If you wanna fight us then, FIGHT US THEN!

Honey, I'm home. Back in ol' Sweden. Not too happy about that. These three days could might as well have been three weeks. I'm sore. But I had lots of fun.
Learned some new things: Ben is in fact not scary at all. He is probably one of the best persons I've ever met.
Emilee is small but she walks fast.
Jon is, according to Ben, the worst waker-upper ever. I believe him.
The same Jon has never heard the word "vespa", or drunk freshly squeezed orange juice - "It tastes like a real orange!" - or heard a Fergie song.
Apparently it's really hard for someone who speaks English to pronounce the "sju"-sound (number seven in Swedish). And the Scanish "r"-sound. Like in "klåfingrig".
It's illegal to shoot on the streets of London. But I knew that already.

I already miss my all-singing all-dancing friends. But I'll see them again in March. Until then I'll just have to watch all my footage. And update this blog. I guess.

Move bitch, get out of the way.

Talking to myself again

"Louie, how was your day?"

Ah, same old same old. Crammed into an editing room for what seemed to be another endless amount of hours listening to Roy Orbison (appy polly loggies; merely the Swedish wannabe). That man can't take high notes without starting really low. Which means he makes sounds suspiciously alike those he probably would have uttered if someone accidently stepped on his tail. Although he has no tail, so nothing could be stepped on. My point is... Well, you'd have to hear for yourself to understand where I'm going with this. And believe me, you wouldn't want that.

On an upside note, we've (me and my posse) managed to fall lightly in love with an old man. How wicked this might seem, we can't deny his charm and don't be affected by his adorable on-goings. Not only does he sing remarkably better than "Roy", but for an old man he can move more than what would have been expected (you notice that if you're trying to get close-ups while standing by the stage, and the oldie just won't stand still for more than 4 seconds). This manner is more entertaining than the plain and rather embarrassing fake guitar playing our friend in quotes Roy got going.

So yeah, how was my day? "Olyckan" got me through this day.
I'm in desperate need of confirmation. I know, I know. I'm a confirmation-whore. I'm the one who said it first, remember?

Destination: Nowhere Near

November 12th 2007: Three countries in one day. Sweden, Denmark, Great Britain. I rode cars, trains, airplanes and taxi cabs. On highways, over bridges, crossing water and borders. Heard the new languages.
November 13th 2007: Three countries, the same ones. Manchester, Copenhagen, Malmö and Tollarp, which is what we should call home. But we don't.
Paid a total of over a thousand dollars. For just one night.

This is what I do to stay alive.

I brist på annat

"In lack of other things to do."

I am terrifically bored at the moment. Brought the spacey screen to life, only to find out that all my shit is missing. Erased, deleted, you tell me. Gone. Natural process of starting over occured. With the memory I unfortunately have, it took yours truly some time to gather all the lingering flashbacks. But I believe that I got the most important so called belongings back in place.

I think I think too much.

I know.

Went trick or treating with my friends yesterday. If we didn't get any candy, we'd leave notes (written with Halloween make-up) in their letterboxes.

I have buried your pumpkin.

I have licked all your candy.

I have drunk all your milk.

I have all your Nirvana-albums.

I have your WC-duck.

You have slept in your bed.



I have patted your cat.

I know how much you weigh.

I know how much you earn.

I have poisoned your salad.

I have beaten up your carrot.

Guess where this note has been.

I know where your letterbox lives.

I know where you parked your shoes.

I ate your last crisp.

I know.

Scored a few chocolate bars and about 15 bucks.