Norsk

Hva er den røde ringen der???

Da er jeg tilbake på nett - har vært et par uker uten, men kom meg endelig opp i går kveld. Hadde egentlig fått beskjed fra Canal Digital at jeg måtte vente en måneds tid på montør, men jeg fiksa det selv. Fikk da sikret meg gratisdownloaden til Oblivion. *YAY*

Litt senere på kvelden skulle madammen og jeg se en film. Slang den i X-Boxen (da DVD-spilleren er ødelagt) og trykket play. Introen kjørte - og så - plutselig får jeg bluescreen på tv-e og madammen utbryter - "Hvorfor lyser det rødt på X-boxen???"

Rødt lys? "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" Hjertet stoppet i noen sekunder, jeg så for meg uker uten gaming...

Jeg skrudde av konsollen, sjekket alle ledningene og fyrte den opp igjen... Grønt lys. Play movie - fortsatt grønt. Det grønne lyset holdt ut filmen og en lang gamingsession etterpå.

Forhåpentligvis var det bare en løs ledning, men jeg er litt nervøs enda - kanskje var dette bare mitt første møte med den fryktede rødringen???

PS. Det verste var vel at jeg måtte se introen til "the Devil Wears Prada" to ganger....

HQ
Tilbake til steinaldern

Tilbake til steinaldern

Har skjedd en rekke ting i nærområdet mitt som får meg til å føle at vi lever i steinaldern.

Jeg har trådløst nettverk hjemme(eller jeg TROR borettslaget har det-jeg har aldri betalt noe, så jeg tør ikke spørre) men her om dagen forsvant det plutselig. Jeg håper det kommer opp og går igjen i løpet av helgen sånn at jeg får lastet ned den nye utvidelsen til Oblivion på mandag.

Kjipt, men jeg kan leve med det.

I går ringte vannverket - vi kan ikke drikke vannet i springen på et par dager fordi det har sprukket en vannledning og vannet er forgiftet... Det var veldig kjipt - spes md tanke på oppvask og denslags.

Kombinert med det faktum av at banen aldri går fordi det er konstante problemer med signalanlegget så føles det litt østblokk.

Det er ingenting som er oppe etter klokken 21.00 her, og for å toppe det hele så forsvant strømmen i området fr et par dager siden og hele senteret stengte...

Sivilisert verden? Tja, kanskje det - alt stopper hvertfall opp så fort en liten rotte gnager over en kabel.

HQ
Den andre siden

Den andre siden

På oppfordring fra Filimonki legger jeg ut den andre eksisterende delen av denne samlingen(som minst er en en triologi). Ikke mas om noen videre historier i serien, da de kun finnes i mitt hode så langt. :)

Uansett, her tar vi opp historien noen få måneder etter at vi forlot vår helt Rocky Bottom sist. Historien kaller jeg:

The Tunnel to Absque Latus


Freedom here we come

It was the 5th of August; the sky was cloudless and blue, the sun shone mercilessly at the barren wasteland below. A freeway started somewhere far away and disappeared somewhere out of sight of here. No buildings were here, no trees, no nothing. Except, that is, for one solitary car, a sedan of uncertain brand and colour. It has in fact, until recently, been a government car, of dark colour, but someone had changed the licence plates and sandpapered the colour away, before covering it up with patches of different new paint. Which colours would be hard to say, the car was dirty. The car was occupied by two men; they had real names, but were just known as Jim Beam and Jack Daniels as they always left two empty bottles as a signature whenever they did a hit. The previous driver of the car had been handcuffed to a light pole in another city about three days ago. Jim and Jack might have been bad guys, but they were no cop killers. The boot was full of jewellery, their trench coats and shirts left in the backseat of the car, and they were headed for a different state, a state where nobody would know them, not even the cops. The skinny man that drove the car was Jim, sweat dripping down from underneath his hat, he wore round glasses. The taller, better built man sleeping in the seat right next to him was, of course, Jack. Jim's window was open as the air conditioner had said goodnight the previous day, but the car seemed dangerously hot nevertheless and the stale air smelled of sweat.


Jim Beams Journey

1.27 PM
How far would it be to the next petrol station? Jim realised he didn't have a clue. It could be just out of sight, or 120 miles down the road. He could, of course, wake up Jack who had grown up in this area, but thought better of it. Jack had had a hard couple of days and deserved what little sleep he could get; besides there was an exit just ahead of them. "Absque Latus" the sign said. Probably just some small, country-side township - not much at all, but at least a petrol station, and perhaps a diner. Jim listened to his stomach roar.

1.29 PM
Jim got off the freeway and entered the dry dirt road. About two miles down the road he came to a small hill, a tunnel went through it. The badly lit tunnel seemed longer than expected, but he finally reached the other side.

