What's For Dinner?

Sitting in the restaurant a wide variety of exotic flavours reaches my nostrils from the busy kitchen in this Danish/French brasserie in the heart of Aalborg. A light scent of fjord, cream, parsley and boiling white blanc de blanc is coming at me through the thick kitchen door, enriching the air with its presence.

Just when I’ve concluded the chef is preparing my main course, the Maître d’ herself, a well trained sommelier of course, presents to me a 2005 Puilly Fuissé Grand Beauregard white burgundy wine. I order the wine. She slowly uncorks the bottle and then gently pouring a slight amount of it into a tasting glass just to check whether it is OK or not. It’s more than fine, and she resumes pouring the wine into my Bordeaux glass. I taste the wine.. Slowly opening the wine flinging the wine around adding the precious air to the sweet yet heavy and powerful white burgundy.

Now she serves me my meal. Mussels cooked with cream, white wine, parsley, spring onions and salt and pepper. I pick one of the mussels out of the cocotte with my fork and gently put the steaming mussel into my mouth.

The sentence from the word hoard is "demanding so is work" which I have used as the beginning of this writing game.

Demanding, so is work. I guess not all work is equally demanding, but we all feel that our job, what ever it might be, sucks out the best part of our daily lives. That is if we have a job. Many that don’t have jobs whish they could go to work in the morning and many who work wish they didn’t have to. Then of course there are those that wish they didn’t have to go home at the end of the day, but come on. That’s pathetic. Though working is a nuisance and we often feel there is much stuff we would rather be doing, it does feel like we are hard wired to function better with a job to go to every day. Without a job we start to feel useless, our identity is diminishing and the things we take pleasure in when coming home from work seem trivial and stupid when they are not put in contrast to a job. Perhaps I should go find myself a job I can live through so I don’t have to base my self image on my own thoughts and feelings.

Xenyctophobia

She gets off the train, follows her usual path

Not the quickest, but the most clearly lighted

The comfortability of familiarity – here

Under the illuminating street lights

Guiding the path to the bus stop

Providing at least a vague sense of protection

From the alien, the dark, the unknown

Here she makes her way, slowly

Step by step, yet with increasing frequency

Following that of her beating heart

As not even the lights are enough

With such fear and uncertainty

By which she is completely engulfed

She must never be confronted

Yet suddenly, from behind her

A ‘Hey, wait!’ is yelled by a man

Struck by panic, fear and anxiety

Her feet suddenly quicker than her mind

She sprints along the road

The yells accelerating her every second

She hears not his words, merely noise

Both outside and inside her head

A quick glance behind and she is terrified

He is catching up, she cannot escape

The inevitable confrontation with her fear

His face the colour of the surrounding night

She falls to the ground, warding herself with her arms

Begging for mercy, for him to leave her

Every millisecond feels like an eternity

…………………………………………

‘Don't worry, I am not going to hurt you!

Here, let me help you up.' He stretches out his hand.

She hesitates a bit, then takes his hand, and is pulled up.

‘Here, you dropped this on the ground.’

He hands to her her bus ticket.

Insanity

The tapping of the keys are getting louder and louder inside my head! The tapping echoing inside my skull, like a child, hurt and screaming inside a tunnel on a cold and rainy night. I can’t take it longer! Why are you tapping?! WHY?! WHY?! Please stop… I beg you… Please.. Please…?

Sitting here in the dark on the cold wet concrete floor. The cold and bare brick walls, moist from the rain leaking through the cracked ceiling, seems to be crawling closer to me. Trapping myself inside a prison of cold wet and sad bitterness. Enclosed in a veil of dark and empty loneliness…

That Apocalypse

Imagine this:

You're surrounded by rusty bars, spaced evenly apart.

Just barely enough room to fit your head through- if only it were smaller.

A light shines down,

unnatural

harsh

and cold.

So bright that if

you were to look up,

you'd be forced to squint in the glare.

If you close your eyes and cover your ears

you could sit down quietly, maybe think you were alone.

Then again,

there would still be the smell.

That rotting, spoiled-meaty stench

amplified when what's left of their skin breaks

as they stretch their gnarled arms through the bars,

reaching out for you

The heat of their acrid groans hitting your face,

ruffling your hair.

The breath of the redundant, deceased, and dead.

Ordleg

“The measure of the controversy he has around is indicative of his statute in the world of African letters.”

