Afterwards II

It’s nothing personal.
It’s just a total loss of memory.


A minor attack of lack of sense.
The headache in the morning is very intense.
I forgot the words of serenity.
A stroke of serious senility.

I forgot a lot indeed,
but nevertheless my mind do succeed
in remembering some small fragments
 – a deeper feeling of embarrassment.

The afterwars and doors to hell
and the colour of my breathing together tell
me to change my way of living,
but first take something that is soothing.
Why do I lose my head,
just because I’ve lost my mind?
I’m lost in my mind. I’m one of the kind
that gets involved in endless discussions with myself about the weather or whether I shall or not eat lunch with my thoughts that I keep saved in a plastic bag on 3.5″ diskettes. It’s a bunch of bits, which fits in my head, but I can’t possibly think that I have thought all this magnetic stuff and after some consideration I don’t think bytes taste good doesn’t even bite through the blue shell which protects it from dust and unidentified flying objects from the yellow moon.

Emptiness

Synthpop med fotbollsrefräng. Lars sjöng.

One autumn day all went wrong.
I realised I couldn’t long.
’cause when you walked away from me,
you took away my liberty.

Oh, no! emptiness!

So I sit here and wait,
hoping that it’s not too late.
I need someone in your place,
somebody to fill the space.

But if you come back again
it will never be the same.
There have fallen too much rain
since last I said your name.
It will only end up in pain.
Intended accidents

Before it’s too late

Per Frumerie sjöng denna miljöaktivistiska låt.

Imagine the wastelands barren and black.
Our earth cannot stand it
 – the toxic attack. A fraction is killed
 every moment.

Where once there grew flowers is covered with dust.
The trust for mankind is broken.
The cooling-towers are left here to rust.
The crust is forever infected.

So look what you are doing before it’s too late.
Mind your steps for tomorrow!
I can’t say I’m better, I just contemplate,
but I feel some kind of sorrow.


Do something soon or I will escape
this raped and suffering planet.
The yellow moon is where I will shape
a better and personal future.

Schinkenbratkartoffelprojekt

Släng ihop lösryckta fraser, samplingar och tuffa ljud. Resulatet blir musikalisk pytt-i-panna, denna gång på tyska.

Traumen sie nicht von weibliche Körper?
Traumen sie nicht von sinden im Schnee?
Schön wie die Sonnenlicht sind wir nicht, aber riesengross.
Wir sind nicht so klein. Nein!

Noch ein Projekt mit Farbe-prospekt.
Ein vollwerdiger Lautsprecherprodukt.
Nicht rauschenfrei, kein Bierpartei,
ein Plastikbeutel mit schlechter Lukt.

Noch ein Schinkenbratkartoffelprojekt.

Unter dem gelben Mohn, mein kleiner Sohn,
kann man mit Schwierigkeiten die Sonne
sich vorstellen, sei nicht so schnellen!
Werfen uns nicht in die Mülltonne.

Kjells mekanische Werkstatt.