

[speak-clearly]

YEEEESSSSS :)

[speak-clearly]

I have found my new fetish, kitchen appliances. It' s a great way to buy more shit you don't need...and feel like you're Gordon Ramsey at the same time #garbage #moreappliances

[speak-clearly]

[speak-clearly]

Insomnia

They say that you can suffer from insomnia if you really miss someone. And I guess it must be true because I never sleep anymore. And I really miss you.

It's because I remember your smell. It's because I remember your taste. It's because I remember your sound.

And it's because I remember waiting for you at the train station, not knowing what to expect or how to react. It's because I remember my hands being sweaty, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth because I decided, for the first time, that I would not put on an act.

It's because I remember your smile when you finally appeared, realizing you were as vulnerable as me. There was a wisdom to you that scared me, and I remember this because I liked it. I drank of that wisdom the same way we drank cheap white wine and agreed that Bukowski saw right through us. I drank because I was dying of thirst.

And I remember how we saved the world and ourselves with every sentence we spoke, every breath we shared. Holding on to one another for dear life because we feared we'd be crushed if we let go of this ride.

And when you finally invited me to you I felt a surge of adrenalin so strong I was afraid I would explode.

And later I did.

I was Magellan and Curiosity, The Red Baron and Livingstone. Every new discovery, every conquest, was an epiphany to me. I climbed mountains and dove into canyons and every time I rushed it you told me to linger a little longer, explore more. And I remember that I did. Goose bumps, birthmarks, skin as soft as silk. I promised myself to forget everything so the next time would be the first. But of course I couldn't.

Of course I remembered.

And I remember when I let you go. I remember that for a brief second I thought you were not the most important thing to me, for a brief second I thought I wouldn't be crushed if I jumped off the ride.

But of course I did.

They say that you can suffer from insomnia if you really miss someone...

[speak-clearly]

You

I want you. I want to break you up, break you down. Into little pieces. I want to dissect you, distill you, search for the essence of you. I want to dig and burrow until I reach the place where you are. I want you under my skin, in my mind, on my dinner table. I want to breathe the smoke coming from you, I want to lick the salty tears from your cheek, I want to cower beneath your rage and find comfort in your wicked fantasies. I want you. There is a photo in my private album of someone who is almost you kissing someone who is almost me. It's broken and torn, fading as those things do. That is a shame because I think the real you would have liked the real me even better

[speak-clearly]

Reality

[speak-clearly]

Mid september in Norway #ilovenorway

[shitmystudentswrite]

Anne Hathaway

At the age of eighteen, Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway who I thought was the catwoman woman but I googled it and they were different people. But Shakespeare was still happy with her.

[speak-clearly]

How nice for Shakespeare