They’re here…

I was 13 or 14 when I first watched “Poltergeist”. (Rerun on TV right now.)
Didn’t know it was a horror movie walking into the theater. So many years on still freakin’ love it!

Same year watched Bergman’s “Fanny and Alexander”.
Didn’t know that was a ‘drama’ and that movie was a lot more scary than “Poltergeist” ever could hope to be!

I mean Jan Malmsjö as Bishop Vergeus, Stina Ekbladh playing the boy Ismael and that big man playing a burning fat lady in bishop’s house in the second act…wow!

Miss going to the movies totally unprepared and ignorant!

They're here ...

(Pic from online…obviously.)

BTW; just googled and realized that “48 hrs”, “Ghandi”, “Tootsie”, “Blade Runner”, “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas”, “Cat People”, “Annie”, “First Blood”, “Frances”, “An Officer and a Gentleman”, “Sophie’s Choice”, “Victor, Victoria” and “E.T” all premiered in 1982.

What a movie year that was!

Picky!?! Whom? Me! Nope!

“Beware inspirational online images…

… – they may be more insidious than you think” by Carl Cederström.

…the English version, The Guardian, Opinion 150710:

…the Swedish version, DN Debatt 150719:

My life unfortunately…

…isn’t as symmetrical in all the right angles as I would have wanted and once wished it to be.

I thought about finding a powerful potion with really bad taste — you know the ones that are made out of the heart of a frog, the blood from of a Transylvanian virgin, some old witch’s nails mixed with nettles and bark from an ancient grand oak — and mutating it completely once and for all. (Because I didn’t think simply transforming it would be enough.)

I, however, dropped this idea quite soon because of the fear that it, a.k.a my life, then would take the form of an amoeba so instead of moving to London I went out for a run. Because it seemed more surmountable. [Read; more sensible because I’m such a boringly judicious, pragmatic and rational person.]

And so; here I am! Philosophizing — in so many different ways which makes it waaaay more tiring than any triathlon in this world can be — about whether the Grimm brothers lied in their stories or not.
And about wether we rule our lives or our life rules us.

I’m such a bad person…

…who can’t get excited about the pictures of Pluto. If you sit around and wait nine years for a picture of…what?…he’s not even a planet anymore…then you’re deranged. Dwarf planet…my a**.

And what about that hydrogene peroxide blonde broad Charon, who circles around him all the time? Day out, day in for billions of years. Enough already! Don’t get me started. Get a job! Get a life!

NASA or Disney. Tomaytoes or tomahtoes. Let’s call the whole thing off and how about we just start down here on planet Earth:

Cure all types of cancer and obliterate world famine is what I would call doing a worthwhile and good day’s work.

I’m out walking…

…the dead again, which is my way of saying that anxiety surrounds me, but this time I won’t force myself to snap out of it as fast as I usually do nowadays.

This time I will allow myself that setup time it always takes to find that drawer marked “I’ll worry about that later.” in peace and quiet, for a week or two. Probably just one.
(BTW; thanks a mill Bodil Jönsson, what you taught the Swedes about setup time ought to gain you a portrait on a banknote one day.)

Not put on a brave face with lip gloss and mascara straight away. Not sashay out into the world with an Oscar-worthy smile on and not let a super superficial “Well, haaaallo! Hoooow are you doooing?!” come over my lips for a while.

This process — usually, as I said above, a week or two — always has had its set time frame but after forty I’ve learned to cover it up with eyeliner and new ideas to present at work or too much wine at a dinner party I didn’t want to attend in the first place.

In the really, really old days it could take months but these days the walk with the dead passes faster and I very seldom – to even say ‘never’ but then I have to knock on wood after it’s been said faster than a Formula 1 pit stop — fall into that narrow and deep hole that’s always being digged by my side.
This might be thanks to age, this might be because of a Valium now and then, this might be because the lessons life decided to teach our family have been fewer the last three to four years. I don’t know and I don’t even [over]analyze it anymore.

So what’s different this time, this week? Well, I turned down a really big, cool and probably fun party, two meetups with two old and so amazing friends. And you know what, all they said was: “That’s cool! We’ll meet for dinner next week…or the next. Just take care. Sometimes silence and me time is all you need.”
Not even one single mentioning of the awful “It will do you gooood to get out!” or the even more horrid “To be active is the only way to gain a sound mind.” (Yeah, right! To forget about your problems for six hours and then being hit with escalated anxiety for the next eight. The eight hours you ought to be asleep, you fucking moron!)

I think I’ve written it before but I’ll write it again; if I am defined by my friends I must be one hell of a human being.

So now I’ll take a walk. On my own, so just stay away and no, I don’t “need to talk about it”. And if someone has a problem with that I’ll sing within: “Fuck you. Fuck you very, very much.”

I like Lily Allen.

Jag har sökt namnen…

…på två tanter, som lever rövare i mitt huvud, i ett antal månader nu men hittar dem inte.

Tjejen från hemtjänsten heter Åsa och hennes chef heter Kerstin. Men vad heter tanterna?

Jag leker med Ingrid och Ramona, mina mostrars mellannamn men det skulle innebära att de blev sammankopplade med två tanter med vilka de har inget gemensamt. Kanske inte ens hade gillat.

Kom igen! Va fan, heter ni?!!?