Dreams

The couple embraced and threw themselves on the ground.
For the longest time it seemed they would miss.

Horror story

Geek! Gawk:
Meek talk,
weak walk.
Sneak, stalk.
Shriek! Squawk…

Coincidence? I think not!

The sister ship of HMS Tiger was HMS Blake. The Royal Navy claims it is named for Robert Blake, but I think some clever fellow at the Admiralty had William Blake in mind.

Kista morning

Army of engineers,
keycard dogtags.
Highspeed tenspeed,
floorball-stick banner.
Sensible mother
pedals sedately uphill.
Men in overalls,
up since five.
Fractions of fractured English.
Students dream of glamour,
important meetings in faraway places.
Executive,
cabin bag,
empty eyes,
full coffee cup.

Tämliga barnvisor

Nisse ville sjöman bli,
segla till Jamaica.
Beska piller fick han då,
tvångströja fick han också
om den breda, ludna bringan.

“Little bundle of wire”!?

Pepe Guerra’s song «Verde Esperanza» as rendered by Google Translate:

From here I go, I'm
I love you and sos
With your cold winters
And summer heat.

Your joy is my joy
Your pain is my pain
For I have given what I have
And I owe what I am.

For everything you gave me
I love you like how are you
Little bundle of wire
Popular wit.

Tremendous and with little knot
In the countryside or the city
Stitch of hope
Nudité to wait.

I stand among my
Until I voice
Singing to the lower
Where is my heart.

Where the cravings come together
For a better country
For this land of all
I'm staying and I will not.

In the glass of my eyes
Green grisea your color
The licks of your countrymen
The labor and sweat.

And the green hope
Your green heart
Continues to serve my song
My guitar and my song.

For the dream that left
Those who died Voice
For everything you gave me
For me what I am.

For everything you gave me
I love you just as you
Little bundle of wire
Popular wit.

Little bundle of wire
Popular wit
Small green hope
Fields alone.

Little bundle ...
For everything you gave me
I love you just as you are.

Little bundle ...
Stitch of hope
Nudité to wait.

I stand and sing
Until I voice
Till death wish
Or until I say no.

Sjung som en pirat!

Min katt har nio svansar,
nio svansar har min katt
och har den ej nio svansar
så är det ej min katt!

Ohne Titel

There was you and I
and the fishes.
We learned their names
in five languages.
And all their names were beautiful,
because there was
you and I.

I love the sound of my own voice

How many?
Humany
too many
humans
no man is
island
No money
my land
Mailand
Milan
milling men
willing then
silly men
silent men
island men
Iceland men
nice land
why is land?
Wry this man
Diss this man
hiss at this man
piss at this man

Found in my Palm, no memory of when and where I wrote it.

Instant psychedelia

Among the OS X widgets is a language translator from Systran. The quality of translation varies quite a bit among the available languages and for some reason Italian seems to have a subpar translation engine. To amuse myself I fed in the lyrics for Irene Grandi's Bruci la città and translated into English. The result was not quite “A whiter shade of pale”, but still fairly surrealistic. Note also the out-and-out bug that occasionally inserts full stops between words:

Caterpillars the city
and landslides the skyscraper
you alone remain
knot on my bed.

Caterpillars the city
or lives in the terror
nel.giro.di two hours
vanishes all how much
svanica all the rest.

And all those boys as you
they do not have nothing as you
I cannot that to admire
I cannot not scream
that I tighten to you on my heart
for protegerti from the evil
that I would want to be able to rock
your pain your pain.

It dies more under a tram
or less all the world explodes
stars explodes all this.
It dies what
it is other from we
at least two for little
at least for error.

And all those boys
as you they do not have nothing
as you I would want
give to make to me
to perhaps be better
make shield you
with my heart from catastrophes and fears
I do not have
nothing to make
this I am
what I know to make
I cannot that to adore
I cannot that to leccare
this your deep love
this your deep one
I cannot that to adore
this your deep one.

On account of the passing of Povel Ramel

As everybody knows by now, Povel Ramel has passed away. I looked at YouTube for suitable videos and found this half-decent recording of ”Underbart är kort”, although not with Ramel himself (his version comes last on this video):


I have made a singable translation of the lyrics, it feels a bit flat, but it's an honest attempt:

Only a single rose on an endless creeper
such is our life, boring goes deeper.
But wonderful is short, always is too short.
Destiny takes you through long and narrow alleys
sunshine comes last to the valleys,
'cause wonderful is short, always is too short.

Ev'ry summer meadow holds a lone lucky clover—just for you,
and only once in life you'll find a friend who'll win you over, so do come through—
don't wait or she will be gone, wonderful is short, always is too short.

Det hör rörelser till också…

När trollmor har tatt sina elva små troll
och lindat in dem i bacon
så stoppar hon in dem i ugnen
och sätter gasen på trehundra grader.
Oh! Aj aj aj aj! PUFF!
Oh! Aj aj aj aj! PUFF!
Oh aj aj aj aj PUFF! PUFF!
Oh aj aj aj aj! PUFF!

Damn those kids!

The only-begotten daughter's theatre class gave a play they had written themselves. I have attended these shows for many years from the first embarrassing recitals consisting mostly of muffed lines and exits in the wrong direction, but they have learned. Oh, how they have learned… Within an hour they had me fighting the tears.

The play consisted of short scenes from a theatre school—work, breaks, joy and sorrow; the students' lives off-stage and the scenes they rehearsed subtly reflecting each other. The girl who so full of hope had auditioned reciting “Shall I compare thee to a summer's day” was killed in the final scene and when her friend, holding her body, read the sonnet over her I was this close to losing it completely. Afterwards, the daughter got a bit embarrassed when she noticed how moved I was.