"DET VAR MIN KLUB FØRST
DET ER MIT BEAT
DET ER MIT LIV DU DANSER TIL"
31. mar. 2011
28. mar. 2011
Karma is only a bitch when you are
"How young are you?
I am so young, I still get fascinated by how “they” make babies. And by my own bellybutton. I’m perfectly content to eat a dinner consisting of chocolate, Pepsi max and cigarettes.
I’m so young I can go to one of your parties, turn up your speakers and dance around half-naked in your living room, grab a bottle of your gin, on my way out, when you’re all passed out on the floor, and nobody blame me cause I’m still so young. I’m so young I can go out on a Monday night, drink whiskey after whiskey after whiskey, start a barfight, and go to work the next day all hungover, with a black eye and a palmprint on my cheek, and still accomplish more in one day, than you did all last week. Because I’m so full of energy, I’m so full of vitality, I’m still so young.
I’m so young, “self-destruction” is still a cute word to have in my vocabulary. Somebody pour me a drink, give me a smoke and give me a light. Cause cancer? Alcoholism? They’re like.. Thirty years away at this point!
I still cross my fingers and hold my breath, when I pass graveyards. I don’t have one-night-stands. I have sleepovers.
I’m so young I can take a love that’s so pure and true, and fuck it up real good, and hurt you and hurt you and hurt you, and still have a pretty good excuse. I’ve got better things to do than sit here and fight with you, so I’m out like a light, I gotta get busy being young!
I’m so young, I could move to Paris tomorrow and spend all my money on champagne and blow, and my life in Paris could be real bad, it could be real hard, but you’re all just sitting there at home in your living rooms. Waiting for the next postcard, where I’m supposed to say I’m having so much fun, cause that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re young!
But I’m scared. And I’m sorry. And I’m real confused. Keep milking this excuse for all it’s worth, keep keeping too much cash in my purse, I act like a fool! Getting another tattoo. That’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m so young.
And all you old people.. You sit around, work your jobs. Drink tea! Tell stories about your own glory days and shit, but deep down, I think you’d rather forget. You’d rather forget how great it is, to be this young."
I am so young, I still get fascinated by how “they” make babies. And by my own bellybutton. I’m perfectly content to eat a dinner consisting of chocolate, Pepsi max and cigarettes.
I’m so young I can go to one of your parties, turn up your speakers and dance around half-naked in your living room, grab a bottle of your gin, on my way out, when you’re all passed out on the floor, and nobody blame me cause I’m still so young. I’m so young I can go out on a Monday night, drink whiskey after whiskey after whiskey, start a barfight, and go to work the next day all hungover, with a black eye and a palmprint on my cheek, and still accomplish more in one day, than you did all last week. Because I’m so full of energy, I’m so full of vitality, I’m still so young.
I’m so young, “self-destruction” is still a cute word to have in my vocabulary. Somebody pour me a drink, give me a smoke and give me a light. Cause cancer? Alcoholism? They’re like.. Thirty years away at this point!
I still cross my fingers and hold my breath, when I pass graveyards. I don’t have one-night-stands. I have sleepovers.
I’m so young I can take a love that’s so pure and true, and fuck it up real good, and hurt you and hurt you and hurt you, and still have a pretty good excuse. I’ve got better things to do than sit here and fight with you, so I’m out like a light, I gotta get busy being young!
I’m so young, I could move to Paris tomorrow and spend all my money on champagne and blow, and my life in Paris could be real bad, it could be real hard, but you’re all just sitting there at home in your living rooms. Waiting for the next postcard, where I’m supposed to say I’m having so much fun, cause that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re young!
But I’m scared. And I’m sorry. And I’m real confused. Keep milking this excuse for all it’s worth, keep keeping too much cash in my purse, I act like a fool! Getting another tattoo. That’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m so young.
And all you old people.. You sit around, work your jobs. Drink tea! Tell stories about your own glory days and shit, but deep down, I think you’d rather forget. You’d rather forget how great it is, to be this young."
27. mar. 2011
Tankevæggen: Tanke #72903
"Kære veninde. Jeg vil ønske, at du var her og at vi ikke bare sad og snakkede over Facebook. Det er ikke det samme. Du kan ikke se mit ansigtsudtryk, høre min stemme, se at noget er galt og at jeg har brug for at snakke om det. Hvorfor er vi blevet så digitale, når alt jeg har brug for er et kram?"
22. mar. 2011
21. mar. 2011
20. mar. 2011
13. mar. 2011
10. mar. 2011
4. mar. 2011
Maurice Blanchot
”Enhver, der er fascineret, ser ikke – egentlig talt – det han ser, men det berører ham i en umiddelbar nærhed, det griber ham og lægger beslag på ham, om end det absolut lader ham blive på afstand. Fascinationen er fundamentalt forbundet med det neutrale, upersonlige nærvær.”
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