The Bore Monster - haibun

Was juuuuust about to go out for a walk in the sunshine when a guy came through the wall (the one facing the inn) and yelled:

”Don't go!”

”Why not?”, I heard myself ask in calm voice. Apparently I wasn't surprised.

”You simply have to stay in. He's out there, you know!”

”Who?”

”HIM!”

He reached into his pocket for smokes though his lungs sounded like a sick bagpipe.

“Who's HIM?”

“Him or her, what do I know? I won't go into a lengthy discussion about sexes in language. iIt's easier calling it him. The Bore Monster!”

“The Bore Monster? What's that? Some sort of pig demon with tusks?”

“Ah man, get real! He's in Singapore these days. No, the I'll bore-you-to-death monster. That there thing that jumps you when you go round the village where nothing happens and everything is so small and bland and dull and predictable and you don't meet any people and ...”

“Sorry to butt in, but did you have coffee yet?”

watched by a satellite

I carry Ben Webster

in my pocket

Legion - haibun

Legion

"So, there's all these people getting off on nature. Dreaming romantics, I'd say"

"What's wrong with that? It's fairly normal and nature is wonderful. To some"

"It's boring. Hellish boring!"

"You're nature, I'm nature. When it comes down to it everything you can think of is nature in some way or another"

"Yeah, and my shit is nature"

"Man, you're a cynic, you are"

night train

I'm a blind eye

in a glowworm

There's no point in taking this further. We never reach an agreement, Gerald O'Mudd and I. We live in the same house (with some other guys coming and going) and have settled for this unsettled friendship. He is me as I am him as is Giovanni Monte, Janez Gora and Karl Kornmutter. We're each others alter-egos, you could say; with me paying the rent.

flapping its wings

a bluebottle asks me

to open the window

Later:

humming fridge

just enough light around

to cast a shadow

"I mean, it's like religion: they like to picture that it's all beautiful. They don't see the down-sides like they don't consider giant centipedes eating your insides in a guano filled cave in New Guinea ... and they use it as an excuse not to deal with their immediate reality"

"What has that got to do with anything?!"

No answer. Gerald rolls another one of my cigarettes.

"Get your own", I say.

"Are you stupid or what? I'm imaginary, a figment of your inability to integrate all your different "tracks of mind", as you call 'em. Dick head! Anyway, there are no shops open in this shitty village, as you know, and even if there was, they don't carry our brand of tobacco, do they!?"

He's right, of course.

-*-

Legion

”Suk, alle de dér mennesker, der synes natur er såååå fantastisk. Drømmende romantikere, du”

”Hvad er der galt med dét? Det' rimeligt normalt og naturen er vidunderlig. For nogle”

”Den er kedelig. Ind i helvede kedelig”

”Du er natur, jeg er natur. Når det kommer til stykket er alt, du overhovedet kan komme i tanker om natur i én eller anden grad”

”Ja, selv min lort er natur”

”Mand, du' sgu da en kyniker”

nattog

jeg er et blindt øje

i en Skt. Hans orm

Der er ingen grund til at vade mere i det. Vi bli'r aldrig enige, Gerald O'Mudd og jeg. Vi bor i samme hus (sammen med nogle andre gutter, der kommer og går) og vi er enige om at være uenige i det her venskab, generelt. Han er mig, som jeg er ham ligesom Giovanni Monte, Janez Gora og Karl Kornmutter. Man kan sige, vi er hinandens alter-egoer; jeg er ham, der betaler huslejen.

flappende vinger

en spyflue spø'r mig

om jeg vil åbne vindue

Senere:

køleskabet brummer

lige lys nok her

til at kaste skygge

”Jeg mener, det er ligesom religion: de ser kun det, som de bilder sig ind er vidunderligt. De ser ikke bagsiden ligesom de ikke tager kæmpetusindben, der gnaver i dine indvolde i en guanofyldt hule i Ny Guinea i betragtning ...og de bruger den som en undskyldning for ikke at forholde sig til deres her-og-nu virkelighed”

”Hvad har det med noget som helst at gøre?”

