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|Monday, February 9th, 2009|
|Yeast. Bleergh no wait. Yeats!
THE SECOND COMING
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
|Friday, April 20th, 2007|
Writing something here feels a bit like poking a sleeping, prehistoric albeit not too unfriendly-looking beast. And waking it up to discover it wants cookies.
We'll have to see about the cookies.
|Saturday, October 29th, 2005|
|Dayings and nigthings
My duvet has turned into a thin excuse for a cover. I guess all the down took off into some fascinating unknown realm. That or turned into dust. Ashes even.
To compensate for the loss I turned to the closest thing available: boyfriend. As tempting as it was to use him as a new, warm cover I decided that I would spare him, especially since I tend to give my duvets quite a hard time, by twisting them around in a knot so fierce it would even have scared The Great Houdini.
I just all happened so fast. I can remember the day I got it. I was so young that I was actully angry about getting a new duvet. I liked my old one. I had worked it in. Grown used to it. I found this new one far too newfangled and outlandish. Hic.
This one has become as dear. But it's nearly useless. So instead of turning to the closest available, I turned to his property: his thick, rich and creamy duvet. I nicked it. Then I woke up one night and found my boy going: brrrrr in his sleep next to me. I was overcome with guilt. Rather I go cold. And I did. For a few nights I slept with my old duvet. Then, I couldn't handle it anymore. I stole the good duvet again. Next night I promised compensations if I could have it. Then the night after that I returned it to original owner. Etc.
Then I got a brilliant idea, and not a moment too soon! I took the OTHER duvet boyfriend had used during warm summers abroad. On it's own it was completely useless... but combined with my old useless one it made a good one. I put it into the covers of my old one, while giggling madly with the glee of invention. Boyfriend's suspicion got raised and he asked me from the next room what I was doing.
Then I asked him if he didn't like his duvet.
"MY duvet? So this is why you were giggling you little grallari
I just giggled some more, jubilant having solved the problem.
The day after he told me that the new duvet was really heavy. I couldn't understand why two shreds would suddenly become really heavy when put together, so I decided to try the new one. It was a bit on the heavy side, but it was also warm and soft and good. I concluded I should just keep it. I really like it, and I'm not getting a new new one. Got my old one, and boyfriend's old one, it's newfangled and outlandish but I love it still. And I'm warm and he's warm. Everybody's happy. And asleep
|Sunday, October 23rd, 2005|
|Of crossing fences
I have two memories of crossing fences and realizing there was a purpose behind them.
I was running around in the country, in the land above my aunt's farm. The old farm, Dýjakot [Quaghut basically] used to be there, but it had been torn down. There was a long, steep hill that lead to the heath there, and we used to play there as well as in the creek that ran down from the heath. Now this was the horses' pasture, and the sheep were usually roaming somewhere in the hills that lead to the heath, or on the heath itself. I don't remember what I was doing there, only me and the dog on our own secret mission or something. Anyway, I make a beeline from point A to point B, and on that way I find an old fence, really dilapited. I shrug, thinking it's a remnant of something or other and jump over it. Straight into the quagmire. My right foot sinks down at first step inside the fence.
The ground was generally soggy and quaggy in the area, and usually it just resulted in slow-mo walking accompanied with fun slurpy sounds. So I wasn't overly concerned. Until I put my left foot down, in order to pull my right leg up, and that sank too.
I managed to crawl out of it, but lost a very fine welly in the process. When I told my aunt I hadn't realized that that old fence was there for a purpose she swore and said that lambs and even sheep had drowned in the quagmire there. Hence the fence. But what lovely green the colour of that moss...
The other fence-instance I recall happened much later. My friend lived in the student housings near the city airport and I was on my way to visit her. Again, I can't remember where I was coming from, I must have taken a ridiculous bus or maybe I was running an errand in the vicinity. Anyway, I decide to take a shortcut and climb a fence on my way. A tall fence. I was wearing tights as well. But enough on smart decisions. Suddenly I realize that I'm at the actual airfield, complete with No Trespassing signs. I sort of start to scurry and finally get my butt over another fence, into safety. Only one ditch and then a road. Score.
Later, my mother told me a story of my grandfather. He was a ship engineer and used to sail all over the world. Once he was docked somewhere in Russia, during the Cold War. He wanted to get to point B from a point A and being that kind of a person, he jumped over a fence in his way. Turned out he had stumbled into some closed area, something he realized when he got arrested. He was interrigated (by KGB or some sort) for hours and apparantly the Russian secret service had loads of info on him. He had to recount every ship he had sailed on, when he had been on this one and that one, and they had data they could check to see if he was who he said he was. My grandfather had an excellent memory. Basically, his story checked out and they decided he must be who he said he was and that he had a tendency to want to go "straigth" between places. They let him go anyhow.
