Contact: ninjamupp [= aim & twitter] [+ hotmail.com = msn]
[+ gmail.com = mail]. Photography & illustration portfolio.
It's pretty easy. Or you could use this to say something, I don't bite unless asked to.
Unlikley ways of dying that almost occured today
1 notePolly Scattergood — Please Don’t Touch
The only things I know about Polly are those that — for her as a person — means nothing. I’ve seen the cover on the album Polly Scattergood so I know she’s blonde and has blue eyes that seems to stab you in the gut. And I know she makes good music when the songs aren’t remixed by the Golden Filter (nothing golden in a good way about those) and that she has a British accent. These are very shallow things and means nothing really, apart from making good music.
But is Polly Scattergood her real name? Was she teased for the last name in school? Don’t have a fucking clue; (1) I wish, because that would be awesome and (2) hope not. I won’t wikipeadia her, or google. Not yet. I want to be unspoiled and, I guess, not be disappointed by reality. Don’t want to know if she’s made comments about how she doesn’t watch (quality) TV or hates other music that I myself like or that she’s vegan. Reality shall not daunt me.
Home.
This photo isn’t from home though, I think this is one of the best photographs I took at the Woven Hand gig. Lots to go through though, so it is possible to miss a few.
Especially when tires… Tired I mean. Although, being run over is also a feeling that I imagine is quite similar to this. More pain perhaps, and tire marks.
When I got to the end destination of the subway — my end destination anyway, there were other stops after that — I was both early and hungry. It was a bit past four and my breakfast had been two slices of bread some hours earlier. Hunger! The stomach growled. It was the bark of a small dog, but even those can bite you hard if they aim properly.
Giving into the fear, I lurched into the shop nearby. It was a good choice, they had chocolate chip cookies on sale. Hardly any time spent in the line, I had paid and opened up the box. They were Good Cookies™.
The cell phone made the sound of a Tardis and it informed me that “going to be a bit late”. I shrugged and ate another cookie, with the hunger subsiding I could wait. Then it happened. The cookie cracked and most of it landed on the floor. The subway floor. With dust, and shoes, and probably small animals. Fuck. This is what nightmares are made off: 85% of a cookie rendered inedible and I can blame no-one. It was gone. Mutated into something evil, and it took less than a second. Wonder if it’s still there, plotting horrible things.
(Fittingly enough, this was my 666th post here.)
A long time ago, more than fifteen years, this was a big tree. It was surrounded by other smaller trees and as such it made a wonderful natural tree house.
My brother and I used to play in it, up until my allergies kicked in harder than usual. I spent a week-end blind as my eyelids were swollen and couldn’t really open up. After that, I was weary of nature. Still am, but that’s more because I carry my nerves on the outside as a suit. A fear suit.
The big tree later got split in a storm. Quieeek! and Tha-dunk! It got chopped up then together with most of the other small ones in the grove. Now that the allergies have subsided into almost nothing, I want to visit it again properly. But that is impossible, just the ground and these sticks… It’s not the same.
It’s one of those days. You know the type; they sneak up on you unawares and then the skin itches and you just want to go. Go away, somewhere else that’s not here. Nothing can suppress the feeling to not belong, not feel home. I haven’t had a home, a proper home in mind and soul as well as body since I left Uppsala. This is disturbing even though it does explain a bit of the unrest.
If I need to build a cabin to have something to call home, I think I’m fucked. If I focus I can build a decent shelf, that’s about it.
1 note
Yeah, in an Ossler-phase right now. Expect the last.fm-chart to be biased as hell because I can’t seem to stop listening.
Men du, du är min medicin.
Du är en livsnödvändig dos av cipramin.
Jag tror att min natur är aggressiv,
och att jag lider brist på empati.
Men du. Du är hela mitt liv.
— Ossler, Hela Mitt Liv.
Most of the things I do, I do ins a backwards kind of way. This above is the cover for an EP I’ve begun to work on. The internal order has so far been like this:
So, nothing has been recorded as of yet. This way of doing things has been the standard mode of operatus since Tommy and I talked about doing a pop culture magazine way back when. (Never left planing. Obviously.)
The cup.
The cup you use to drink tea (and whisky) is important. They need to have the right feel. Sure, you can go ahead and drink the dub from a glass like normal people but where the feeling in that? And tea like that? Shit, don’t get me started on those cafés where they give you hot tea in tall glasses that’ll burn your fingers to crispy frensh fries — but less yellow and tasty. Just getting the tea from the counter to a table is problem.
No. Paper cups work better. Not all of it gets hot in an instant when you drink tea and whisky… Well, it’s fun to watch die-hard traditionalists cringe and almost break apart in front of your eyes.
These cups though, they’re the real deal. Proper workmanship, and clearly individual. Found a set of two for 10 SEK while thrifting — about $1 and a few cents — and the edge on both of them are clearly not the same. It’s a bit wobbly if you look closer and it has lots of small marks. They also feels damn good in the hand, which is the most important thing.