 

African letters often contain a description of a life style and a sentiment of dissatisfaction of your poor way of life. You are always lacking meaning and feelings created in an atmosphere of calmness. When you are relaxed your ability of thinking reasonably is better and you will find pleasure in enjoying life around you looking at the birds in nature sitting in the trees waiving in the wind, and the relaxation makes you feel happy and inspired by what you have experienced. You are accustomed to live that way and do not give it many thoughts that living conditions are as they actually are. You live day out day in convinced that this must be your fate. The environment you are a part of share your way of living and you do not give it many thoughts that life may be possible under other circumstances. So even if it is a sad condition you are happy as it is because you do know better conditions for making a better living. You are happy knowing that other people take control of your life and you only occupy yourself with thoughts concerning making a living day by day to be able to survive. Nature creates the frames for such people making them feel comfortable under such conditions. Such people are typically helpful and understanding and are used to live with very few means, financially and materially. They feel happy because they are not aware that life may be more pleasant. If you do not know any better, the situations to these people are sufficiently clarified.

Contribution from Søren

Are We - A Tale of Daniel and Phil

[A young man in his early twenties sits in his room on a couch. Spread out around the couch lies what appears to be half of a sandwich. The man looks up as the door opens and a young, brown haired man enters with a somewhat disorientated look on his face. The brown haired man starts talking.]

Phil: “Hey Daniel, I've got a question I have been meaning to ask you.”

Daniel: “Okay... sure, I guess. What is it?”

Phil: “Are we...”

[Phil pauses as Daniel interrupts him]

“Daniel: “Whoa, whoa, now champ. Let me just make sure I understand you correctly before you continue. I need to know that you have a clear understanding of everything you are saying”

Phil: “How do you mean?”

Daniel: “Well, you always do this thing, where you say something convoluted that you have definitely not thought through.”

Phil: “Okay, that came out of nowhere. I don't recall ever doing such a thing.”

Daniel: “Really...?”

Phil: “Really!”

Daniel: “ Okay, but for good argument’s sake let's first get some word definitions straight so we know what you are talking about.”

Phil: “But I only said, 'are we'”

Daniel: “Well define 'we'.”

Phil: “We... as in you and I, the two of us.”

Daniel: “Okay. I guess that makes sense. So if 'we' means the two of us, how do you define 'are'

then?”

Phil: “Come on man... 'Are' as in the verb 'to be' conjugated to fit the subject of the sentence: 'we'.”

Daniel: “So by saying 'are we' you simply mean to ask me my opinion about something the two of us may be?”

Phil: “Of course! Why are you being so weird, all of a sudden?”

Daniel: “Well the last time we spoke, I thought you were telling me that you were hungry or maybe you were telling me about some guy called Ima from Hungary, or maybe it was a knock knock joke but it was really hard to tell because there was no context.”

Phil: “What the devil are you on about?”

Daniel: “You know, it literally happened just ten minutes ago...”

[Phil just gives Daniel a look of mistrust as Daniel continues]

Daniel: “You came walking through that door chanting: 'Ima Hungary, Ima Hungary. Yo Daniel, Ima Hungary!' And then you continued to slap me across the face every time I tried eating my sandwich while cheering: 'Knock knock Daniel, Ima Hungary, knock knock!'”

Phil: “I can't really say that rings a bell.”

Daniel: “Of course, it doesn't and we will probably never know because you have the attention span of a horny squirrel and the memory of that guy from Memento...”

[After a short break Daniel continues]

Daniel: “Look Phil, all I am saying is that I want avoid any misunderstandings before we even get started.”

Phil: “It's only a four word question and now you have even made me explain two words that couldn't possibly have any other meaning.”

Daniel: “Okay then. I guess I should be prepared to answer your four word question then. What is it?”

Phil: “Are we battleship legendary?”

Daniel: “Are we battleship legendary... That's the full question?”

Phil: “That is correct!”

[Daniel sighs deeply]

Daniel: “Are you seriously aski...”

[Phil cuts off Daniel halfway through the sentence with a wide grin on his face]

Phil: “Whoa whoa there champ, slow down will you. Define 'seriously'”

[For a moment Daniel's eyes turn completely white as he grinds his teeth but he quickly composes himself again]

Daniel: “Seriously, as in: This might hurt but it is only because I seriously intend it to!”

