Porn dilemma #14

This is what I recited at Mc Manus Open Mic yesterday.

Three years ago I published a book in Sweden. Its a mix of a collection of short stories and a novel. Five guys and one girls tell their own story about what they did on the same friday. When you read all the six stories you get a bigger picture and a bigger story about what happened that friday night.
This is just the beginning of Mickey Trix story. It goes on for 15 pages with a lot of adventures. Mickey is a very busy guy, even though he is unemplyoed.

Gerry is my new niggest fan, he always loves what I recite at Mc manus. He called this piece
Porn Dilemma.
That gave me an idea. Maybe I should write a series of Porn dilemmas. The problems the porn freaks have every day haven't got enough attention in litterature.

What did I do last night? Don’t you know Mickey Trix? No speed limit, like I always say. Every night is Saturday night, rock n roll all the time. Been at the pub Thursday and then after we kept drinking at Matt’s house. Everybody was hammered so I gave them some vitamins, to keep the party going. Otherwise everybody would have passed out. When I came home at seven o clock in the morning I wasn’t in the mood for going to bed, if you know what I mean. So I turned on the computer and smoked a couple of Johnnies to get tired. Checked a couple of pornsites but got tired of watching movies. Wanted something more real, so I found a webcam  whoore, cost a couple of hundred for 10 minutes, and I thought it could be worth it to see some live pussy. Bought 20 minutes, why not. Took a long time before I even could see her. She was very careful and wanted to be sure that I actually paid. But when she was there on the screen she was really hot, 19 – 20 years old, blond, nice boobs. So I took out my dick and couldn’t  wait to see her play with herself. But then she said “Hello, how are you?” and polite as I am I wrote back “Im fine how are you?” She answered that she was horny and wondered what I was doing. Should have written that I was horny as well and that I was wanking, but I started to tell her that I’ve been at Basement nightclub, that I had a good time and that I was listening to Slayer. She asked me where I lived and then I started to write lame stuff like I am from Sweden, it’s a lovely country but a little bit dark in the winter. I have no idea what I was doing. I mean, it was a webcam hooker who was ready to put a dildo in her pussy any second, and I flirted with her like she was a Canadian backpacker chic who you met at a full moon party in Thailand. I kept on telling her about Sweden. Wrote that We have a king, but he’s got no power. The social democrats are the government. They are ok, but the drug laws are absurd. They can put you in prison just because you have drugs in your urine. I hate the swedish cops, but they are propably better than american cops. All of a sudden those 20 minutes were over, and I hadn’t even seen her naked yet. She asked me if I wanted to buy another ten minutes, said she was so horny and wanted me to come. But then I got angry, felt like she tricked me.

Found another cam whoore. Took a long time again so I smoked another Johnnie. When the new cam chic finally was on the screen I didn’t want any bullshit. Immediately I wrote, Will you please put a dildo in your pussy? She took of her underwear, showed me a really big thick blue thing and started to put it in and out. But before I took out my dick again, I realized that what I just wrote was so funny. Will you please put a dildo in your pussy. Maybe a little bit too polite, don’t you think? British school English to an American hooker, so I started to laugh and couldn’t stop before the ten minutes was over.

Two cam hookers and I didn’t even touch my dick.

 


20 lessons in life

A long time ago a girl wrote me a letter where she explained why she never wanted to see me again. It was in Swedish but full of quotes in English.
This made me curious, I thought that maybe it was lyrics from her favourite rock band or something. When I googled, I found out it was from a self help book called 45 lessons in life.
Yeah, that's right. You need a Self help book to get rid of me.

This has nothing to do with her, but it inspired me to write my own Lessons in life.

So here it is, 20 important lessons from Olof's life:

If you are thinking about going home from the pub at midnight – do it. It´s very seldom that you regret that you didn’t stay two more hours and get even more drunk, but very often you regret that you did.

 

Watch out for party smokers. They are the ones who always ask for fags.

 

Never discuss important things in a letter, a text message or an email. Talk about it, or forget the whole thing.

 

If somebody flatters you they are after something. If you are lucky, it´s your body. If you are unlucky it´s money, and in the worst case it’s your soul.

 

People who tell you over and over again how much they hate drugs, drinks too much.

 

Maybe money will not make you happy. But lack of money will make you unhappy.

 

If a woman tells you that all men are pigs except you. Run away – it´s just a question of time before she acusses you of the same thing.

 

It´s better to follow your conscience than to follow the law.