I can't wait to cross fences abroad.
|Monday, October 17th, 2005|
Rough day, weirdly enough. Spent one and half an hour fixing two mistakes in a loom-foundation, taking each bloody thread, moving it from the wrong place to the right place times zagrillion. Then I sat down and wove a bit only to find that I had made one bloody mistake in the combthingy so I had to cut out
what I had woven, untie a chunk of knots and move a bunch of threads.. just.. one place to the left. One thread at a time. This took the rest of the day.
When I asked the teacher if the class wasn't just over because I was puking with annoyance, she said she was surprised I wasn't angrier. Little did she know I was murdering puppies in my head.
So I guess I'm not yet zen. Yet more zen than last time.
|Wednesday, October 5th, 2005|
|I thought I'd score as "dweeb"
25% Combativeness, 43% Sneakiness, 85% Intellect, 75% Spirituality
Brilliant and spiritual! You are a Mystic Theurge!
Score! You have a prestige class. A prestige class can only be taken
after you�ve fulfilled certain requirements. This may mean that you�re
an exceptionally talented person, but it probably doesn't.
The Mystic Theurge is a combination of a cleric and a mage. They
can cast both arcane and divine spells, and are good at both, making
them pretty terrifying on the battlefield. They have more raw
spellpower than just about any other class.
You're both intelligent and faithful, but not violent or deceitful. I guess that makes you a pretty good person.
My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
|You scored higher than 5% on Combativeness|
|You scored higher than 67% on Sneakiness|
|You scored higher than 83% on Intellect|
|You scored higher than 96% on Spirituality|
|Monday, October 3rd, 2005|
Sib in car.
Sib hears something on radio.
Sib asks Svan: what's that.. Joy Division? No... Duran Duran? Wait.. Franz Ferdinand? No... uhh.. *suggests a couple of other bands*
Svan: It's Kaiser Chiefs.
Sib: Oh. Sounding like this.. they should have gone by the name of Kaizer Zöse. Ho ho.
Nokkrar hugleiðingar í sambandi við kynskiftaauglýsingarnar:
Gísli Marteinn er ágætlega útlítandi kvenmaður, amk miðað við hvað hann er eitthvað væskilslegur fýr.
Ingibjörg Sólrún er hinn myndarlegasti maður. Sérstaklega miðað við. Eða, það samræmist reyndar reglunni*.
Egill Helgason. What the fuck. Ég reyndi að gera mér í hugarlund hvaða starfi kvenkyns Egill myndi gegna.. af einhverjum ástæðum fannst mér "hún" endilega passa niðrá nemendaskrá. Hah! Það er réttlæti í heilanum/heiminum.
*forvitnir geta bara spurt mig hvaða regla það er
|Sunday, October 2nd, 2005|
Ætli þessi nýi jógúrtdrykkur sé eitthvað í ætt við gamla góða Epla/Jarðaberjajógann sem mér fannst einu sinni svo góður? Þarf að finna út úr því.
So apparantly I've been tagged, and I've actually seen everyone (except Dundi of course) answering to this tagging, and we all know I must do opposite of Dundi.
So here are five facts about me, obviously not randomly selected, since I ain't no robot, but nevertheless, they're what somewhat spontaneously came to my mind when I thought: what things do people perhaps not know about me already, and can I mix them with lots of anocdotes and lengthy explanations?
1. I have some sort of talent of sucking up language. When I stay in a foreign country I find a huge part of my brain immediately focusing on the language spoken there. Subsequently, this becomes a big part of my experience of a foreign country, and I love every second of it. This does not happen as strongly if I'm not staying in a particular language area, say, if I'm only trying to learn a language on my own, but I still have nice abilities to learn a language in a classroom. As an example of this is when I visited Hungary. I had been skimming over my friend's Hungarian grammar before she moved there, I found it interesting but not much sat behind. But as soon as I landed in Budapest, my senses started to suck up the language around, and over the two-three weeks staying there I gathered enough vocabulary to be able to hold the simplest conversation with a cab-driver. It was really simple though: I-on-summer-vacation-not-long-few weeks-my-friend-school-here-learning-doc
tor.. that sorta stuff. And I remember sitting in front of the TV watching cartoons in Hungarian while perusing a dictionary to understand, finding it extraordinarily exhilarating. Same thing happened in Japan, it didn't take long to pick up the katagana alphabet, learn how to read where the toilets were and order some hotto kohi. Unfortuanately, I've never really done much with this. Instead of going for three months to France and pick up French, I prefer staying at home, picking my nose. Sheesh.
2. I hardly ever wear bras. I have a slight figure and nature blessed me with no more in the bosom department than I need and fits my frame. And stays up. I'm no fan of unecessary torture and find myself puzzled at girls who lack more than me actually wearing bras. What on earth for? I understand that women who actually have something to carry, say from C and up, need something to fight the powers of gravity, but why string something around you when you don't need to? Sometimes I put one on when I'm wearing something that might result in an accident of the revealing kind, but as soon as I can, I take the damn thing off. Same goes for everything "extra", be it watches, rings, necklaces, bracelets and hair. Can't stand anything like that for too long.
3. I like eating raw meat. Raw liver triggers something in me. That something says: devour me! Pretty gross, I'm told, but what can I say, the taste of blood is yummy.
