looking for a camera that would enable me to film some living coins a
hitherto unknown nephew starts building a house around me. It's not
that I was out in the open before he began. I was going around my
business following this idea of making this film of actually living
coins, two I found in a drawer. They weren't alive when I put them
there some 20 odd years ago, but apparently something happened in the
meantime. My wife (she is my
wife in this dream) is in a room I cannot see looking for a job. It's
mandatory. She has to to get unemployment benefit. In the dream as in
real life. Obviously it's not her dream.
takes me quite a while to find the camera. I know what it looks like
(and it's nothing like a camera, more like a cheap microphone from
the 70's; that's
dreams for ya) but
I can't find it. It's that feeling: you know what the missing thing
is, what it looks like, where you think you have seen it, where you
put it the last
time you used it, what the drawer/box/closet/cupboard smelled like.
But it just isn't to be found. Gone, it is.
began looking for it in my usual flat surrounded my the usual mess
as nephew X was building the flat became a house and
the house was now in the city
and not in the village I live in. More and more family members and
friends I haven't seen for years began walking around in the house.
They all wore
summer clothes and drank their preferred drink from plastic glasses.
At least my sense of season
is in sync.
long last I find the damn camera but then the house is full of people
I'd rather spend time with than with coins, alive
or not. The dream-nephew
finish his work by painting all the walls white.
from nothing a couple of
shakes [seeing god on the train] […] the on/off existence of
villages. flash. can I where
your dog / a face lit by a phone [hush]
scent. a lonely-chair. the absence of sky at night
|talk don't talk remind me don't remind me. hold | fructose.
a flock of dolphins at the all night gas station. rainpass don't pass me by. this tree has leaves in summer
[slept too long the day is
broken] up my nostrils almond oil and your juices add me to
the list of emigrants | your
piece of the ground 25 dog-ends a crushed snail | a fable
about the young earth and a dream of innocence some
Chinese or whatever has woven the fabric we sit on [press “stop”
and mind your luggage] down pressed down. a note with “sor ..”
the significance of skid-marks in a self-proclaimed prophet's
underwear theorists reach a point where for a king to be a certain
and named king who died in a joust for him to be that king which is
supposed to be the one mentioned in a certain prophesy he must have
been someone else if we don't take into account that just by putting
this vision onto a page and publishing it thus making it spread to
thousand of living vibrating minds in itself will influence the
future in such a way that the king wasn't king or even a human being
but an apple with two cores ...
zap on to another programme where a man back in the 1970's win 64.000
kroner by answering a question about rare stamps
They spend five and twenty years on
all kinds of studies to predict what eternity might look like. Radio
telescopes, giant stethoscopes, X-rays and plastering it over with
ultrasound gel, sonar pings, paper aeroplanes, waxed swan’s wings,
tin cans wrapped in tinfoil and ... you name it.
of green aphids
Having done what they could and
assumed what was reasonable they reached only one point of agreement,
one thing they could say with 75% certainty: eternity is pale green
and has thick carpets. Two points on which they could agree.
My book of bilingual linked hariku: ”notes 10 11 -12 / noter 10 11 -12” has been published by Yet To Be Named Free Press.
at its best, is Bjerg's unique ability to jump effortlessly from
mythology to everyday life. A book of haiku that modestly tips its cap
to traditional Japanese literature, while remaining authentically Danish
throughout. It is the perfect companion for the imagist stranded on a
desert island. ”
Brendan Slater, writer and publisher
Min bog med lænket haiku i to sprog: "notes 10 11 -12 / notes 10 11 -12" er blevet udgivet på Yet To Be Named Free Press.
på sit bedste, er Bjergs unikke evne til at springe ubesværet fra
mytologi til hverdag. En bog med haiku, der beskedent tipper sin kasket
til traditionel japansk litteratur, men er ellers autentisk dansk. Det
er den perfekte ledsager for en imaginist strandet på en øde ø. "
poems in this book may have the outer appearance of the haikai linked
forms “rengay” and “yotsumono” but they don't necessarily follow the
“internal” rules of said forms and they are written by one person and
not by several. I merely took the structure of these as a skeleton on
which to hang these somewhat diary-like notes written during the months
of October and November 2012. Reading them again I see the dynamism of
outer reality in dialogue with my inner ditto - my mind processing
impressions from various sources scattered across time. Said in another
way: it's just me sitting in a couch in Kali Yuga jotting away ...
i denne bog fremstår måske som de lænkede haikia former ”rengay” og
”yotsumono” i den måde, de fremtræder på, men de følger nødvendigvis
ikke de ”indre” regler, som ligger i disse, og de er skrevet af én
person og ikke af flere. Jeg brugte blot strukturerne som et skelet, som
disse dagbogs-agtige noter fra oktober og november 2012 kunne hænge på.
Når jeg læser dem igen, kan jeg se dynamikken i min bevidsthed mellem
den ydre virkelighed og den indre ditto - min bevidsthed, der behandler
indtryk fra forskellige kilder spredt ud over tiden. Sagt på en anden
måde: det er blot mig, der sidder i min sofa i Kali Yuga og skribler …