1.45 PM
Up until the tunnel, the freeway and the exit road had all ploughed through dead, dry wasteland so what met his eyes here was nothing less than a shocking surprise. No poor wasteland-village was to be seen, instead there were craftily paved streets, and huge, luxurious mansions. The further into this stunning town Jim drove the more overwhelmed he got. Jim gazed at all the statues lined up along the street. He then realised that the gardens of the mansions were all packed with ornaments as well, not only statues, but birdbaths, sun clocks and fountains.

But no petrol stations.

Jim managed to tear his eyes away from the ornaments and started looking for sign that could guide him to a petrol station. He found none. One thing he did see, however, was the peculiar fact that all of these winding, criss-crossing streets had names ending in "Court," "Terrace," "Drive" or "Landing" - not a single "Street" or "Road."

2.13 PM
Jim carefully knocked Jack in the ribs. Jack woke up with a slight, exhaling "Huhh?"
"What's up?" Jack was blinded by the sun.
"We're almost out of petrol. Do you know whe..."
"Where are we?" Jack cut him of.
"I think it's called ‘Absque Latus.' You should know it."
Jack just stared at him. "Where?"
"'Absque Latus,' that's what the sign before the tunnel said." Jim paused slightly, but continued as Jacks eyed remained empty. "You ought to know it, it's just a few miles from the shithole you grew up in."
"Stop the car, stop the car!" Jack was obviously upset. "Will you please STOP THE FUCKING CAR!!" Jack was screaming, but he sounded more confused than angry. Jim stopped the car.
"What the hell are you talking about? ‘Absce Lardus?' Tunnels?" Jack waved his arms in front of himself. He wasn't confused anymore, just pissed. "Where I come from we have a few hundred miles of flat, deserted wasteland in all directions. Look around you! What do you see? A wealthy, little town with lush grass and palm trees! Does that look like wasteland to you? We don't have time for games and sightseeing. Next time you wake me up you better have a damn good reason. I'm going back to sleep, ask some locals if you really need help." Jack rolled over to his side and snored protestingly.

Locals, that was actually a good idea, only problem was, Jim couldn't see any. As a matter of fact he hadn't seen any at all. He found a roadmap and traced the road. Jack was right, no ‘Absque Latus' where they were supposed to be now. Had he taken a wrong turn somewhere? He checked the index for names. No ‘Absque Latus' at all, not in this state at least. And he knew he hadn't driven that wrong, he just couldn't have. Jim started the car and resumed his search for a petrol station. Only mansions, the next more immaculate than the last, nothing else, no schools, no shops, no police stations and certainly not any petrol stations.

2.28 PM
The car stopped, no more fuel, and Jim walked out. He walked up the drive of a huge mansion, to ask the owner about the whereabouts of a petrol station.


Jack Daniels Takes Control

4.30 PM
Jack was blinded by the red afternoon sun. Jim was gone. Where had that idiot gone? They were still in this accursed ornament-town. Jim, the damn faggot he was, had probably gone of sightseeing, totally forgetting about the police. He got out of the car and looked around, no Jim in sight.
"JIM!" Jack frowned now. "Jim get your sorry ass back here now. We don't have time for bullshitting around!" Still no answer.
Then it caught his eye, a little light in the end of the street. Could it be? Yes, it was.
Jack got in the car and tried to start it, it didn't work. No petrol.

4.35 PM
At least the petrol station wasn't far away. Jack walked towards the petrol station. Shouldn't take to long, perhaps even Jim was there. He had a look into the gardens; the statues were indeed of splendid work. Most were made of white marble but all materials had apparently been used; granite, sandstone. The majority of the statues depicted humans of all ages, but some portrayed animals. As all the statues were of the same fashion and astonishing quality, Jack deducted that they had one, possibly two makers of extraordinary talent. Most of them looked terrified of some unknown horror, and everywhere he looked the statues were crying, praying, running or just standing there with shocking expressions on their faces.

4.41 PM
Jack saw it, in the driveway of the big mansion, almost up there by the door, a statue that looked very much like his esteemed companion Jim Beam. He walked up to it for further examination. It looked exactly like him, but also he with that terrified look on his face, halfway turned away from the house, with an expression of agony in his silent cry. Jack felt a chill as he read the little inscription on the statue's right foot.
"Jim Beam the master thief gets caught"

4.44 PM
Jack realised with an all-engulfing despair, as his legs started to freeze, that the statues didn't look terrified, they looked petrified.

5.00 PM
All was silent in Absque Latus - the Other Side.

Rock Bottom - Reality calls!

Rock Bottom - Reality calls!

Her er en liten hurtignovelle jeg skrev. Hadde max 1000 ord til rådighet så dere får unskylde at den stresser litt fremover. Den lader opp til en mye bedre novelle om to skurker, og jeg har tenkt det hele som en triolog(der kun to deler er "ferdige" så langt).

