What started years and years ago as long, spaced out jams on my mother’s grandpiano, recorded on tape-recorder, has now culminated in long, spaced out jams on my laptop. Track over track, with which ever instrument I could (or could not, for that matter ;) play. It’s a concentrate. Coffee and pie are an almost daily necessity, also I used to eat a lot of expensive take-out food. Where I lived in Amsterdam, there was good stuff. But since moving to Norway, I’ve been mostly eating rice with green peas. Otherwise, I like to be consumed by things. By the art of music, the art of cooking, things like that. Cultivation. At present, I smoke too much. The thing that fulfills me with the most joy, is to write music. and also to make it. For that purpose I need a hole. A little house that fits all my instruments, cd’s, books and movies into it, and where I can make noise and walk around naked and make strange and haunting cooking-odors. I had one in Amsterdam. In a little courtyard. But then I packed my bags and took off. Up north. It had to be done. Singing is vital. With most things in my life I have a love-hate-relationship. Like with people, for instance. Or with Iceland. I’m a sissy, except sometimes I’m really not. Reality and fantasy, my feelings and other people’s feelings, it’s hard to keep them apart and I worry too much anyways. So I rather keep to myself, in general. My friends are nerds. So am I.
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