Tuesday, 1 April 2014
og iscenesætteren den tjener,
der får et skuespil til at leve på scenen.«
Jens Kistrup, teateranmelder
Monday, 20 January 2014
Der var fest blandt de 120-140-årige i eftermiddags. Det er nemlig præcis 75 år siden (2014), at skolerne blev udført. Jajah, nu er der kun 19 dage tilbage til min 126-års fødselsdag. Hvis jeg bliver ved med at få hjernen udskiftet hvert 15. år, undgår jeg at blive senil. Jeg skal have den skiftet ud den 7. marts af professor Stylts robot, XXXMTV66.
De fleste af de 21.697.889.608 mennesker, som lever på jorden nu, regner med at få et evigt liv, da der kun er én ting, som man kan dø af, nemlig sygdommen antikata (man er gået væk fra de latinske betegnelser, og alle taler ét og samme sprog).
De sagde i dag i telebølgeavisen, at man havde vedtaget at droppe grænserne i hele verden. De sagde også, at man skulle tilat oprette et ferieparadis på ydre planet nr. 12 i solsystem 6, galakse 9.
(fra “Bjørns Samlede Værker, Bind V” af Bjørn Clasen — © 1984-85 Bjørneforlaget)
Saturday, 14 December 2013
Friday, 29 November 2013
On the last day of the European HIV Testing Week, someone very dear to me who is also an amazing journalist and a remarkable human being, asked me to post this…
It is just another normal working day, trying to give a voice to those who have something to say about things and problems that bother humanity, or at least, my modest little surrounding humanity…
I go towards the Infectious Clinic, the only clinic that can perform HIV tests… The only place where people may find out whether they carry the deadly virus or not.
The doctor is already waiting for me, to talk about AIDS and patients suffering from AIDS. The way he puts it, is just another disease, contagious, hazardous, deadly, but human… They all need to be treated with respect and affection, despite the poison in their blood.
While he tells stories about people having died without even knowing they died because of AIDS, I feel surprised at the low level of self-awareness, and when he mentions the death of a seven years old girl who remained undiagnosed until her death, this low level of self-awareness scares me… It could happen to anyone, at any moment, in any circumstance, because of a careless action, because of a stupid addiction, because of ignorance or because the maliciousness of rotten human souls who think that by infecting others, they will get a piece of revenge from the harm that was done to them. It is strange how wicked the human psyche can sometimes be…
I wrap it up, after a detailed explanation of the disease, the incubation period of the virus, the first onset of AIDS, chances of life for an infected person, ways of transmitting the virus, data on the national database of people who are infected, breaking it down to female and male subjects, global death toll since 1981…
Another moment comes. The moment when you want to show to others how the test is carried out. Nobody is willing to do it. Nobody is willing to show in front of the camera how the procedure is, that short procedure that lasts 10-15 minutes which will decide the future…
I take the initiative of taking this test, first asking how it is performed.
The doctor looks at me with surprise. ‘This is not a game’ he might think…
Well, it is not a game for me either. He then says ‘I don’t think you must appear in front of the camera. People will not understand it. People will judge you when they see this documentary… Be anonymous…’ I refuse to take his word for it. ‘If I am not able to show my face while taking this test, when I am calling on others for awareness on this deadly disease, what rights do I have to address them while I back off?’ In a way, I want to feel what a person living in the doubt of HIV feels, I want to show to the audience how easy it is to go through a little puncture with many drops of blood being taken from your finger… And so I do… But trust me, it is not that easy… It is not that easy at all...
The test is just like the pregnancy test. But different from one another, when one is positive, you give life, you bear life, you have reasons for life. When the other one is positive, oh… the world tumbles on your feet and everything around you crumbles to pieces and fragments of joyful moments you have had, terrible moments you will have…
You have one stripe and you are negative… You are HIV negative… You are marked with life…
You have two stripes and you are positive… You are HIV positive… You are marked with death… Perhaps not sudden death, not painful death, not even death until it comes naturally, but you bear the seal of DEATH… You may give death to others, those dear to you, those strange to you…
And so, while the light of the camera is on my face, and I am pale as always, I feel the shivers in my body, and my skin turns cold, cold to freezing in the quivers of impatience.
I know there is nothing wrong with me. I simply perfectly know it, but the moment itself is scary, perhaps horrifying... It is the reading of those thin lines in your test that determines the way you are going to see life from now and on…
Ten minutes pass, under the camera lights, while it is filming, recording on tape my voice trembling while speaking about the test, while trying to formulate my appeal, while the doctor explains softly what it is, what we are seeing, how the reagents work… My ears go deaf for a minute or so, my eyes focus only on one spot… the single stripe on my tests… both tests… There is no second stripe, there is no shadow of doubt about the certainties that I already had… This experiment upon myself costed me… I now know better how to appreciate the moment, maybe life itself. For a moment there, I was scared… It was a long moment from where I sat… Now it is gone… My heartbeat is back… My breath is back…
I take the test from the table, show it to the camera and softly, slowly and calmly I say: ‘That was it.… It only takes a few moments to save your life, to save other peoples lives… Do the test…’
I am still silent, but I need to share this…
Wednesday, 17 July 2013
Sunday, 7 July 2013
A funny breakfast surprise!
