I'm a Synthpopper, yes I am

Dagens värsta var att bli väckt av dammsugning utanför min stängda dörr. En inte helt ovanlig företeelse är den att bli väckt av ett munstycke i hårdplast som krockar mot tröskeln.

Vi hade en liten sammankomst hemma hos Sara, med singstarspelande som the main purpose. Otroligt nice. Självklart vann jag ingenting. Men sjunger jag dåligt för det kanske? Gör jag det?! Va?!
Inte vet jag.

Jo, sen avslutningsvis blev det f*ttiwood. Kortspel. På vårat sätt, vill säga.

Boys in the Weeds

Ny tröja på väg. Den bruna är för bebisar. Tyckte ändå jag passade bäst i den gröna.
Som om jag provat den!

Malmö Beach Night Party

Och jag missade SMK på satin i lördags...men heck, nu är det en ny lördag. Ryck upp dig.

Får snart lov att köra igång Haastard-projektet känner jag. Den andra klockan nånting är det dags för avfärd till planeringssyfte framför allt, såsom jag vill se det. Och kanske lite skidåkning, inte vet jag.

"Du tror du är så jävla indian" - Haastard (c)

Sing along

Oh Threadless Tree,

We will tinsel thee,

and gather all the presents underneath,

caroling so very merrily.

Oh Threadless Tree,

full of Threadless tees,

online for all the world to see,

Santa won't you bring a tee for me?

Take that star and hang it high,

So Rudolph knows where to fly!

"I want to open all of these boxes...

...but a mortal life span is to short to do such a thing.

A single lifetime limits how many boxes you can open. "

Jag gjorde upp en eld för dig
och nu brinner hela skogen
Nu vet jag vad du kommer att säga
och det känns som första gången
Kom, vi visar dem att det är vi
men det visste alla redan
Ut springer du iväg med mig
ja hör du hur de sjunger

Som att allting redan var bestämt
som att jorden går runt solen
Vem hade kunnat ta min plats
han finns ju bara ute
Jag pratar om nåt underbart
jag är där jag kan berätta
Stort, större än jag nånsin trott
Det snurrar i min skalle

Jag gjorde upp en eld för dig
och nu brinner hela skogen
Nu vet jag vad du kommer att säga
och det känns som första gången
Kom, vi visar dem att det är vi
men det visste alla redan
Ut springer du iväg med mig
ja hör du hur de sjunger
ja hör du hur de sjunger
ja hör du hur de sjunger

Dumburken och flaggstångsfåglarna

En "Dumburk" är den obegripliga/ogripbara behållaren till vårt undermedvetna. Där kläcks och väcks alla frågor och faller ner på människor som tycks minska i sin oförståelse liksom du steg över dem, svävande, valsande högt i skyn. Stående på en av många flaggstångsfåglar.

Threadless

Kyah! Ett lejon med glasögon. Jag blev förälskad vid första ögonkastet, so I buy.

Kolla fler härliga T-shirt-tryck här:

http://www.threadless.com/

Alster

"Vind i träd"

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this, and nothing more."



Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore —

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here for evermore.



And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,

"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; — This it is, and nothing more."



Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you"— here I opened wide the door; — Darkness there, and nothing more.



Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" — Merely this, and nothing more.


Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before."Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore —Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; — 'Tis the wind and nothing more."



Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door —Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — Perched, and sat, and nothing more.



Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore."Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."



Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning— little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door —Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."



But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he uttered— not a feather then he fluttered —Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before —On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore."



Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore —Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore Of 'Never — nevermore'.



"But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore —What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore."



This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!



Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent theeRespite — respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of LenoreQuaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."



"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! —Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted —On this home by horror haunted— tell me truly, I implore —Is there - is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."



"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."



"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting —"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken!— quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."



And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore!