I’d choose a delirious, irrepressibly arrogant Babylon over an impostrous  Las Vegas – an anxious  peacock doing a Robert Redford.

PS: Things happened lately. Some were, for sure, good. Some were nevertheless bad. See you in a week. Or after Christmas. If not, happy conscience everyone!

PS2: Some wrote and complained I only like old covers. That’s not true. Here’s a proof: Lykke Li covering Kings of Leon’s “Knocked Up”. Divine.

The days. Tomorrow, yesterday, the day after tomorrow, the day you were kissed by a stranger, the pre-day of an important meeting, the day before yesterday – they zig and zag chaotically through your life. Some of them were bad, some of them were sad, some of them cannot even be located exactly, some still make your knees shake, some were late, some were far too soon, some never passed – they just  melted and formed a bad smelling puddle you often walk into, when absent-minded; and finally some days will never come, they’ve been suspended forever.

Do you feel like you know where you’re heading to? Do you feel like you’re in a hurry? Are you impatient? Do you enjoy making predictions? Or having goals? And secretaries? Well, think again. Your days are here to rudely disapprove your sense of direction.

PS: The Who’s version of “Under My Thumb” is probably better than the original Rolling Stones. Personally, I take covers very seriously. I even collect them. I learned to pay attention to them when I first heard Cat Power’s Jukebox.

PS2: I couldn’t find a name for the above charcoal. It might not even deserve one after all.

It takes so little to be a lot worse than you are. And it takes so much to be slightly better.

The less we understand ourselves, the safer we live.

Defending  from our very own truths comes just as natural as breathing. We do everything in our power to ensure the distance between ourselves and our most radical and substantial thoughts and self-impressions.

Have you read Ian McEwan’s The Cement Garden? Of course you did. Well, identifying  and ignoring a big truth about ourselves is like living “à la McEwan”; that is, with a hidden rotting corpse in the cellar, all through the summer. The stench would grow stronger and stronger and stronger – familiar; alarming; terrorizing.

So hold back like you always used to. The only thing you need to know about yourself is your name. Everything else will sooner or later smell up, break your heart, and stir the flesh flies.

PS: So much genuine talent in one family seems surreal. Rufus & Martha Wainwright plus Norah Jones’ singing “Don’t Know Why”, and then more family people (mother + boyfriend that is) coming together for “Heartbreak Hotel”. If this is not music, then nothing is. I wish I was there.

PS2: And my new painting is finally done: “It’s not you, it’s me”, oil on canvas, 90/100 cm. I’m truly pleased with this one.  To be seen, ignored, loved, hated, or taken home in July 2010 during the exhibition in Århus (Denmark). Click on each image for a full-sized view.

Lately I’ve been thinking about those people who alternate between states of absolute self-doubt and absolute self-possession. It’s like seeing a susceptible slave and a tensed master hating each other’s attributions and poses, but  still walking around as the same person: a panic-stricken emperor, always afraid of not being left naked.

PS: You should see Cirkus Cirkör‘s “Inside Out“. The show is breathtaking. Essentially modern yet classic, with a subtle shade of grotesque, plainly funny, and above all, exquisitely stylish. Irya’s Playground music makes a straight and vital soundtrack. It fits like nothing else.

The old age is a project. And a protocol. And a contract with dozens of stipulations and standards to meet. The most serious life matter and the most fundamental agreement. You can’t fake it and you can’t sneak  outside on the backdoor. You need to subscribe, write your name legibly, sign, and pay a monthly membership fee. And you have to do it  on time and to do it well. A member who ignored the matter and failed to pay within the agreed time will be punished to pay with his or her very decency.

However some of us hired good lawyers to  find a hole in the law. Most lawyers appear to be referring to the fact that each one relies on one’s own anatomy of time. Each one with one’s own time combination. So, dear fellow, submit your claim and challenge the court-set deadline. There seems to be a chance for you not to let others tell you how and when to grow old.

I forgot something: the very last stipulation: Failure to timely submit your claim may result in a disallowance of your claim entirely.

Now you know.

PS: I never really talked about John Cale, don’t know why, but I usually end up talking about Lou Reed. My mistake. Cale’s 1990 collaboration with Brian Eno led  to the album Wrong Way Up, and it’s outstanding. I got the album a few years ago and I have barely listened to it twice. My mistake again. For some reason, I used to think about it as being irrelevant for both artists. But today I’ve changed my mind. “Lay My Love” is penetrating, “Cordoba” is stylish, the lyrics are perfect. Sadly I couldn’t find anything  on youtube, so I suggest a Morrissey song instead. It’s one of those songs that cut like a knife. Very hard to forget. Or to ignore. Especially after a certain…time combination:  “Dear God, Please Help Me”