Reader discretion advised: this post contains sarcasm.
So Instagram banned my account this morning due to thisobviously (?) indecent hand over keyboard photo.
Indecent male hand hovering over keyboard insinuating outrageousmusical activity
I had no idea the mere suggestion of me having a keyboard again was so shocking.
See, what happened – I was very touched about having finally acquired a keyboard after living without any piano or keys since 2018!
Too late did I realize that a male hand hovering over a sensible music instrument could be too much to handle for the Instagram community, or that, maybe, the fantasy of me again being able to inflict emotional havoc with my terrible music was so bad that it had to be stopped by all means?
I obviously disagreed with the decision. However in order to communicate my confusion Instagram give you no other option than to take a selfie and upload it to document that you are still you – blindly trusting that they wont viciously leak such unshaved early morning atrocity to dark and sinister purposes later,
Of course I wont comply with such dubious procedures!
And as the requirement for the selfie was to show my hands I quite naturally send them my “hands hovering over keyboard” thing instead (They did not go so far as to say “stick em up!”, but still, show your hands, take a picture of yourself… really, seriously?)
Struggling to get up early – before 1, or at least 4…
No, not A.M. – P.M,. like in the afternoon. I decided to try my hand on making a list, on that – how to get you out of bed.
Music I listened to: Anatomy Of A Murder, Duke Ellington. Columbia Records 1959 CS8166
1. Sleep rough during winter outside a nightclub at sunrise to unleash the drunken agonized young men who didn’t get any that night. They will kick you in the face and send you off running, wide awake, ready to work as a social media content moderator.
2. Develop a suitable addiction so that craving – this your most accountable partner – can manifest and wake you up at the darkest hour, just before dawn, to work your rock ‘n roll moves, twist and jerk until you can get your hit and slide off surfing to work as a social media content moderator.
3. Move to a country bordering on you-know-what and you’ll be woken up by rocket fire or shady characters rummaging your living room for teacups to fill with radioactive substances, doorknobs to smear with nerve toxins, or children to viciously torture for a splash in the media. Wide awake, terrified, in shock, and perfectly alert, you’ll rush screaming to your job as a social media content moderator.
4. If you have arthritis in your spine, go to a coffee shop in a major city and strike up conversation with a 30-something mentioning meditation and they will immediately say “You should try Yoga!”. Get that info and try those poses just before you go to bed. Then you’ll be sure to wake up before the devil itself in excruciating pain, just able to crawl across your cold (easy to clean) dirty tiled stone floor to reach your emergency stash of ultra-strong painkillers stored from your last trip to surgery, eat them raw in cold sweat, chew on dust, and find yourself wide awake, head spinning on a needle, ready to dash off to work as a social media content moderator.
5. You’ll be fired, then called back to work for some lunatic who runs a site called Twat, Twatter, Tit – or whatever, allowing you to destroy the planet by trolling unstable masses of immature maniacs. You won’t be allowed to sleep while working on the collective suicide of humanity, so there’s no need to wake up, or—for that matter—see any urgency in getting to work, ever again, as a social media content moderator.
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!
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)?
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.
Each time I venture out into this wobbly social network environment, I end up with a different set of friends.
Each time I start out with an idealistic point of view and end up with an office job.
The number of words in my notebooks go down as those here go up.
My work slow down and nothing gets published.
Eventually, I have to find a third job as well.
My work stops.
As you all know you end up carrying food from mother Earth to your mouth or money from your employer to your landlord.
Your work living is living the work.
I feel like some spirit somewhere sit with an enigmatic smile just waiting me to notice.
This time I kicked the ball twice.
At first it came about as I needed to find solutions regarding work and contacts. Some tell me to go on social networks. I think, okay, alright, I try again.
Old friends suddenly find out! ‘No longer in Copenhagen?’ they say. I find out somebody had died; this made me very sad. I didn’t know that. I hear from family, and so on.
After only a few days I find myself connected to almost exclusively Danish friends, family and colleagues and have to consider every word I write accordingly, tedious.
I feel tired; I have been here before I feel. Like a horse, walking in a circle?
I get bombarded with Denmark’s political predicaments regarding immigration.
As I consider myself a migrant as much as any I find that very sad too. Moving anywhere and cultivate the Earth, work, or live from your musical talent there, is not a crime in itself.