 

People who are complaining about high taxes, have too much money.

 

If somebody ask you if you have a drinking problem. Look the person straight in the eyes, and answer very serious and short:

Yes

He will never ask you again.

 

Don´t feel old but don´t pretend that you are young. The years you lived are precious  and you shouldn´t deny them.

 

You can´t like everybody, so you don´t have to give everybody a chance.

 

Never ask somebody twice if he wants a drink. He had a reason to say no the first time.

 

Avoid the police and thieves.

 

If you realize a book is bad after 50 pages. Read something else.

 

You will never learn from your mistakes. Just recognize them.

 

Don´t do the crime if you can´t do the time.

 

Never try to explain yourself to people who don´t understand.

 

Never listen to bad music or stupid people. You have no reason to.

 

Listen to advice, but remember, you don´t have to follow it.


Some days

I have translated two new things that I recited at Open mic night at Mc Manus yesterday.
A great night. Thank you everybody.
Here is the first one. It's called
Some days

Some days

Some days I think about giving up all my dreams and do everything just to live a normal life. Try to find a job which pays the average salary. Meet a girl that is so totally normal that she is almost grey in the face. Take a mortgage, buy a house, have two kids , a boy and a girl.

Then I am only gonna spend time with my coworkers and neighbours who live almost exactly the same life as me.

Discuss the house market and the x factor when I have a barbecue with the neighbours on a Saturday afternoon. Only read crime novels. Pay taxes, be angry at people on the dole, vote for Fine Gael. Tell my kids to be good at school and never question what the teachers say.

That the most important things in life is to follow the law and pay your bills.

 

Other days I think it is time to fully live out the myth of the artist. Turn my back on society, never again apply for a job, just write write write, doesn’t matter if somebody wants to publish it or not. Only spend time with artists and bohemians, criminals, junkies, winos, gamblers and hookers. People with different lives that can give me some inspiration.

Try to get as much from the dole as possible, make my own booze or grow weed in the closet when I am skint.

Totally give up every thought of having a family. Concentrate on short intensive stormy relationships with crazy wild wonderful women with big plans, broken dreams and shattered lives.

Relationships that turn my whole life upside down with ecstatic sex, lots of red wine, deep conversations, furious fights. Relationships that never give me any comfort and have no future, but really make me feel alive. That  gives me strong emotions of love and happiness or deep grief and worries – but never something in the middle.

To have something to write about after the break up.

 

Some days I am thinking about never drinking again. Thinking that that is the most honest way to live. Never do anything I regret. Always remember what I did the night before when I wake up in the morning.

Never say something stupid or have a one-night-stand again.

Never again spend an afternoon with totally pointless but very entertaining discussions over a couple of pints.

 

Other days I am thinking about never being sober again. Speculating on what I must do to be a functional alcoholic. Counting how many pints I could have every evening and still be able to do the things I have to during the days.

Thinking about a neighbour I had who got up at four in the morning every day, had a sixpack of beer before work. Then worked all day, went straight from work to the pub , got drunk, staggered home at ten, just to wake up at four next day and have another sixpack.

Maybe that would be something for me. I can drink beer all day, when I write, cook or clean the house. And then let loose with wine or whisky in the evening.

Some days I am thinking about if there is a way to finance a heroin addiction without having to humiliate myself. Thinking that if you don’t have to steal or prostitute yourself and always have enough gear  to get a fix before the withdrawal, then maybe thats perfectly alright and really nice.

Spend all your life comfortably numb.

 

But most of the days I am not thinking that much. I am just walking around living my life, which some days feels like an unsatisfying compromise, and other days like a golden middle way.

And there must be many more than me who feels like that?

 


I´m a poet, I know it, I hope I don´t blow it

De har börjat med Open mic night på Mc Manus varje torsdag. Det vill säga Öppen scen, den som vill få gå upp och sjunga en sång, spela en låt, läsa en dikt eller vad som helst.

Det är min kompis Mickey som håller i det och arrangerar torsdagskvällarna. Han vet att jag skriver så han undrade om jag kunde läsa något.

Varför inte? Tänkte jag. Så jag översatte två grejer från bloggen. En gammal – Vad ska du göra?, och en ny – It ain´t me, babe.

Det var inte helt enkelt att översätta mina grejer till engelska. Jag upptäckte att jag har ett mycket större ordförråd på svenska och att en av mina styrkor är att jag vet exakt vilket ord eller uttryck som passar för det jag vill säga.