The Hellhound

I finally got away from it. I found shelter from the storm in an old ruined apartment complex. As headed up the stair, I could hear the drops of rain hitting the old windows and the wind slam against the old panels in the ceiling, it sounded like the place was in a pretty rough condition, and probably not the best place to find shelter. When I finally sat down and started thinking, it occurred to me that I had run in here without thinking what I might stumble upon, or how fit for a shelter this place was, but at least I had gotten away from it, at least I was safe, or so I thought… Because it that was in that moment I heard this strange sound coming from the floor below, a strange hellish snarl that gripped my mind with fear. It had picked up my scent… I ran back out in the hall way, and there it was, staring at me with its gleaning red eyes and mouth full of froth. It was a strange, hellish beast, spawned from the deepest fiery pits of hell. I had to look past the fear I flet and stand up against this beast. I had to try and defend myself, because there was no way that I would be able to keep running or hiding from it. As the beast slowly walked towards me, I looked back and saw an old rugged window, and slowly backed up towards. In one quick jolt of amazing speed the beast lunged towards me, I quickly jumped to the side, making it crash straight through the window. As it fell to the ground I heard a loud squeal and looked out the destroyed remains of the window, and there it was. The creature was lying on the ground covered in blood, impaled on a wooden pole. But I knew this was not the end of it. Its dying squeal sent word for others, others to come hunt me down… This nightmare wasn’t over yet.

Playing with Fire

It was night. Late at night. Somewhere out in the darkness she could hear the trees rustle. Within these walls she could feel the chilly breeze surrounding her and she smiled. It was pitch black, but her eyes had gotten used to the darkness. The old drapes were swaying from side to side, back and forth. They were dancing, but had no rhythm. She could feel the wind slowly caressing her face. It was cold, but a nice kind of cold. She looked around and carefully examined every corner of this room. It was old and forsaken, everything was gray. She took a look in the big dusty mirror on the wall, which reflected an old broken window and the drapes swaying in the wind. The walls were all pale and on the ceiling you could see an old dusty chandelier. This place was so familiar to her.

She walked slowly towards the window and took a look outside. Here she felt like home. She was alone but she wasn’t lonely. She liked it here. She loved the whispers of the wind and the long, cold and dark nights. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and enjoyed the moment for a while. Sometimes she could hear whispers, sometimes small silent voices, but this time it was different – it was a song. A melancholy, timeless melody was swirling with the wind, which only grew stronger and stronger. She could feel her heart beating faster and the drapes were now throbbing against her face. She opened her eyes. She wanted something new to happen.

She reached inside her pocket and found a packet of matches. She struck one and let the fire burn out slowly. The red hot flame was the only thing that brought colour to this place. The flame died out. She got curious and lit another one. She admired the new flame with her eyes. It was so pretty and warm. Then it was gone - again. She lit another match, but this one she blew out quickly. She wasn’t familiar with all this. The room was pitch-black now. She couldn’t see anything. There was only darkness. She quickly lit another one and relaxed while the fire was swaying with the wind, suddenly flickering and then slowly swaying again. The flame was playfully staring at her. She wanted more. She took another match, looked at the drapes, and slowly moved her hand towards the cold fabric. The fire caught on quickly. The flames escalated from the drapes to the wallpaper and the whole room was now shifting colour from yellow, orange to red. It was all one big, bright, hot fire. She started walking backwards towards the door and slowly turned around. She took a look in the mirror on the wall, and in horror, all she saw were the reflected flames. With tears in her eyes, she ran away. What had she done? It was all gone now.

Invisible

I have issues. I never speak up. I simply don’t like most of those who speak up with nothing to say. I was afraid to be one of those. That’s why. However, I never failed to get picked by the teacher in class, even if I did speak in an incredibly low voice with my head down. I read that you shouldn’t keep your head down in class that’s how you get picked, because they think you’re not listening. So I tried making eye contact with the teacher at least three times, that’s something the article I read also said. Let them know you’re listening. It’s not as easy as it may seem and it’s a stupid advice to give anyway. I still got picked. I always had something to say, I just didn’t want to. Why should I share my mind with a bunch of strangers? You can’t get a real answer from a dumb article, I thought. So I started making up my own advice. If you can’t beat them, be them. I had this confident sound to try out. I had the idea that if you just sounded confident enough, other people would believe you. I don’t know if it’s working. It's hard work being invisible.

Dreams*

Dreams are always in our minds...Everybody dreams. It does not matter the moment or place, if we are awake or asleep. Life would not be as it is if we could not dream.

In dreams, everything is possible, you are able to do all what you really want. There are no frontiers, no laws, no reason... It is amazing!

Emotions are out of control, feelings are free, that is the wonderful thing. Power and freedom walk together in a fantasy world. Hope. Hope must always be with us.

And the most important point, dreams come true.

The Halloween recipe

Millions of kids dressed up
5 Creatures looking scary
2 tablespoons of hot chili
1 ton of different candy
3 cups of spooky atmosphere
1 bowl of a dark night
And a hell of a lot of Pumpkin Jacks

First you heat up the 3 cups of spooky atmosphere, look out you don’t get a fright
Followed up by a big bowl of dark night
Now you add the million of kids all dressed up
And put 2 tablespoons of chili on top
Now to the ton of candy - of candy there is no lack
And remember to mix in many Pumpkin jacks
Now finally mix it up with the 5 creatures looking scary
And a lot of reasons to be merry
Now this is to me -
The perfect Halloween recipe!