Both Eggman photos are of course copyrighted and may be used only by written permission.
Friday, 24 May 2013
Tuesday, 2 April 2013
Not very tasty, not very sophisticated
I let its fading foam foam on my tongue
And think about its fake complexity
It’s the opposite of my muse
Who is a puzzle, and a hard one too
Every time you think you’re almost done
A new piece shows up
Or the ones you have put together
What can I do to lighten her darkness
What can I do to sweeten her taste
Make her creativity erupt
Her words pour out
I move on to youth with a cup of green tea
Fruit liqueur, apricot
I smell it, I sip it, I taste it
Immersing my mouth, blending with saliva
Wondering if I like it or not
Subtle or simple? Not sure
OK for a start, nauseating when it stays
It’s like overwhelming feelings
Except not worth it
Is it in, is it out, where is it all?
What is it all, how does it make me feel?
If at all —
— tell me, muse
How to taste it the right way
How to enjoy it for real
Or at least decide if I like it or not
This faky-fruity thing full of a flavour and a colour
That it should not have
I might listen, I might even understand
I let my youth be, swallowing it with some water
Then I grew up
And tasted the brandy
A special one, a rare one
A mature one, hidden away, only waiting
For me to taste and maybe savour
I waited for it, I hesitated
I put the glass back without trying
And went on with things
Thinking I could postpone maturity
I did so a few times
Taking the glass, putting it down
When I finally tried the brandy
It was strangely neutral
I was strangely numb
And perhaps mature
So I poured it out
After a sip or two
And went on with water
Went back to the source
Found a place for my muse
And for myself
Monday, 11 March 2013
Friday, 15 February 2013
Entstanden ist diese Kritzelei bei einem internationalen Workshop in Berlin zum Thema EU-Recht, -Wirtschaft und -Politikwissenschaften. Nicht dass ich mich langweilte, aber diese Themen sind so gradlinig, dass ich Angst hatte, meine Gehirnzellen würden sich in parallelen Reihen ordnen, und um dies zu vermeiden, habe ich dann kreuz und quer gekritzelt, allerlei kleine Bildchen und Symbole, die mir eingefallen sind. Während einer Pause hat eine Mitstudentin aus Kosovo — ich selbst bin ein luxemburgischer Däne, was man sicher auch aus meinen grammatischen Fehler sehen kann — das Blatt geklaut und einige ihrer eigenen Kritzeleien zugefügt. Deshalb sind einige Details am Rande des Werks viel künstlerischer als der Rest.
Thursday, 14 February 2013
Luxembourg’s English-speaking theatre troupe BGT will perform the comedy at the Mierscher Kulturhaus in Mersch from 27 February through 2 March.
Read more about the hilarious story, and how to order your tickets for the show, in this article from Luxemburger Wort.
Looking forward to seeing you there — and hope you will enjoy it. We will!
slightly drunk and delusive author?
and Astral Bigamist
Thursday, 31 January 2013
So… I have signed up for this online course at the University of Edinburgh, on eLearning and digital cultures. It is the second Internet-based academic course I am attending, although this one at Edinburgh is rather different from the first one, a master degree in European Union studies, which is more like a classic academic course, just using the Internet as the main communication means.
Already after reading the course description and all the ‘how to’ stuff, checking a few of the fora, and watching the first of four videos that constitute the core of the first course week, I see chaos installing itself. Students who are lost in the microcosmic cyberspace of the course website and all the subsites and websites it refers to.
What strikes me as well is that whereas the language used by the course managers (I am not allowed to quote from it, so I won’t) is very abstract and what I call ‘unnecessarily over-academised’, the instructions are pretty straight-foward, perhaps even too simplified to be comprehensible. Er, I mean understandable.
The clear question we, the (six-digit number of) students have been asked in the first week, is to think of an example of utopian and dystopian stories about technology told in popular films, and describe or share it, for example on one’s blog. Well, I have thought. And now I will share. And describe. A little.
In fact, two of my favourite films come to mind, and they both tell rather dystopian stories.
