(and if you missed it, here is day 1.)
This is our staircase with blinking lights on it.
This is the door to the toilet.
This is an angel I made with my own hair.
This is our christmastree!
This is candlelights in a bowl of glittery rocks and very nice burgundy disco balls!
I was wandering around by myself at this party for several hours, half-dancing, half-chatting and half-searching for my sister. It was a wicked party and there were people everywhere. I got trapped in a room full of singing people and then told nasty stories about my sister to complete strangers to make sure her reputation lived un suitably unpolished.
Naturally (as time is quite natural) it was getting late - or as some would say - early. Coincidentally I ran into her flatmates and they suggested I'd just get myself home, with or without my sister, because somehow she always managed to get herself back to where she belonged. Whatever planet that may be. I have pondered about this.
Moments after I stepped outside I found my sister, getting followed out by two large guards and obviously arguing stubbornly with them. I said something along the lines of "I think this belongs to me" and grabbed my sister by the arm. Even though this was in late, shitting cold autumn she was wearing nothing but a toga and had a silk scarf tied around her curly head.
As we walked away and over to the taxi-queue she insisted on going into the little grocery department by the petrol station. Bamboozled I was unable to get a proper answer to why, so I guided her over to the queue.
Before I knew it, she had snuck to the front of the line and was accusing the guy first of stealing her taxi. There was a long line of people, and I felt as small as a tin of German sardines. Then again, I wasn't coming back for another year, I was cold and also considerably under influence - I obviously did not interfere with the conversing just to see where it could get me.
With a smug smile my sister elegantly pulled me into the taxi after a few nicely put comments and the taxi drove off, the driver even nodding at her remarks. He asked us where we were going and I didn't know so I looked helplessly at her, so she muttered and I nodded. And then she fell asleep.
Safely home we walked into the apartment and I started peeling off my clothes, my sister had sat down to have a bowl of fruits of the forest yoghurt with muesli. I fell flat into her double bed and snuggled into the duvet, all warm and comfortable and my feet throbbing of soreness from the shoes. Few minutes later Sigrid crawled into the bed and then let out a hearty belch.
I have not had fruits of the forest yoghurt muesli since.
Mad as I went, only short moments later, I decided that this poor fly, which was probably due dead in September, and not December during -15 degrees Celsius – had to die. At first I tried wacking it with a magazine, it was a Game Factor magazine, issue 54 that I stole at a kebab shop during a particular moist night out in October. But, predictably – my slightly sideways reflexes failed at putting this creature down. So I had to kill it with hairspray.
Now it’s very silent in my room, the only sound is the cracking of ice as my thighs are melting inside my pyjamas. And then there’s also the irregular pop of my braincells dying from all the hairspray-toxins circling around my head.
My feet are also a little soft after walking in the cold for one and a half hours.
Here is a preview of the gingerbread lighthouse by the way;
Without any further ado, (only a quick reminder of the prestigious Viking Ship back in 2005), I now present to you:
Above: Lighthouse paper model and Lighthouse gingerbread creation with gingerbread shed and gingerbread trees at display on a tray.
Doesn't that make you feel all christmasy?
The Christmas Equation, also known as Planck's Constant - is a clever little thing able to calculate your weight-gain per second during the Christmas festivites. Planck's Constant is also equal to h, which means heaviness. If you ever wonder about having that extra gingerbread otter, you may sit back and relax - because Planck is going to work out the end result for you, anyway.
The brilliant aspect of the formula is that you may choose if you want to have your answer in Square metres per second, or kilos per second. This opens up for some delightful elbowroom during the feasting on mulled wine, even if you are gaining 0,00614 kg/sec this only equals to 0,00614 m²/sec which is when converted to millimetres equal to 0 mm²/sec!
So mathematically - you're not gaining a milligram!
(To anyone who may have heard that Planck's Constant has something to do with Quantum Mechanics, I wish to inform you that this is in fact wrong).
And I mean, with all this time spent at work and school, how the hell am I going to have a go at the pretty-faced american working in the record shop?
This totally sucks!
Maybe I can buy the record shop from all the money I'm making?
Complicated as this may sound - it is really all down to pulchritude. As a human we are born and raised into a divided world that provides us with the insight of what we like to see - and what we do not like to see. Everything has in our eyes a certain practical use; like food giving us nutrition; or a car taking us places. But for the aspect of necessity it's important to consider that as a person one also always view items as pieces of art, we always judge the books by the cover - such are the rules.
And I shit you not, your car also has to look fine, a custom paint-job, a commercial where it turns into a transformer and throws a party all over your tellybox screen. Additives, sweeteners, artificial colourings and preservatives are only useful to a certain extent. Most of the time it is just a matter of eyecandy - about the cover of the book. And it's logical! It makes sense! It was like the other day when I bought snacks for my dog, and I bought the one named "Funtastix" because it had the best name, and the prettiest packaging.
I'm not trying to be smug and tell you all what you already know, because we all know that we like to glorify things that really aren't all that nice. Really it is just ranting about our stupidity. We all know it, yet we all fall for it. The way we perceive beauty is a gift! How many other living creatures can separate beautiful from ugly, really? So as we have been blessed with this particular ability, I don't see why we can't abuse it - even for power and money. Morally it's practically repulsive, but technically it's not at all illogical - even if we did realize all the junk we add to our household is really just providing us with a safe quota of cancer and compulsiveness, we'd fall back to it.
I know you are there
Smiling back at me
Uh uh uh uh oh ooh
why'd you have to go-oh
away from home
Lonely, I am so lonely
I have nobody - oon myy ooooown
du du du du du,-duu -duu -duu -duu
didi dih, di di di di hi didih
One day you'll wake up,
to find that all
your friends are on your payroll
you sit and wonder
which one of them
are only there because you pay them
top from bottom
you got it made
how many more along your way
stop being useful
and are sacrificed
so you can be alone claiming your prize
One more time
Celebrate and dance for free
Music's got me feeling so free
Celebrate and dance so free
One more time
That was the musical contents of my brain, just - spilling out. Thank you.
It may be true that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can stop him from lynching me, and I think that's pretty important. - Martin Luther King Jr.
He pressed her bird-like skeleton hard against him, her cold, white, shivering skin against his coat. The mute snowflakes rained slowly down on her hair, her chapped lips muttered, and even though it was silent – he could not hear what she said. Underneath her swollen eyelids he could see her dark eyes, tears emitting from them like walls of hot glass. And he could hear her now, with her dark hair wet and messy, clinging to her face, frozen lips saying his name.
She was shaking, her heart beat slower than he remembered, maybe because she had grown, maybe because she was dying.
He too –now shaking, whispered her name, squeezed her tight, tucked her wet hair behind her ears, held on to her small, freezing hands. The snow was as white as her, like porcelain. And he knew he would always love her. And no matter how long he would have to wait for help – he would not give up waiting this time. He would wait until they came, even though the blizzard would take his life, he would wait. And he would find no rest until they came for her. Came and helped her, warmed her up, made her laugh again. And at that point he refused to let go, so he stood up – with her shivering body in his arms. And on what was left of his exhausted feet; he started walking towards the city.
It was so strange because he could see the lights of the thousands of people that lived there.
But he knew none of the thousand people were looking at them, where they stood, even though she shone as the brightest light of them all.
No, I really do think you should listen to it.
Oh! You know what happened? - I was peacefully dredging through Glitter-Graphics.com (one of my very favourite websites) I suddenly noticed that the computer-generated Google-advertisement said, right next to "MySpace Layout",
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I don't think I saw any, but I ran to the bathroom and washed my eyes in chlorine just in case, because you never know what you might find along your way through the intarnet.