Men det var en intressant utmaning och jag lyckades ändå med lite hjälp av google translation. Mickeys fru Michelle (som är journalist och författare) hjälpte mig lite med att kolla att grammatiken var korrekt, och tips om relevanta slaguttryck.

Jag tror mina texter blev lite plattare på engelska, men är ändå ganska nöjd. Ni kan läsa resultatet här nedanför i inlägget ”The blog goes bi-lingual”.

 

Så i torsdag var det dags att läsa mina texter live. Jag har aldrig läst mina grejer inför publik förr, och dessutom var det på engelska. Så jag trodde jag skulle bli nervös och få lite scenskräck.

Men jag laddade med ett par pints och en whisky innan och kände mig faktiskt helt avslappnad och bekväm när jag skulle upp på ”scenen”. Jag tyckte till och med det skulle bli skitkul.

 

Det gick bra måste jag säga. Jag hade mina texter på papper, men hade läst igenom dem tillräckligt många gånger för att kunna läsa upp dem någorlunda spontant och med känsla. Och det tror jag jag lyckades ganska bra med.

Jag tycker jag fick bra respons efteråt. En lokal poet på 60 bast som tydligen är ganska välkänd här i stan tackade mig och sa att han tyckte det var bra. Speciellt nöjd var jag med att vågat läsa allvarliga grejer, och det tror jag jag fick respekt för. Gerry sa : Very good Olof. Strong and emotional stuff. Efteråt upptäckte jag att han gick och pratade om det jag läst och sa att det var ”brilliant”.

Några i publiken kom lite sent, så jag fick faktiskt gå upp och läsa en gång till på allmän begäran, vilket jag tyckte var trevligt.

 

Jag var på Mc Manus igen både i fredags och söndags, och flera personer som varit där kom fram och tackade mig, och andra som inte varit där sa att de hört att jag läst grejer och att det var synd att de missat det.

Bartendern sa: I didn´t know you are a poet ,Olof.

 

Vilket jag är riktigt nöjd med. Nu är jag inte bara den där svenska killen som säljer pennor, dricker massa Guinnes och spelar Dylan på jukeboxen. Nu är jag the Swedish poet.

Och det är den titeln jag vill ha. Mitt skrivande är kanske den viktigaste delen av min identitet, och att sälja pennor är bara något jag gör för att kunna betala hyran.

 

Det här var en rolig erfarenhet, så jag bestämde mig för att göra det fler gånger. Jag har redan översatt en ny text från bloggen som jag ska läsa på torsdag, och imorrn ska jag jobba med en till text. Jag tror det blir lagom att läsa två eller tre stycken varje gång.

 

Så nu har jag en ny hobby. Att översätta mina texter och läsa dem för stammisarna på Mc Manus. Och det var precis det jag behövde. För att bara jobba i veckorna och sen gå på puben på helgerna blir för innehållslöst i längden.

 


The blog going bi-lingual

I have translated some of my stuff to english so I can read it at open mic night at Mc Manus tonight. It wasn´t that easy to be poetic in a second language, but it was an interesting challenge.

So I thought, why don´t publish it here. I have a lot of friends that don´t read swedish, so now they can read some of my stuff.

So for the first time the blog is going international. Here is two pieces in english, one old and one new...


What are you gonna do...

 

When your life feels like a suit that is two sizes too small and you only wear it to look presentable, but you haven´t even achieved that, and the collar scrapes your neck and the pants pitches your waist and the socks are too long too short too tight too loose.

 

 

What are you gonna do when your worst enemy is your own mind. When your head shows crystal clear movies about things you want to forget or foggy pictures of things you cant remember.

When you cant turn off the telly in your head and on one channel it´s ”Your biggest mistakes – a dark documentary about everything you did wrong” and on the other channel it´s a debate where four voices discuss what you should have done but didn´t do.

 

What are you gonna do when the future scares the shit out of you, not because you are afraid of some bad things that´s gonna happen to you, but because you fear that you will never get the things you desire the most.

 

When you see them clearly, but they are just too far to reach, like a dog that drewls over a piece of meat but is tied with a rope that is a couple of inches to short for him to get a bite.

When you tremble and shake just because you imagine the awful truth of how sweet life could have been, be, become if just fate had wanted something else, if you yourself had done better, or if somebody had given you that little little thing that you needed so much but never got, and you really can´t understand why?

