Sex. Brutality. Animal faces. Wrathful oceans. Rickety boats. Stupid men who robbed my human rights. Insecure love affairs. Floating corpses’ love affairs. Am I also a floating corpse? What else?
The newspapers are, sir, blight, disorder of the first order, just like everything that’s printed; but I tread all over it.
What still feels so traumatic to people in Norway was to outsiders just another bad event in a never-ending series of bad events.
neighborhood, our village, our town, our state, our history, our beaches, our apples, our army… are mightier, prettier, tastier, richer, more meaningful, more special, more courageous than those of the rest of the world.
Here it is not like that: it’s a company of trees, and all are undoubtedly dead.