Proto digte – side 65-68 notesbog 7 – Splintret erindring

Splintret erindring
samler
resterne op diskret
tilbagelænet med violiner i
karantæne hvad nytter
en banjo i denne
situation efterårsstorme
sender alt videre til
bage til ny begyndelse noget
dette at tale om der
skal leves må leves at der
ikke er mere at vente på
selv i de endeløse øjeblikke
hvor alle venter på næste
side i dirigentens partitur
tæppet trækkes væk for eller til
afslører alt det
velkendte i ny fortolkning
« åh nej » vi må udbryde
vi må
bryde
ud
være til være
med komme til festen
finde frem til pindemadderne det
der skal til gummipølse
og cykelmadder smedens
datter lapper hjerter (til jul)

Midterdelen af bølgen står
med ét firkantet i geometrisk
afmagt og balancerer cirklens
kvadratur mod surfets uanstændige
kurve protesten frakturérer det
elegante swung tonsvis af salt
vand vibrer kortvarigt og brækker da
i tusind stumper ud over det hele
intet ingen intet-som-helst ved længere
hvor dét er
hvordan dét endte
at komme tilbage
til dét
vægtløsheden
kan kun være en drøm ikke
at den ikke skal søges
igen
men da og altid kun fremad næste
den næste bølge for denne er
definitivt
væk

Kaospilot uden parasol set på
strand uanstændig balle skubber
sand bygger vandslotte
skovle hurtigt
man kan bygge en bølge
tage et billede
for eksempel

To bananpalmer
de sidste af deres art
de protesterer
nægter formering under tvang
« men vi kan ikke lide hinanden! » de
vil
gå hver til sit

Den smukkeste kødpølse af maskinudbenet
ligger mellem dine tænder og kommer i spil
« snart del af hjerne » tænker den vel kækt

Og måske lever verden i tiltro
hensigtsmæssig
vandrer skuer mod fjerne
bjerge
de er der stadig stadig
væk i vejen for
udsigten deraf ansigtets
bekymrede træk
tiltro til at næste
runde giver bonus
at trods sneklædte tinder
da kan man fortsat finde
parkeringsplads til køretøjer
hensigtsmæssige tiltag
at køre rockmusik ud over
det hele så de da kan forstå det
troen på nyfalden sne
at den rent faktisk faldt
med et brag i nattens fløjl
nogle vil vantro hævde
at den svævede
at den dækkede for
fantastisk udsigt
arkitekttegnet beton
omend kun forbigående
tiltro til at det grå
findes
de grå eminencer
spurvene
tunge regnmættede skyer
bjergmassiv salt vinterbølge strid kuling
himmel og hav i et
vind trækker hvidt skum
i strimer
iskoldt salt vand slår
ansigtet hånden mod ansigtet
det slår hårdt
kutters levende væsen
fødderne
følelsen
balancen
må holde i riggen
heldigvis kun kortvarigt
det varer ikke ved
trods det hensigtsmæssige er noget
flammende rødt
Solen: Blændende hvid
Natten: Sort
havnen flaprende klaprende urolig men dog stille
og nogenlunde vandret

Kom hjem
kom hjem
kom hjem

Cat Buddha

After a peaceful summer with neither mice nor mosquitoes (for a change) a mouse found it’s way into the house. Made immense sounds kept me awake all night, ate my Swedish bread and shat in my marmalade. I looked out next day and found that a Cat Buddha had materialized.

I see, I said to myself, that’s what drove that mouse to party like hell.

Now, a few days later mysterious and creepy events ensued as I caught the intruder in the act munching my bread – again. Startled, but without hesitation, it performed a blistering cinematic kung-fu parkour running over a thin metal wire, jumping on coffee cans flying over my teapot diving almost vertically down (about 20 times it’s own height) not slowing down and then all of a sudden manage to vanish without trace.

Very nice! However: I got traps! Lots of them. Humane traps: licking up the sweetest coriander honey on a freshly baked bread crump it will die in gourmet-heaven without ever knowing what hit it. Or at least that’s the idea. But something is weird; I had noticed that the running kung-fu rodent seemed somewhat big for a mouse, and as previously mentioned, it did make a hell of a noise during the first night; sure mice can do that, but still? Also, I was convinced mice could not reach the bread shelf on the metal grid, normal mice that is. Anyway, I set up the traps and night falls. As soon lights are out I hear running noise and then ZSCMACK!! I say a little prayer “Oh mighty courageous mouse rest in peace”, feel victorious, so fast, it worked like a charm, should I make a speech, take a picture? I go inspect the trap and I find blood splatter alright, but no dead mouse?? It got away, but how? Another trap goes off, without noise, ah, I say to myself annoyed, a dud, setup too sensitive it was and I feel somewhat stupid. But wait, a mouse there?? A small normal one this time??? I got … it? But then … um … what was the other “thing”? It was’nt this one; that got send of into neverneverland with a clean hit as intended?

Days later a certain nauseating smell begin to appear, somewhat of old men (not very reassuring for my ego), and I notice something under a radiator. At close inspection I see blood stains. Now, under the radiator is another trap – a counter measure against invasive ants, double sided strongly glued tape (Which by the way the spiders have figured out how to use as they have found a preference for hovering just over it – a coincidence?). The other guy was stuck in it. The other guy? I pulled the tape out, a slightly smelly dead rodent followed. It. Was. Big. With a tail, a big tail! Last time I saw such a tail it definitely was not attached to a mouse. A rat!! It was a young rat, still small, but indisputable a freaking rat!

Update on how to fix roofs by eating dates

As discussed in my post how-to-patch-a-hole-in-the-roof-totally-bio the concept was to seed a forest of date palms after casually enjoying a box of dried dates and then count on the palms to provide natural cover – eventually. Obviously this approach would ask for some patience; however, how has it gone so far, actually (you may ask)?

Like this! All the pointy leaves represent one date palm!

Anyway, I have to admit to throwing in some other sorts of trees to enjoy a book about cultivating Bonzaï trees I got at Quai d’Art Estampes Japonaises anciennes . Also, one of the date seeds didn’t come from the box I consumed but was offered to me as a gift by two adorable young women from Seoul late night at the reception where I work. Now, then (Surely this is important!): Which one of them is the gift?

If I decided to weed out excess palms then the one left should be that one surely!

Anyone who knows palm trees can see the problem: too many trees too little room and moving them would really require assistance from a brain surgeon to meticulously sort out all the roots without breaking as much as a millimeter of any one of them (As if you damage the root of a palm tree, it just dies, no way around that)…

In any case the summer breeze playing with this baby forest is how things stands now.

Under the Moon at night

… so I played sax in between the trees on a small hill in the moonlight this night at 2.12 AM in a mostly deserted parc in Paris …

Proto digte – side 4 notesbog 7 – Planen

For alt der ligger i vejen
beder vi om tilgivelse drømmer
om aflad ønsker det bort
som del af baggrundsfarven i
reklamen for snabelsko til
fastelavn

Alligevel ender vi med det
i skødet og betragter det
med væmmelse og
nysgerrighed: Hvordan kom det
så vidt?

Hvad skete der?
Denne lille hund. Dette bjerg.
Disse bamser og
rotter.

En lås, forladt, hvad passer den på?
Hvem ville det sådan?

Hvad var planen?

Your little trash punk jazz in Paris

Paris 2022. On the advert sign the city of Paris kindly reminds us that undeclared disposal of bulky trash is fined by 135 euros …well …
The other side. You can not help wondering if being put out on the street make it so that we, in fact, ourselves and our teddy bears, are bulky trash too?

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