I find the entire discussion completely missing the point: ‘There are no difference and nothing but difference between people.’ All are equal before the law. We must collaborate and get along globally.
You should not have to apply to stay but just register so that you can commit to the laws and settle for the time you are there.
Everything else strictly is racism and global apartheid.
And that goes both ways – ‘it should not be necessary for anyone to pity themselves in order to get support and respect,’ I think to myself, ‘the discussion is not about what it apparently is about. People are already fighting over something else, something less honorable than the question of human rights, religion or asylum for fugitives?’
But this was not what I looked for actually; my fatigue turns into dread.
I find myself getting dragged back in my life and involved in old considerations, about loyalty towards certain musical styles, national ways, merits and customs, politics. Who is who and so on.
So I kick the ball a second time!
I remove all my friends and delete the profile. Then I create it again with the same mail (not hiding) but now somehow try to diverge to other countries by inviting anyone I stumble on no matter where from or who they are.
This happens to result in many fine people from many places reacting kindly even as Facebook is complaining a bit; many do not react and one confused colleague ask about having added me once?
I did it the second time – remixed it, because I could not sit here and relate to political threads, many containing the well-known verbal abuse from mad anti-everything’s, about the disgraceful Danish immigration policy and what not, on my first profile, among mostly Danes.
By random ways I somehow end up, among other, connecting with many fine people from Indonesia; and, in case you can read this – as a side remark, I feel big sympathy with you all; I notice COVID cause difficulties in Indonesia, I reflect on this, and I feel this big honest sympathy with you.
All of this is of course very nice – maybe a bit risky security-wise, so be it.
However, it was not the point of me getting on a social network again.
There it is again; this enigmatic smile from somewhere…
I usually finish leaving the online community behind me again.
Look, people, politicians, it must be possible to put together the best scientists and engineers and ask them to find the most environmental low-noise and non-polluting way to build and repair structures in urban areas, to be really smart and innovative about it?
This surely must be doable, a solvable task? Like what about modularization? The old masters of masonry knew how to do this smart.
Why isn’t this problem attacked, it is a very interesting problem!
This situation is absurd in many ways.
To mention one then there is this thing which is so hilariously nutty that it drives me insane: All construction sites use a diesel driven power generator to drive their tools, the concrete drills, the electrical saws and so on – and they do this in a town complete with MASSIVE nuclear power-plant backed huge electrical power-grids supplying things like subway trains, le Metro, and le putain de TGV the brilliant national high-speed electrical train network (?!).
Why, just WHY, do they need a messy DIESEL generator designed to withstand conditions on remote outposts on freaking Mars to run an electrical power drill here, in the middle of an urban area?? So much in the middle of electricity-heaven that they have to carefully study detailed 3d-maps to actually AVOID drilling into high-voltage iron and f****** die.
Now add to this picture that info-board; a digital info-board on our neighborhood corner educating us, the citizens, about the 60 bucks of fine you get if you cause … (ta-daa) noise-pollution.
Yes, they said it, la Ville de Paris: noise-pollution is a felony.
However, you see, that is not about the … beyond maximum outdoor mega death metal hard rock concert level construction site machinery from 7am year upon year that make entire buildings shake, nor is it the amazingly penetrating bone-marrow splintering wrrrroum of angry male gasoline consuming die-hard scooterists you can hear loud and clear at least three blocks away all over the place (and do beware never to approach such a creature; they are the incarnation of toxic masculinity on steroids and will happily send themselves to jail, ruin their lives, and yours too, should you comment on anything while they scooterize their urban war theater called French traffic).
No, not that kind of (permanent) TEMPORARY noises which are NECESSARY, because, something … yes, actually, why? (And why can’t we do better?)
But that’s not it. This is not the noise pollution la Ville de Paris talk about so kindly on the info-board.
That thing is – those illegal urbannoises they are things like: street musicians (say, if we imagine a violinist, a guitar dude, or what-so-ever, can actually be heard over the scooters and diesel-drilling…), people having a good time talking and laughing at terraces late in the evening (people, like people, in a town, which is what you’d expect, no?), children playing (right, that is bad!), boom-boxes and hip-hop dancing, basket-balling, love making for open windows and so on. In other words, the leisurely ‘noise-pollution’ humans make when they have a life, noises you can actually bust someone for doing without hurting the economy (I guess?), and give them a fine.
See? It is insane; this is insane. This is definitely notbio.