Debris

Jeg fant dette på telefonen etter London-turen: «Jeg kom nettopp tilbake fra
Harrods hvor Vetements hadde laget et berg av secondhand klær i vinduet,
og et par etasjer opp så jeg en kvinne i niqab kjøpe slutty undertøy».
Pule, knulle, sprute jeg trenger nye ting… new stuff… puff-puff-pass,
I need fresh merch fast, I need dreams that last, I could use a new past, yeah,
give me a new past, just give me a new past!
Coins in a roundabout
Turds in a roundabout Hunger strike in a roundabout Strip tease in a roundabout
Fucked her in a roundabout
I love veggie sprouts
I’m gonna pour me some stout Before my tongue goes south
Sometimes I gotta buy new things
Sometimes I gotta have that feeling
Dear listener: What is the orgasm rate for middle class office workers versus
some other working group in society? What are the links between New Public
Management and open relationships? Between hormones, phones, fashion trends?
Kafkaesque algorithms shaping your porn preferences. Big data social skills.
Like farms, cock block. I buy followers and groceries, there’s bounce in her
ovaries. At a party she said «It's a matter of disliking the likeability of the
like» and I told her I’d met the guy who invented the like button—he had a
mohawk—we met at at a conference on a tiny island in the Oslo fjord.
And why was I there? 'Cause I interviewed Necrobutcher from the black metal
band Mayhem in front of start up people
Throwing up on whatever they sell Throwing up on the sushi from hell Throwing
up on my newest Gazelles Throwing up on a kid’s carousel Throwing up on a hot
headed male Throwing up in a taxi to jail Throwing up in a shitty hotel
Throwing up in my sleep, shit
I got shine—a Mac not a Dell
I got feelings, they feel like a spell
I got issues, they’re like a cartel
I got questions 'cause we used to gel On to you with intent to raise hell On to
you with intent to do well
On to you to sink deep in your well On to you to fuck till we yell — Yell!
Sometimes I gotta buy new things
Sometimes I gotta have that feeling
I remember the way we used to shine
Things fall apart
Now we’re running out of time
Dad machines-mom machines-dad machines- mom machines-dad machines-former
skaters- hardcore kids-graffiti artists on their new shiny electric bike so
expensive just call the bank. Call the bank! In front there’s a box for the
kids to sit in. For barna. Helmets gliding through the streets, trygg,
on their way to kindergarten, school, work… Acne T-shirts in the air,
hyttekos-god smak-røde dager…
Welfare, dismay, oil and arms led astray, shy and pale, moral toupee,
the kids are OK. The kids will grow up with their dads present,
with dads taking them to rock concerts and rap shows. Daughters and dads binge
watching Mad Men together. This is Scandinavia, where music festivals are
greener than jealousy. Where festivals have safe space ambitions beyond space.
Where festival goers are white. I saw a relationship crumble to pieces right
in front of me to the sound of Solange. Hazy shade of winter, Swedish mid
summer. I’ve eaten more Swedish girls than Danish
Busted by HPV
Saved by HIV
Infidelities I can’t unsee
2+1 is more than 3
Feelings are just debris
Just fucking chill and disagree Let’s grab a cup of tea
And fuck this gibberish! Coffee and starfish
Sometimes I gotta buy new things
Sometimes I gotta have that feeling
I remember the way we used to shine
Things fall apart
Now we’re running out of time
So I’ve been struggling with this concept of like: «What the fuck is wrong with
me?» and I kind of have an idea so I’m gonna share it. Ok… so I have like
this problem where I just assume that everybody fucking hates me, like,
somebody could tell me, like
«I literally love you» and I would think «they fucking hate me» like,
«they hate me», you know… This of course… obviously… stems from my, like,
childhood whatever, being bullied and shit and just not being sufficient
enough for anybody really in my life, or at least me feeling that way, and yeah.
. and so when I’m going through like time periods of high stress,
I go through manic phases where I overcompensate and end up being like
actually annoying, and it’s… it’s a problem and I don’t know to stop.
So from me to you: I’m sorry if I’m a fucking annoying bitch sometimes because.
. I dunno… like I annoy the fuck out of myself, and I just can’t imagine
what it would be like from the outside looking in, like, I know I’m annoying.
I’m sorry. And good God this is not me throwing myself a pity party, like,
I am really just trying to explain… I just want to explain myself