- Gift openers · Poem

Ankomst, i virkeligheden (11)

Når drømmene går til angreb
Når de
Kommer op af mine bukselommer om natten,
Op frem under sengen som om de har ventet
Som katten i sækken der smager af dårligt julebag elleve dage inden i en lugt som bare helvede
For når drømmene går til angreb
Ved man aldrig hvad der venter
Hvilke fjender og bekendte man møder mens man leder og søger efter venligheder og en ægte hverdagsleder,
Som kan trække en op fra sølet i sin krop og de sorte drømme
Som skærmen på min slukkede telefon eller min baggrund som jeg aldrig rigtig fik installeret til lys og løjer
Her må jeg ærligt indrømme at mine tanker flyver og fejer med drømme der banker på og kigger gennem diverse dørsprækker
Rækker og trækker i mig mens de minder mig om ting jeg ikke forstår
Og med disse ord rammer jeg puden og beskytter min tro og min lov imod den angrebsdrøm, som prøver at opfylde lys og løjer, alle de der behov
Men i sidste ende virker det ikke, så jeg trækker bukserne på, for drømme går kun til angreb når du ikke har taget tøjet om dig
Når du er nøgen og alene, dit sind vandrer på må og få og du vil bare gerne vil tænkte på slukkede skærme
Dér går drømmene til angreb, hjemmebagte og parate
Med små, usynlige glimt

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- Gift openers · Bite-sized

Hvor er byen (ni)

Carl var rastløs.
Han var ikke rastløs længe,

For på den niende dag fandt han et vidunderligt modeltog.
Toget tog ham rundt i tågede og tårnhøje bakker i skøn natur, grønt og frugtbart og alt muligt andet, som Carl ikke kunne se ud af sit vindue
Carl bor midt i byen, men tit er den ikke til at se for bar beton, synes han

Men i modellen er der fart og fuld skrue, åbne vidder og brede bjerge
Midt i hans stue
Den var dyr, men sådan er priser for modeller, lidt forskruet og lidt for
Friskende

Carl var i proces. Han var ikke i enden og ikke i midten og ikke i starten, og slet ikke på sporet. Han var faktisk afsporet fra de ting, han engang fandt vigtige at få gjort, omend han havde glemt dem. Han kunne ikke finde byen.

 

- Gift openers · Poem

The end of me (Eight)

We’re all walking in line. Down the shore, lit by the last drops of sunshine. I can’t look back, because I’d be lost. I can’t look up, because I’d freeze and stop. So I keep my head down and my hands within the cart during the ride. No one speaks a word, but we’re all thinking the same thing. Where did we start? And when does it end?

It’s getting dark and my feet are cold. I’ve misunderstood my purpose in this world. But I’ve walked so far, so I can’t turn back. Just a little further, I tell myself, as the world turns pitch-black.

And at the end of the line, I’ll be enlightened and fine. There’ll be cake, I think. And I like that thought. So I keep looking forward to avoid getting distraught. And we all keep walking towards the end of the line where there’s always more time. And no one speaks a word, and no one here is hurt.

And there’s birds singing so far away. They’ll be there ‘till tomorrow brings a new day. I can’t feel my feet and there’s blood on my cheek. I realize I’m starting to bleed, it trickles down and I enjoy the heat.

The birds are singing in the night. They fill my bones with wonderful delight. They’re chirping lovely prose. I’ve never seen one up close. But I can hear them loud and clear. So they must be hiding somewhere near.

I’m hiding my face and hiding my fear. I don’t know where I am my dear.

We’re drawing closer to the end of the line. There’s no cake and I don’t feel fine. I’d like to say the journey was all mine. But this is the end of me, the cold disgusting line.

- Gift openers · Bite-sized

Snow white paper (7)

She stared at the paper for another five minuttes, its blank whiteness hurting his eyes.
She just wished it to be gone, or filled out, black and filled up to the brim with long, complicated words, moving and turning and twisting into sensual sentences.

The paper moved nowhere, because there was no paper at all, only a dimmed screen with the slightest smudge at the bottom, probably from whatever she ate earlier, still smelling in the bright, clean room. Her mother had told her to clean it for weeks, and it took her days and days to clean out the stuff, leaving only emptiness.

Very little space, she thought. Very little space to do things. It wasn’t true, of course, as the white walls unfolded around her computer, with the seven-pointed star atop the window. There was plenty of space, especially upwards.

It didn’t feel that way. She closed her computer, walked around in a small circle, feet tipping back and forth like an entrapped dog, and soon the computer ensnared her back to her chair in front of the white walls and the window. It was snowing outside.

The paper was blank. So full of space and nothingness, a white mess, a filled-up-joyful peace of virtual joy, living life to its fullest and going nowhere. She knew she needed to fill it out. Fill out that space, she thought. Do it. Now.

Sooner and later, stars shined in her eyes as the idea formed in her head, and she wrote. Black letters twisted and turned down the paper, spelling and speaking and screaming with joy as they slowly gave form to the paper, which, in a final release, gave up and conformed to their wishes. It was a great day, and snowing outside from above.

 

- Gift openers · Bite-sized

Roadside friend (Six)

There’s this saying I heard from this guy. I think he was in his mid-twenties. Something like that. He had the wispiest ‘stache. It was hilarious. He wore it with confidence, though. But it was almost see trough. Felt kinda bad for him. You gotta. Facial hair like that won’t get you far. And it was like he didn’t even know. He strutted along happily enough. Not a spot of shame. And he talked funny as well. Had this lisp. Like all his s’es were just a little off. Like he bit hiz tongue when he zpoke. Real nice guy too.

He told me a lot of things that day.

And he just came up to me. In the middle of the street. I was waiting to cross the road. And he just thought I might have been in the mood for some on the go philosophy. I mean he was right, but still. Who does that? We talked for a bit after. Seemed like he didn’t really have much to do. Just waiting around to hit up strangers for a bit of chitchat like that. Some people would probably just walk away. But I didn’t. I mean he was being so polite. Maybe he just got out of some mental hospital. Now that I think about it, his clothes were a bit dodgy looking.

Anyways. That saying…

I’ve straight forgotten it. Damn. It was really something magical too. He was such a strange guy. I wish there were more of his kind. I think he changed my life man. I mean not that I think he was that smart. Kind of a slow looking guy to be honest.

It’s like they say. “The world is only as you see it.” So I think that’s what really matters. You gotta make a world that you want to be in. Not literally make one of course, no. I mean like figuratively. I don’t remember who told me that, come to think of it. It’s kind of a game changer. When you start perceiving the world the way you want it, you can conjure up new friends anywhere. Even like now, when you’re just waiting to cross the street. Well… I better get going. I’ve got somewhere to be. It was nice talking to you. See ya, stranger.

- Gift openers · Short story

White beer (5)

The snow hurt his eyes like sparks of lightning. He was lost.

Empty streets and broken windows. He’d seen it all in his dreams.
He was lost.
But no frightening blows came from the shadows, no red-swollen noses stood out in the cold December night, no one home in the broken windows, nothing but his own

Flesh and bones.

He only notices the light at the end of the crossroads when it glows, more bright and fresh than any of the snow towering around him, like trash bundled up all over his face

No screams from distant alleyways,
no white beers and no wives and their five nights and the tears that followed, always getting in the way of safe trespassing without the conscience getting all bright, he’d rather be lost…

He was lost. The snow hurt his feet and his skin and his eyes like cold flames. Empty heart and no way home. He liked it that way.