like tentacles around the aggressive -rn collapse, almost an apocalypse of a closed system, a mechanical system that is horrified by man and begins to dream of female breimage of the woman, they swirl around her, behind her – a sublime three-dimensional image is obtained – we see the reality of life. Some excuse themselves, throwing up -to the p the frame falls from the room. The room, the painting that multiplies and gets bigger, the wd, raped, they are tied up, m a corner – we realize, we should realize – realize years covered with Penetration. … system was within a framework where previous – Now, now, it strikes through the frame, like in other pictures and frames – no stop there, no obstruction ruler or circuit. Three images of young Syrian women are incorporated inainting, they are ed a painting. Red with a hint of mechanical patte… I paintthey are filled with deep scars – a man in uniform looking down upon them from higher elevation . A picture , a photo from a pornographic magazine is cublood, theeth pulled out, with Forced t out and pasted, inserted into the canvas. She enjoys not, she enjoys through a mask – behind is a suffering, a suffering – the psychologist will find it in the corner of her eye, right side, of left eye. The meoman screaming frochanical patterns are asts, male chests; of guilt and responsibility. The system knocked out in non-bloom. Thetorture_Forced Penetration
människor som vart nära mig
3 st. dog av överdoser/eller på grund av droger somehow
1 som drogade men som inte blev hel människa igen
jo, en av de där som dog var grymt jävla smart o
han för fan gillade shack eller stavs det på annat vis
andra ser man man i eftertexten till filmer
fan vissa har blivit hyllade intellektuella
arkitekter skribenter författare läkare
drogare fyllon mördare
jag blev mellanbarnet, jag gillar båda sidorna
av nissan men de som loosat är
ofta så mkt mer ärliga men
det är så jag känner det o de
finns de som loosat som skulle hota
med en kniv för att få en selma
så jag vet inte vart jag ska stå det är
bara det att alla är värda lika mkt
och det är min curse att jag känner så.
The lyrics appear to be skirting around the surveillance society, but equally they might be meditating on the difficulties of open discussion in an age where thought is scrutinised and policed by the public itself on social media, where any idle thought runs the risk of seeing one condemned as #problematic. (Quote from The Guardian.)
Loose talk around tables
Abandon all reason
Avoid all eye contact
Do not react
Shoot the messenger
This is a low-flying panic attack
Yes, at any time you might be condemned. Condemned as problematic, difficult or not easy to medicate. By the people, or by the police, or by your psychiatrist – you will be seen as problematic, your voice will not be heard any more and they will have the power to lock you up. Yes, really; by some words written on a computer or a phone call made – they can lock you up.
Plötsligt tänker jag på min förre läkare/psykiater. Och hur man blir problematisk om man säger sanningen.
young. every things open. possibility’s enormous open, it is open why does it feel like a greek tragedy why do i know what will happen when i feel so alive? snakes and ladders is a game i always have lost. they tell me to climb up. but why does it feel so good to climb down? it will be hard to come back, they say. but i wasn’t even listening.
Psychiatrists are mosquitoes and not tigers.
Swedish authors Vilhelm Ekelund and Maja Lundgren knew this.