Long days, tall orders of coffee.

Tomorrow the school year officially starts. Back to university and all the toils that this implies. Luckily the government grant (for me as a student) just went through and I finally have  some funds on the old  bank account. After the bills are paid this will of course be whittled down to a mere husk of its former cashy glory. But there is at least enough left over for me to be able to enjoy a hot cup of coffee outside the confines of my home, whenever I choose. And I choose to quite often.

I've said goodbye to a few friends this summer. They're moving away to far-off lands and brighter futures and better prospects than this town could possibly offer. I hope to be rejoining them soon. So that we can once again discuss random bullshit on topics of which we know little. while at the same time imbibing in the joys of "life". They'll know what I mean. Hopefully.

Good luck to you all. But mostly to my bromance partner Sven. Who is traveling to The Great White North. A place I myself enjoyed immensely. Tell them Patrik sent you..

Am I Missing Something?

The latest U2 album has me more than a little perplexed. The name of it, that is. No Line On The Horizon...

Has Bono developed a sense of irony in his golden years? Or have I grown dumber? Either way I'm quite confused at the moment.

Daydreams and Sugar.

Sleeping too much or not enough seems to have the same effect. A fuzzy halo on reality, amplified by sugar. And caffeine. The first cup of coffee in the morning kicks the entire thing into overdrive. Blurring my consciousness just enough so that I gloss over the little details that annoy me to no end. At the same time it's refreshingly weird and crisp. Ramping up my perception so that I may notice the daily patterns and occurrences that I find cute.

Platitudes aplenty.

When that first whiff of beany goodness hits my nostrils and spirals into the old olfactory bulb I know the day will have at least a base level of enjoyment in store for me. Sugar, caffeine and the odd dose of nicotine in the form of a cigarette may not be terribly good for the body but it does wonders for the mind. It's fan-fucking-tastic, with a dash of self-destruction thrown in. Making you feel a tad more alive.

Pucker up.

The game Lips. Holy Jumpin's Jesus has that piece of digital entertainment given me pain the past couple of days. It's a rather girly karaoke game containing tracks of a popish nature. Which I have nothing against. Too each his own, and so forth.

What annoys the hell out of me is the little snippet of music (and I use the term so loosely here that I dare say it has lost all of its damn meaning) that plays between the bouts of singsong. It's monotonous. Not just monotonous, but short. Shorter than the average sneeze. Without the joy of neurologically resembling an orgasm, or so the urban legend goes. Anyhoo. A couple of thumps of bass and then the thing starts over. Ad infinitum.

Was it too expensive to extend the length of this turd to a whopping 10 seconds? Let's say, the duration of a protracted yawn. Breath in, shape your mouth and exhale a little ditty. Whatever comes to mind, no longer than 3 seconds. Record it and play it back to yourself on a loop for about 2 minutes, with 3 minute intervals, for the next 10 of your waking hours. At the end you'll be jamming your housekeys into both ears. A pierced eardrum or two being a small price to pay in order to escape such an auditory hell.

Sidenote: A little bit edgy today. No coffee in the mornings here,  badly missing my sweet cup of Swedish java. And my sunny vacation time is drawing to a close. How are you?

Michael Jackson, and the bullshit that followed.

So Michael Jackson died. My reaction to this is one that swings like a damn pendulum between utter apathy and surprise. I'm not surprised by the actual death, mind you, but by other people's reaction to it. Yes, he did write some snappy pop tune in his day. No doubt about that. But he also molested children. That's right. He was a fucking pedo. I think there's little doubt about that anymore. Him being acquitted equates to very little for me in this case.

Just like the OJ Simpson trial, Michael Jackson's two highly publicized trials only proved that a rich person can get away with anything in Los Angeles. It also helps your case if you are insanely famous. And that you would be raped, murdered and then raped again within 10 minutes of your incarceration. Who could pass up the chance to rape the King of Pop? I know I couldn't. My tone is harsh and brutal. The memories the kids have of the King of Pop placing their genitals in his mouth is probably a whole hell of alot more harsh and brutal, on top of being disturbing beyond all belief. The only way MJ could become any more disgusting and creepy would be if he returned from beyond the grave as some sort of unstoppable child-molesting zombie. Let's hope the kids can find the magical pendant until then.

The social convention to celebrate someone when they've died no matter what they did in life is one I cannot fully understand. Let's just be honest. Which is worse: being remembered as a troubled yet brilliant man with personal issues, or a two-dimensional character dancing on a stage in glittery pants? On a personal note - I'd rather be remembered as the asshole I was than some magical nymph-like creature that spread good will and tidings to all the world's people while maintaining a killer bod which smelled of chamomile and thyme. Bullshit seems to be rampant in this area. Prune it just a little, please.