Intet svar. Gerald ruller én af mine cigaretter.

”Køb dine egne” siger jeg.

”Er du dum eller hvad? Jeg er en indbildt person, en luftspejling af din manglende evne til at integrere alle dine forskellige ”bevidsthedsspor”, som du kalder dem. Nar! Der er sgu alligevel ingen åbne butikker i den her lortelandsby, og selvom der var, har de ikke vores mærke tobak, vel?”

Han har selvfølgelig ret.

Spanish Melons / Spanske meloner

Spanish Melons

Fumbling my radio in a new moon night I delete all the preset stations. "All" is a big word; I live in Denmark and we ain't got that many to choose from. Besides, I get more and more picky with music as I age. At least with the stuff the radio stations play. If it's not stupid, flat, mass-produced pop crap, it's stupid unmusical and monotonous rap or a narrow-minded choice of classical ... At least the jazz station gives me some joy once in a while.

Spanish melons

a girl I've forgotten

dressed for spring

I finally get my faves punched in again and go for a piss. On the way back to bed I decide to watch 8 1/2 instead. Fellini might give me better dreams .

after the Ascension

I play my worn

humdrum

-*-

Spanske meloner

På en nymånenat fumler jeg med min radio og kommer til at slette alle de stationer, jeg har lagt ind som faste. ”Alle” er et stort ord; jeg bor i Danmark og vi har ikke det store udvalg, og derudover bliver jeg mere og mere kræsen m.h.t. musik, efterhånden som jeg ældes. I hvert fald med hvad der kommer ud af radioen. Hvis det ikke er mudder-hjernet poplort, er det umusikalsk dumt rap eller et snæversynet udvalg af klassisk … I det mindst gi'r jazzkanalen mig en lille optur indimellem.

Spanske meloner

en pige jeg har glemt

i forårstøj

Jeg får dog lagt kanalerne ind igen og går ud for at pisse. På vej tilbage til sengen får jeg lyst til at se 8½ i stedet. Fellini kan måske give mig bedre drømme.

efter himmelfarten

flytter jeg stolen tilbage

til trummerummet

No Wind / Ingen vind

No Wind

like always the dandelions exploded into bloom overnight it's sort of limbo (like the catholic one totally imaginary) being stuck here between inner and outer reality and having no drive in applying romanticism I could say I'm a ship at sea with no wind but I won't instead I go to the super for milk and stuff as usual I say no to the receipt and joke that she could fold it into an airplane

day of ascension

my yawns get

still longer

-*-

Ingen vind

som altid eksploderede mælkebøtterne i blomst over natten det' en slags limbo (ligesom den katolske version aldeles imaginær) at være kørt fast her mellem den indre og den ydre virkelighed uden drive hvis jeg skulle udtrykke det romantisk kunne jeg sige at jeg var et skib til havs i vindstille men det gør jeg ikke i stedet går jeg til supermarkedet efter mælk og diverse som sædvanlig takker jeg nej til kvitteringen og spøger med at hun kan folde en flyver

kristi himmelfart

mine gab bliver

stadigt længere

Attenborough - a haibun

Attenborough

I start the mantra and fall asleep. Half an hour later I'm woken by loud buzz and reconfirm (like another Attenborough) the fact, that evolution hasn't yet taught bumblebees how not to be tricked by windows.

high humidity

I wait for the rock

to start

the conversation

Attenborough

Jeg starter mantraet og falder i søvn. En halv time senere bliver jeg vækket af højlydt summen og får genbekræftet (som en anden Attenborough) det fakta, at evolutionen endnu ikke har lært humlebier, hvordan de undgår at blive snydt for vinduer.

høj fugtighed

jeg venter på at stenen

starter

samtalen

Bladder / Blære

Bladder

The first thing I notice as I get home is a great big wasp crawling on the floor. I'm still wearing shoes so I step on it and wriggle my foot. I hate them! The stingy back of the darn thing is still whole so I pick it up with a pair of tweezers. It goes in the ashtray. Wasps sometimes come down from the ceiling when the weather gets warmer. Drowsy. Last autumn I asked the landlord to check. He came, saw and sprayed some poison around, though he said there was no sign of them in the attic.