Ned

Ned arrived home from the baker with a loaf of bread instead of the bagels he had hoped for. When entering the small hall he felt tired and uneasy which was very unusual for him on such a beautiful Saturday morning. He took a small glance at his face in the hall mirror while taking off his leather coat. Yes, the last months’ strain at work had indeed left deep dark circles beneath his brown eyes and the shirt hung looser around his shoulders. He looked forward to getting past the deadline at work and taking a well-deserved vacation. Quietly, he tiptoed into the kitchen and started making coffee. He could hear the hushed snoring of his wife, Linda, from the bedroom and tiredly sat down at the kitchen table to read the morning paper. However, too many thoughts were swirling around in his head so after having read the same sentence three times, he sighed and glanced out the window.
He thought about how he had been letting his family down the last four months. He had been away from home until late at night and when they finally spent time with him in the weekends, he had been sulky and dismissive, thinking only about work. Ned suddenly realised how much he missed spending time with his children. In the past, he had helped 10-year-old Camille with her homework every night and had gone to every football game that 13-year-old Tom played in the weekends.
Tom had lately been busy starting a band with his best friend, Michael, and had hardly noticed his dad’s changed behaviour in the everyday life. That was, until last night. Ned had finally gotten off work at nine and when he entered the house he felt as if he could sleep for a year. He had silently gone straight to the bedroom and lay down on his bed without even taking off his tie. He had almost fallen into the sweet world of dreams when a roar of noise reached him from the living room. Rage was not a feeling which overwhelmed Ned often. He was a kind man who cared deeply for his family and his work. This evening, however, Ned felt exhausted and stressed out, so hearing this vehement interruption of his sleep made him jump to his feet and tore out through the kitchen and into the living room. Here he almost toppled over Michael’s keyboard before arriving at a halt in the middle of the room. The setting was almost comical. Linda and Camille sat on the couch looking surprised at this new arrival. Tom was jumping around the carpet, which portrayed a stage, singing loudly into a fake microphone while Michael hammered on the drums – neither of them had noticed that Ned had entered the room. Ned could hardly remember what he had yelled, but the boys had stopped quite suddenly and stared dumbfounded at him. Ned felt all the stress and frustration from the last months of work fill his chest when he pointed at the boys and hysterically yelled: “You cannot be romping and barking about when people are trying to sleep!” Before waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and marched back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He fell back on the bed, but somehow sleep evaded him for a time now. He had almost never raised his voice against his children and he felt ashamed of himself for doing it now. Somehow the workload had made him snap and just before he fell asleep he swore that he would take a serious talk with his boss on Monday.
Sitting at the kitchen table now, Ned feared that he had ruined Tom’s rehearsal for his first concert at the market place later today – and even worse: perhaps made him not want to go and play at all. Ned wondered how he had gone from supporting his children in almost anything they did to screaming at them when they were trying to reach their dream. Linda was awake now and he could hear her rustle around in the bedroom. When she entered the kitchen she smiled and hummed while pouring coffee into her cup. She talked about the neighbours’ new dog and what she was going to serve for dinner – not noticing Ned’s bad conscience.
They were supposed to go to the market place later this afternoon to hear Tom and Michael’s small concert and as the hours passed by, Ned felt more and more guilty about the incident last night. He felt surprised that Linda was acting perfectly cheerful as if nothing had happened and when she asked him what was wrong, he did not have the heart to tell her about his worries for how Tom had reacted to his outburst last night.
The market place was about a mile from their house and Linda decided that they would walk in the warm weather. Ned agreed and as they walked side by side through the suburban street, Linda again asked him what was troubling him. Ned finally told her about his concerns for whether Tom would be able to perform at the concert after the outburst last night. When he finished explaining, he looked into Linda’s face and was surprised to find her smiling. She started laughing at his puzzled look and began to explain how the incident had occurred from their point of view. When Ned had entered the living room last night his hair was standing up in the air and his tie had somehow gotten stuck on his left cheek. He had spluttered some unintelligible words and pointed at Tom yelling “Romping!” and at Michael yelling “Barking” and then turned on his foot and marched out again. Everyone in the living room was rolling on the floor laughing for about twenty minutes after his appearance. Linda was laughing again now. Ned suddenly realised how silly he must have looked and could not help but laugh himself. They had reached the market place and Linda happily grabbed his hand and dragged him towards the tent where Tom was to play. Ned felt a joy he had not felt for months and as they entered the tent he smiled widely when he saw the newly made sign above the stage: “Romping and Barking Kings of Sound”.