 

What are you gonna do when you need somebody to blame and it doesn´t work with the winter, the government. God, women, the recession, death, the americans, life. When you instead become the accused and they hold you responsible for something you don´t know what it is.

But you have to desperately defend yourself to a judge and a jury you can´t even see.,

 

What are you gonna do when you want another life, when you are tired of that suit and all your other clothes. When you need a brand new closet with things in the right sizes and colours that suites you better but you have no sewing machine, you cant even afford a needle or the material, and even if you could nobody ever taught you how to sew.

 

 

------------

 

 

It ain’t me babe
I could write that I recognize you from a miles distance. But its the opposite. It is you who recognizes me. You see me, you know me and you are looking for me.
There is something you want from me.
But I know you as well, even though I’ve never seen you before.
Twenty minutes in your company and I know who you are.
Sad, most likely brown eyes that catches me, and a surprisingly big smile. A laughter like birds singing in a snowstorm.
I know that if I talk to you longer than the time it takes to finish this pint you will tell me everything about that sorrow in your eyes. Because you know I am a listener, that I dont judge.
You dont need to tell me. Let me guess?
Your mother is your best friend in the whole world, but shes always in the dream land of white wine and Valium. But at least she is not as bad as your father.
Who you miss. Every day you miss your father.
You hate him and you tell me what a bastard he is and how angry you are about everything he did to you. But still you miss him so much and you would do anything to make him like you, see you and understand you.
But he´s not here. He hasn´t been here for years.
So you talk to me instead. Everything you want to say to your father you tell me. Because your father let you down.
Like every other guy in your life.
Every man you ever met, and it´s been a few, has let you down. Sooner or later, they all let you down.
”But not you”, you say to me. ”You understand. You are the only one who understands.”
And then you tell me more and more. Things you´ve done and things people did to you. And I´m listening, because it seems so important for you to tell me. I can´t tell you to stop.
If I would say what I really think. That I don´t want to hear more, that I don´t want to know everything – that just because you know I don´t judge it doesn´t mean I want to know everything. That the things you tell me sometimes gives me pictures in my head that I don´t want to see.
If I would tell you that I am not the best person in the world. That I have weaknesses and flaws like everybody else. That I cant be there all the time. That I cant always be the one who understands. That your expectations are too high, that you are trying to make me a person that I´m not, handle something I cant handle.
If I would tell you that some days I can´t even take care of myself, and even less somebody else.
Then that little flame that I lightened in your eyes would die, that laughter I actually can get from you would silence. And I cant do that. Because I want to be that person that you think I am. That you want me to be.
And without even knowing it I am trying. Because it feels so special to be so close to you. Closer than you let anybody else come.
When you let me in I find razorcuts on your arms and a body that is marked by uppers downers and all the dinners you threw up or skipped. Something tiny and fragile that could fall apart any second, something I want to protect from yourself and everbody else.
But that was a long time ago, you say. You would never cut yourself today and you stopped putting your fingers down your throat when you were a teenager. Now you want to feel good. Thats why you stopped doing drugs as well.
Except for the green stuff. You need a joint now and then and its better then the pills the doctors wants you to take. And a few lines on special occasions.
But not like then. Back then when you were young stupid and destructive.
Now you don´t need to do stuff like that anymore. Not when I am here.
But one day something happens. Just a small incident that makes you understand that I cant be the one you want me to be. That I am only a man. That I cant be there all the time, understand and defend you what ever you do. Open every door, pick you up every time you fall. Make you laugh in your darkest moments and say exactly the words you need to hear.
I know you think that I promised you, but you demand it. But comes a day when I am not there. When I all of a sudden say what I really think. One day when I am fighting my own demons and I´m not strong enough to fight yours.
When I let my guard fall and show you who I really am, I fall down from the cross you nailed me to, And I fall long and hard, so much longer and harder than all the others. Even if my crime is much less I fall longer and when I hit the ground all the ties between us is gone. You pushed me down from a cliff that was so much higher than you let anybody else climb.
When I stand up again and look into your eyes, its black empty and cold. I can´t light that flame anymore, the coal is wet and I´m the one who pissed on the fire.
I can still make you laugh. But that laughter is no longer beatiful like the birds singing. Its scratchy, has no melody and reminds me of a dead man´s last pistolshot. A laughter that gave up everything except the possibility to do unto others what you think they did to you.
But baby,
Let´s not sing this song again. I already know the lyrics.
I don´t want to be on that cross you want to nail me to. It´s windy and cold up there and there is no stairs where I can climb down.
So even if you know me and I know you, even though we never met. Lets just pass-by each other.
Because I am not the one you think, the one you want me to be.
Let´s just leave each other alone.
It aint me babe. It aint me you looking for babe.
It ain’t me babe