up again

the neighbour's fountain

animates my bladder

-*-

Blære

Det første jeg ser, da jeg kommer hjem, er en kæmpestor hveps, der kravler på gulvet. Jeg har stadig sko på, så jeg træder på den og vrikker med foden. Jeg hader dem! Den forbandede tings stikkende bagdel er stadig hel, så jeg samler den op med en pincet. Den ryger i askebægeret. Hvepse kommer sommetider ned fra loftet, når vejret bliver varmere. Søvnige. Sidste efterår bad jeg værten om at undersøge det. Han kom, kiggede og sprøjtede med noget gift, selvom der ikke var nogle at se oppe på loftet.

op igen

naboens springvand

animerer min blære

Milk / Mælk

Sitting in front of one my old paintings I get faint flashes of the person who painted it. I recall the smell of the damp apartment I had back then. Then I try to get a conversation going, but I'm not listening to me. I can't say whether I'm happy or sad about how things turned out and drink a glass of milk to settle my stomach.

Outside in the night (as if it wasn't inside the flat) a couple of drunks are shouting. They seem happy.

falling and rising I'll make a friend of the floor yet

–--

Jeg sidder foran et af mine gamle malerier og får svage glimt af personen, der malede det. Jeg husker lugten af den fugtige lejlighed, jeg havde dengang. Så prøver jeg at få en samtale i gang, men jeg lytter ikke til mig. Jeg kan ikke sige om jeg er glad for eller ked af, hvordan tingene endte med at blive, men jeg drikker et glas mælk for at få maven til at falde til ro.

Udenfor i natten (som om den ikke var indenfor i lejligheden) er der et par fulderikker, der råber. De lyder glade.

falder og rejser mig jeg skal nok blive venner med gulvet

Yippee

This part of the city is being ”beautified”, as they call it. It means the council takes down old buildings and put some short-lived crap up that's way too expensive for normal folks to live in. And, from what I've seen, they'll be designed to minimize individuality. They'll probably have a terrible indoor climate as well. In the process they've removed the bench where a homeless woman have lived for half a year. She now sleeps on a mix of old chairs.

It's round midnight and I drink coffee.

At least I got to teach my two year old grandson to shout: “Yippee, it's granddad!” today.

flickering North star

I add “light bulbs”

to the list

Undies

Chains. We apparently need chains. Today is Liberation Day when we celebrate the end of the German occupation of Denmark in 1945. Usually it is - or was - marked by putting candles in the windows as they did back then to mark the end of forced blackout. Now very few folks are still alive to remember and we take our freedom from armed tyranny for granted. Windows are mostly lit by the blue light from TVs these days. Our chains are different: debt, fashion, consumerism and nurturing a feeble self-image.

I put today's and yesterday's undies in a plastic bag. After all, I'm only visiting.

dinner time

my grandson becomes

a tiger again

Aliens

It's not like it matters, that there moonshine. Though it sorta fits cinematically in with my insomnia and my sense of loneliness, it's still a stage requisite. I forget it as easily as rain or past constipations rolling another cigarette. What is more immanent is the fact that I'm nearly out of my fave rolling paper and I have to go away for a few days. I usually order a special kind of paper from a web-shop. It's a non-bleached and very thin paper, but if I order it before I take off, the package will arrive while I'm away and go back to the shop. Better to wait till I get back. I have half a box of some paper I bought by mistake. It's a bit thicker and chlorinated and the smokes taste less of the good tobacco and more of paper (hand-rollers will know what I mean) when I use that. Two things one shouldn't play with: the tobacco you're used to and the paper and the coffee brand ... three things. On the telly some aliens are hired to pick out hopeful youngsters to play pop stars. I switch to a program about canons in WWII. Maybe that will tire my brain enough.

"Chock Insecticide

with flower scent" - at least

it's a fragrant death