4. I like traveling between places while listening to music and looking out of a window more than I like some more standard forms of entertainment. I love riding buses from my home to somewhere, or riding in a car while sitting next to boyfriend (he understands my hazing off). This also includes walking between places with my headset on. One summer I had a job that included the most horrific uniforms, and I loved walking from that workplace to the uni to get to a computer, listening to something groovy. My stride gave me my cool back from a day of having my inner homo insulted by pastelgreen and shapeless trousers. The walk took half and hour and I was glad to get it. Nevertheless, this traveling does not include me having to have to drive myself, because then I obviously can't haze off, and it doesn't include some busrides to unknown places, that means I have to have my wits about, and it doesn't include sloooow and smelly buses on my way home.. they just take too many turns and make me carsick. No swoosh in that.
5. I don't like having people in my home.. for too long. When I was a kid I abhorred having my friends round. So I didn't. When asked: can I come round your place, I just said: NO. YOU CAN'T. I could stay at friends' houses, but no way they could hang around my house. MY HOUSE! No strangers plz. I've softened up in my grownuppery, and love having GOOD FRIENDS round. I hate having strangers and aquaintances make me feel weary real soon. And if people show signs of overstaying their welcome, I get all quirky and weary and start bringing out the old chainsaw in my head. Honestly. I've felt outright hostility towards my closest friends if they've hung around a few hours over the accepted limit. No offense. This just happens. My home is sanctum sanctorum. I think I'm pretty good at holding this impatience at bay though and I hope people will continue coming around for a coffee. Please don't stop coming around for coffee, I love visits. When you see me starting to get restless, just ask me and I'll say: yes, please, go now. If you're really fun, I'll say: have another coffee. This strange crazyness is one of the things that tells me Svan is my man. I never get the urge to kick him out.
There I'm done.
|Monday, August 29th, 2005|
Aaaah it's the end of summer really.
|Sunday, August 28th, 2005|
|Late Trenchcoat Minus Haircut
I finally got around to uploadsing the pictures of my new trenchcoat with me in it. The trenchcoat that is. At first I thought I could take the pictures myself, but those turned out to be mostly of the wall and had me concentrating so much I resembled a dead pan. Minus the horns.( The looksies are here.Collapse )
Stay tuned for the heartpalpationally exciting photo event called: Svan reading paper!
|Monday, August 15th, 2005|
|Thursday, August 11th, 2005|
Vill einhver gefa mér munkahlunk takk. Ég nenni ekki út í Fell.
|It's IN the computer??
I've been obsessing with four songs today, playing them over and over and over again:
David Bowie - Sound and Vision
Roy Orbinson - Running Scared
Roy Orbinson - Distant Drums
Fairport Convention - Tam Lin
GAWD I wish I could import vinyl into the computer, don't have a record player at the moment and I'm physically hungering for Neil Sedaka. Didn't think that was possible somehow.
I'm also hankering for other stuff, there's a question on getting a download-thingummy so I can gets it into
|Wednesday, August 10th, 2005|
| don't you wonder sometimes
'bout sound and vision
blue, blue, electric blue
that's the colour of my room
where I will live
pale blinds drawn all day
nothing to do, nothing to say
i will sit right down, waiting for the gift of sound and vision
and I will sing, waiting for the gift of sound and vision
drifting into my solitude, over my head
don't you wonder sometimes
'bout sound and vision
|Tuesday, August 9th, 2005|
I like this picture of us, the handsome devil and the happy camper:
|Monday, August 8th, 2005|
|Mrs. Hoover, it happened again!
Last winter I had to read a bunch of stuff and turned into a commie, remember? Well, now I seem to be having to have to go through a pile of feminism.
I did not plan this. Turns out all the nice stuff I had accumulated on the juicy subject of mahahadness, turns out to be in some way or other, about the negative effects of patriarchal institutions.
Bad pater! Even worse is the families, it seems. Yup, according to many people, the nuclear family is the source of all evil. Mah.
Like last time, I am going through it with one eye squinted. But on the other paw, I'm rounding up the usual suspects for a bout of heated finger-pointing. Then, I'm going to cut my hair and curse some more. Lastly, I'll go back to what I've been saying all along: it's society that's insane!
Other bits that have nothing to do with this:
-pirates are ALWAYS funny
-even syrup is bad when moldy
-"Gone! And you and I both quite crestfallen."
-the more things stay, the more they change the sane
-i like other people's houses
-working on contingency? No, money down!
-i am really a troll, working on troll time, thinking it's wednesday and generally having no sense of time.. or some bits of time and their relations with other bits of time
-i can't take a picture of my new trenchcoat until i've put on a few more pounds. Not fond of the skeletor look. I need more vitamins and hot chocolate with whipped cream. Am contemplating excersise, to be honest,that's bound to build up muscle and make me more robust. So instead of going to pools and make records in floating and holding breath, I'd actually go and swim.
Now, I'm sleepy. Hold my calls!