Pink Floyd The Wall has sequences of how mankind is becoming so inhuman that everything we love about being human is destroyed. Any artistic creativity, any feeling is not only taboo but also forbidden. A quote from one of the final scenes (and thus songs, as Pink Floyd The Wall is in a way one long music video) is:
The prisoner who now stands before youAlien — The 8th Passenger needs little further presentation. It is a little more ambiguous than Pink Floyd The Wall in its dystopian message, but one thing that I would like to point out is how The Company — which in this first part of what is by now a pentalogy, if one counts the recently released prequel Prometheus in, is not known by any other name than simply The Company — has powers that seem to reach beyond that of a nation state as we know it today. As The Company wants to capture the alien lifeform in order to use and possibly develop it for its weapons division, a creature of nature actually becomes, or is intended to become, technology.
Was caught red-handed showing feelings
Showing feelings of an almost human nature
This will not do!
Last but not least, a recommendation for those who like to watch something alternative: Try to get hold of the Belgian film Thomas Est Amoureux. The whole film is seen through the eyes of a man who lives his life through his computer screen. In other words, we only see the screen. While this may sound unbearably boring, the film is actually a fantastic attempt to show how human can become a slave of its own creation: the machine. Watch it! (pun intended)
Oh, I almost forgot: Of the four videos that we students are supposed to watch this first week, I rather liked this one. Watch it too…
Tuesday, 22 January 2013
A pregnant friend of mine has finally had it. (We used to work together, me being in charge of ideas and she of the action…) She has taken the initiative of launching a petition to finally get rid of tobacco smoke in bars. And it looks promising, as her initiative immediately made it to national news! When I signed yesterday evening, I was number 10 or 11, and now the petition has over a 1000 supporters!
Friday, 28 December 2012
But you, you drive me crazy crazy
With your ups, your downs, your lefts and rights
It’s never just spot on
It’s a rollercoaster ride
One second flying high
The next everything stands still
But you’re always ready for the kill
It drives me crazy crazy
It makes me bounce around
Wanna send you to outer space
And I, I wanna stay on the ground
You are crazy crazy crazy
And I’m just crazy crazy
I used to be a one, you make me a two
Whenever you’re around
It doubles up, I’m getting like you
It doubles up from straight away crazy
To double crazy: crazy crazy
You drive me crazy crazy
You drive me crazy crazy crazy
Crazy crazy crazy crazy crazy crazy crazy…
Copyrighted. Use only by written permission.
Tuesday, 18 December 2012
from ‘Fake It! — Your Right To Digital Self-Defense’
Monday, 17 December 2012
Here is the result — downloadable, free of charge! I hope you will enjoy it …and do contact me if you have writing or editing tasks for me!
Friday, 7 December 2012
Monday, 3 December 2012
Wednesday, 21 November 2012
Hier, à 16h13 selon le ticket de caisse, j’ai fait mes achats dans votre magasin près de la Bourse comme je le fais régulièrement. Je suis passé à la caisse 5 (de nouveau selon le ticket de caisse; sur celui-ci aucun nom d’employé n’apparaît). La dame à la caisse ne m’a même pas regardé — pourtant on me dit que je suis pas mal pour mon âge ; mais bon, cela dépend du goût personnel — ni salué. Elle a ignoré mon « bonjour ». Les seules mot qu’elle a prononcés étaient « onze trente », ce qui était le prix total de mes achats (si modeste parce que vos ampoules électriques sont très chères en comparaison avec d’autres magasins). Ce « onze trente » n’était pas accompagné d’un « s’il vous plaît » ; la réception de mon paiement pas suivi d’un « merci » ; et mes organes auditives n’ont pas détecté de « bonne journée » ou même de « au revoir ». Bref, Madame Caisse 5 m’a adressé que le montant.
Si un tel comportement — ou manque de comportement — se reproduit je me réserve le droit de choisir entre deux scénarios : ou bien attendre à la caisse sans payer, sans rien faire, jusqu’à ce que l’employé en question arrive à prononcer les mots si difficiles ; ou alors simplement laisser mes achats (d’habitude beaucoup plus nombreux et encombrants que les « onze trente ») et partir. Après, je vous enverrai bien sûr ma facture pour avoir gaspillé mon temps dans votre magasin.
Comme Alima n’est pas connu pour la politesse de ses employés, je vous suggère de mettre un panneau à chaque caisse, dans les cinq langues du pays, soulignant que vous chargez un supplément de politesse de base de 20 % (minimum 5 €) ; pour une politesse normale de 30 % (minimum 10 €) ; et pour le niveau VIP de 50 % (minimum 25 €). Cela vous permettrait aussi de mesurer si vos clients qui sont, après tout, le gagne-pain des employés aux niveaux inférieures ainsi que supérieures de la hiérarchie, se considèrent comme des VIP ou non.
Pour moi, chaque client devrait l’être.
Pour votre information, cette lettre est aussi publiée sur mon blog public.
Sur ceci, comme dit le ticket de caisse : « Merci et au revoir. » (le nombre de mots et 200 % du nombre de mots de Madame Caisse 5).