Denne har ikke noe skummelt i seg, men er på engelsk og heter:

The Eye That Could Not See

‘.oC & mottoB ykcoR rotagitsevnI etavirP', I read the text again and chuckled nasally. ‘Private Investigator Rocky Bottom & Co.' was what you would read if you approached the door from the other side, not many had done that lately. I was not to blame, of that I was certain. I had been an up and coming mole with a sense of mysteries and an almost impressively high percentage of solved cases. That was in the days before Jim Beam and Jack Daniels had shown up in my life after an embarrassing fiasco known only as the ‘Countess Karvensa Affair.' Where I was deceived by a well articulated butlers sweet-talk.

After this immense catastrophe of a case closure I was thrown into a slight depression and found myself in great need of a drink, and went to my local pub; the ‘Last Stop Pub and Eatery'. A small pub in classic dark wood and chrome style, with its regular clientele; worn out alcoholics and nervous single mothers, and in the darkest corner; a poor excuse of a man, dressed like a cliché; a beige coat with a hat to go, a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and in his right hand a whiskey without the rocks. The monotonous movement of the fan stirred the grey air, I liked this place, it was so...informal, yet far from shabby. The smell of wet coats and umbrellas was dominant. I heard the train stopping outside for a short while, before it travelled on towards the next station and in a whisper I thought out loud; ‘Do more people enter or leave this shit-hole of a city?'
‘The good guys leave, and the bad seeds come...'
It was the taller of the two men by the door. They had just entered; seemingly they had just arrived with the train...their coats still dry.
They sat down by my table and introduced themselves as Jim Beam and Jack Daniels. I told them that the pleasure was all mine, and asked them to sit down. I didn't like them, I hated myself for lying; I wanted to be alone.

We came to know each other better, and I soon discovered that both of them had a talent for hunting down criminals and let justice be swift. These guys were naturals. They joined my little private eye corporation and we moved into a larger office. It was at this time the ‘...& Co.' came to be a part of my business' name.

With the new manpower my little company soon grew in fame and funds. We dragged criminals to the court and staked out cheating husbands. We had a hell of a time, and the pay was decent as well. We had advertisements in the paper and the local radio, and soon we started to get more high status cases. At several occasions we cooperated with the police, and we assisted private investigators from other cities. Other firms in our region would face bankruptcy and disappear as we handled a constantly increasing amount of customers. ‘No Mission too Big, No Mission too Small' our business cards said, and we could safely add ‘No Mission too Hard.' We were unstoppable; no criminals were safe and no crimes to intricate.

We were working at a case, exposing a local Mafioso, Beam and Daniels had been in court all day to testify against an important henchman, when the police arrested the assumed leader. I expected my companions back in the course of a few hours so that we could go through testimonials and evidence for the big day. As the clock worked its way towards 7pm without them coming back I became weary of waiting and called the courthouse to ask how much longer the case would be in process. I got the answer that my two friends had left several hours ago as the case had been obvious and swift. My decision to tell them a bit about proper behaviour in a business like this was abruptly brought to silence as I could reach neither of them by phone. The thoughts in my head immediately directed themselves towards abduction performed by the mafia, so I drove to the police department to talk to the officer in charge of the case and told him of my companions' disappearance. He told me to relax and then he ordered a search.

The result of the search was to me at the very least surprising. Beam and Daniels' car had been found by their apartment, locked. The apartment had been properly locked from the outside, and there where no signs of a crime, they had simply disappeared. The police officer suggested they had gone away on vacation and that we should relax for a couple of days and see if anything came up during the investigation.

A little displeased with this explanation I went back to the office in case someone wanted to reach me there. As I opened the door and walked in I immediately sensed that something was amiss, and quite correct. The safe was open and emptied. On my desk was two bottles, two brands of whiskey, on the taller one was a note; ‘Remember my words when we first met?'
No signature, no signature needed.

In the weeks that followed a series of armed robberies and burglaries where conducted towards my earlier customers, and two men, fitting the description of Beam and Daniels appearance where reported spotted near the scenes of crime. At the burglary sites, two empty bottles were always left behind; one Jim Beam, and one Jack Daniels.

As these news hit the media I started losing customers, my reliability and reputation dropped like the value of stocks in the 1920's... So here I sit and read the sign on my door from the inside, waiting for that customer to come, that one customer that believes in me and will offer me a way out of this depression

En frustrerende hverdag

Et lite dikt jeg har skrevet om små hverdagsrealiteter og kjærlighet for statuer og syke mennesker som elsker dem...

They see


I see her there, a young girl, tall
And wonder if she's gonna call
I see her stand there every day
But will she ever go away
I see her, see her in my dream
She covers me in chocolate cream?
I see her watch me through the glass
But I can't woo her, made of brass.

I see him there, a young man, small
And wonder if he's gonna fall
I see him walk by every day
But will he ever walk away?
I see him, see him in his dream
And all I want to do is scream
I see him, namely, through the glass
But I can't move - I'm made of brass.