My quest for a good tea cup has ended. Now I just need top find a good pot.
Ok, ok, I might be a too much of type-geek to enjoy and be in the demographic of fontasm.tumblr.com. Apart from no links to each post — and I really don’t want to use the buggy tumblr archive — the entry about Centaur drove me up the wall. I love Centaur, even if it is a bit weak in digital in smaller sizes. But “Centaur Italic”? For fuck sake. Centaur doesn’t have an italic form, it’s paired with the sloped Arrighi for that. Sorry, but I think you should know these things if you do a typography-page, or at least look it up.
If I could ignore this, I might like the tumblr. There are far too few things about type that’s good. And some of the texts there was rather fun to read. Oh, how I miss Lines & Splines…
2 notesThis gives flashbacks to the first incarnation of Carbonated Ink, back when I did extensive comics blogging. I miss that sometimes so it’s nice when something like this happen that forces me to do it again.
The slaves of Mickey Eye, by Grant Morrison and Cameron Stewart.
Grant took the 52-comic at DC for hostage in order to force them into allowing him to make this and the third part, yet unpublished Seaguy Eternal. And boy, I’m happy for this.
The first Seaguy was Morrison’s answer to the grim and cynical comics he saw published and he wanted to “return to the happy fun adventures”. In Grant’s mind, happy fun adventures was the Prisoner. And when this is done, it might be the greatest thing he’s done since the Invisibles.
The second volume picks up a bit after the first. It is a bit darker than the first, but it’s still fun. Damn fun. There’s a much more of the fluidity of identity and what’s real. A proper Grant Morrison piece with leaps of logic that makes sense — not in the “real” world but rather internally, in the world they live.
He said the third volume is “his Watchmen” but really, I think he’s there already, in a far more subtle and profound way than the comic with that title. Things that Alan Moore used pages of prose from a fictional book, Morrison uses a few panels and gets the same result. This is truly great stuff.
Brent Simmons argues for fewer feed subscriptions. And he writes a feed reader for a living. This should tell you something. (via marco)
I do not agree at all. If it’s a meme, sure. Or if it’s about computers, Internet or movies — then it will probably show up everywhere in due time. Other topics though, they hardly ever gets passed around like that. If it’s about music then it must be something with bizarre amount of cred or something thats popular right now. And in general, people who write like gods are largely ignored and never really get their worth of attention.
The latest boing-boing post, the latest stats on a new cellphone, a cover of MGMT or a picture of the word Helvetica — those things gets shared around like a joint. But a new part of Chokeville? Or Dan Hill talks about cities and buildings? Or photos that don’t try too hard to look like fashion shoots?
Fewer feeds is great in theory, but things that are good outside of the normative “Internet geek stuff” will not pop up. Sadly.
Fewer feeds might however make you be able to read more and not have as much unread. So that’s a good thing about it. Because cool stuff unread in the feedpile is still missed even if it sits there and waits. Anyway. Trim down so that you might read it all but “[i]f it’s cool or interesting, you won’t miss it” is not true at all for most things.
“You choose your friends, not your family.” This is crap. Both are things that just happen. At least to me, I’ve never heard of anyone say stuff like “I’m gonna be that persons friend.” Friendships grow from accidents, from chance or even carelessness about the self. That’s even more random than genes.
Family, if you don’t like them, is fairly easy to get away from. Stop talking to that third-cousin and they’ll leave you alone and never really dip into the same stratrosphere. Giving up friendship is harder, it requires a mutual intent or else it will mend itself as they won’t really let each other be. Of course, it can dwindle a bit when you move about and lose touch. But then, I’ve noticed that once you reach out it is easy to get things going again like nothing really happened.
I’ve not done as well to my firends as I should have, I think. I’ve let things go, at times never really made the effort I should have and this corrodes me. A chip here, a chip there, all while I’m locked in some introverted phase. I don’t want to. I don’t like it. But I know it’s me that’s faulty, and I’m slowly getting better I think. The thing is this: I didn’t choose my firends so I can’t afford to let it just slide like a power-animal anymore. I’m going to think about this a bit more and then I have to do something about it.
This is Gusto, without a doubt it is the best coffee place in the world. Perhaps it’s a hyperbole but a small one, it is my favorite in any case. Done with semantics now? Good.
I’d love to combine this with something like Papercut in Stockholm. Books and movies that I think are good as opposed to what is sold at every airport/train station.
A small place, with coffee and sandwiches and books and magazines and a nice atmosphere. Fuck, why not combine it with a copy store* as well? No point in dreaming if it’s not big.
*) Fanzine discount? You betcha.
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I guess I have to take responsibility for what I write in this blog, hope I don't make myself look like an ass too often.