Réponse reçue le 22 novembre :
Nous avons bien pris note de vos remarques et nous nous excusons pour le comportement de la caissière.
Notre souci est de servir nos clients aux mieux dans tous les rayons. Et particulièrement le dernier contact à la caisse qui est très important.
En espérant pouvoir vous servir bientôt dans notre magasin.
Thursday, 1 November 2012
Katie Hall — ‘Scribbling’
Katie Hall’s poems are of the rare kind that pierce right into your soul, leaving a tingling feeling under your skin, matched only by the speechless silence enveloping the roaring storms in your mind. In other words: They touch you. Not as soapy pathos — on contrary, they touch your deepest, poorly-lit spots because they are so real and relevant. No matter if you have lived situations similar to what the poems get into, you feel that you are right there, right in it. You empathise not with ‘the author’ or ‘a narrator’ …but with yourself. What makes Katie Hall’s poetry lie so close to our own struggles and doubts are their way of spinning around the swirl formed by the eternal dilemma between needing and resisting, between shame and desire. Ultimately, between honesty and pretence. To be read one by one, reflected upon, and then re-read. If you are up to it. ‘Cause you will discover sides of yourself that you had forgotten about or stowed away. Now, with Katie Hall, it is time to find it back.
Tuesday, 24 July 2012
Wednesday, 11 July 2012
Notice how distinctly employers advertised for women or men, depending on the nature of the position to be filled. Today this would not only be unthinkable but also illegal. The Kodak advert even clearly lists which vacancies are for women, and which ones are for men.
(Click on the picture to see it in a larger and more readable version.)
Wednesday, 20 June 2012
But don’t know what
Don’t I feel anything?
Is nothing the matter?
Have I lost my talent?
Or just my mind?
‘Just’ my mind… ha…
As if that isn’t a big thing
That’s all that’s left to lose
Everything else is gone
Squeezed like a cola can
And thrown away
Into a bigger can
Too much trash
Too little meaning
Now that I’ve trashed it all
There’s no meaning left at all
Except for one going mad
That’s all there is to write about
A mind that was
Am I out of it?
Out of my mind?
Or of everything?
I feel like I’m here
And yet only exist
Even less dead
But not really now
Only the day after tomorrow
So what I gotta fill in
Are these lines
Where I am
Here with me
With my words
That I didn’t find
Where were they?
Where was I?
Where is my mind?
Was I with it?
Was it with me?
Is it with me?
Where — I don’t see you
I don’t see us
I only see me
Part of me
Moving on the keyboard
Expressing what I thought
Was an empty mind
On an empty screen
Now it’s full
But where are the emotions?
What is the matter?
Apart from dark
Or never existing
At least not now
At least not here
©2012 Bjørn Clasen
Monday, 4 June 2012
‘Awareness of our common vulnerability and mortality is the essential foundation for empathizing with our fellow beings.’
in ‘The Empathic Civilization — The Race To Global Consciousness In A World In Crisis’
(pp 157 and 236)
Sunday, 3 June 2012
I am tired of rules!!!
Rules on how to behave,
rules on why to behave,
and when to behave.
Rules on how to think
and even not.
Rules on how to kill my time
because pleasure is a commodity I can't afford.
Rules on how to love,
and how to not,
Rules on who to love,
and who to not...
Constrictions anywhere and everywhere
I turn my look around,
hoping to see at least a face
that doesn't say: NO or Not, or Don't,
but Yes, and Go and Do...
But my look encounters no expression
of making me want to let go of me,
out of these chains of morality.
So I look down, with a grey look
and a torn heart, and a burning tear
for being so misunderstood...
I wonder what happens to those who meditate and search for the illumination. They empty their minds into the point of filling Mind with... I wonder what can fill a Mind other than thoughts, free and oppressed, open and suppressed, optimistic or pessimistic... And how can you fill an already filled cup or empty an always filling one when you stand under the source and your cup never gets reversed? Which is the appearance of Illumination? It means lighting, bring light forth, take light in, but I wonder whether Light needs emptiness or presence to shine upon.
I haven't seen myself in the mirror lately,
You saying that I am Beautiful, was enough.
I haven't used the comb for my hair,
thinking the glide of your fingers through them,
would give me the style I couldn't do myself.
I forgot to think about me,
because all I can think of, is us.
I left my body untouched,
waiting for a touch of yours...
I have left so many things undone,
so many words untold,
so many thoughts enclosed,
Waiting for the day...
Stay under the rain of my emotions
and feel them as they fall down on you,
in a frenzy of winter cold
to warm you up
as you hold on to your own world
filled with insecurities and quests,
passions and regrets.
Are you really so restless?
Are you really so empty as to not see
the horizons opening in front of you?
Stay under my rain of emotions,
don't take shelter or hide, just let go,
and feel your deliverance as it comes...