I could write that I recognize you from a miles distance. But its the opposite. It is you who recognizes me. You see me, you know me and you are looking for me.
There is something you want from me.
But I know you as well, even though I’ve never seen you before.
Twenty minutes in your company and I know who you are.
Sad, most likely brown eyes that catches me, and a surprisingly big smile. A laughter like birds singing in a snowstorm.
I know that if I talk to you longer than the time it takes to finish this pint you will tell me everything about that sorrow in your eyes. Because you know I am a listener, that I dont judge.
You dont need to tell me. Let me guess?
Your mother is your best friend in the whole world, but shes always in the dream land of white wine and Valium.
But at least she is not as bad as your father.
Who you miss. Every day you miss your father.
You hate him and you tell me what a bastard he is and how angry you are about everything he did to you. But still you miss him so much and you would do anything to make him like you, see you and understand you.
But he´s not here. He hasn´t been here for years.
So you talk to me instead. Everything you want to say to your father you tell me. Because your father let you down.
Like every other guy in your life.
Every man you ever met, and it´s been a few, has let you down. Sooner or later, they all let you down.
”But not you”, you say to me. ”You understand. You are the only one who understands.”
And then you tell me more and more. Things you´ve done and things people did to you. And I´m listening, because it seems so important for you to tell me. I can´t tell you to stop.
If I would say what I really think. That I don´t want to hear more, that I don´t want to know everything – that just because you know I don´t judge it doesn´t mean I want to know everything. That the things you tell me sometimes gives me pictures in my head that I don´t want to see.
If I would tell you that I am not the best person in the world. That I have weaknesses and flaws like everybody else. That I cant be there all the time. That I cant always be the one who understands. That your expectations are too high, that you are trying to make me a person that I´m not, handle something I cant handle.
If I would tell you that some days I can´t even take care of myself, and even less somebody else.
Then that little flame that I lightened in your eyes would die, that laughter I actually can get from you would silence. And I cant do that. Because I want to be that person that you think I am. That you want me to be.
And without even knowing it I am trying. Because it feels so special to be so close to you. Closer than you let anybody else come.
When you let me in I find razorcuts on your arms and a body that is marked by uppers downers and all the dinners you threw up or skipped. Something tiny and fragile that could fall apart any second, something I want to protect from yourself and everbody else.
But that was a long time ago, you say. You would never cut yourself today and you stopped putting your fingers down your throat when you were a teenager. Now you want to feel good. Thats why you stopped doing drugs as well.
Except for the green stuff. You need a joint now and then and its better then the pills the doctors wants you to take. And a few lines on special occasions.
But not like then. Back then when you were young stupid and destructive.
Now you don´t need to do stuff like that anymore. Not when I am here.
But one day something happens. Just a small incident that makes you understand that I cant be the one you want me to be. That I am only a man. That I cant be there all the time, understand and defend you what ever you do. Open every door, pick you up every time you fall. Make you laugh in your darkest moments and say exactly the words you need to hear.
I know you think that I promised you, but you demand it. But comes a day when I am not there. When I all of a sudden say what I really think. One day when I am fighting my own demons and I´m not strong enough to fight yours.
When I let my guard fall and show you who I really am, I fall down from the cross you nailed me to, And I fall long and hard, so much longer and harder than all the others. Even if my crime is much less I fall longer and when I hit the ground all the ties between us is gone. You pushed me down from a cliff that was so much higher than you let anybody else climb.
When I stand up again and look into your eyes, its black empty and cold. I can´t light that flame anymore, the coal is wet and I´m the one who pissed on the fire.
I can still make you laugh. But that laughter is no longer beatiful like the birds singing. Its scratchy, has no melody and reminds me of a dead man´s last pistolshot. A laughter that gave up everything except the possibility to do unto others what you think they did to you.
But baby,
Let´s not sing this song again. I already know the lyrics.
I don´t want to be on that cross you want to nail me to. It´s windy and cold up there and there is no stairs where I can climb down.
So even if you know me and I know you, even though we never met. Lets just pass-by each other.
Because I am not the one you think, the one you want me to be.
Let´s just leave each other alone.
It aint me babe.
It aint me you looking for babe.