Farewell, I’m leaving you now! I’m going on a tripp! Backpacking to anywhere. The station is huge. Public space is used to provide comfort, safety and information about all journeys possible. Information about everything really, advertisements etc. Interactive displays are everywhere. Such a night.
Lady Kiosk: ”Need a book, now? Special offer, two for the price of one? Last year turn-pagers, crime and love etc.”
OH, people can write about Love so well. The world has hands filled with Love. People get to borrow cups of sugar from neighbors in the name of Love. Love colors my past and flags along the ways I’m going to go by in the future. My Love is laughing like a flower and has red hair! It never comes to me but I have seen her shadow dancing on the walls. Love is bashful as a girl on her first high-heeled shoes. Some books claim meeting Love makes us unable to walk the streets normally. Some books mention Love in every sentence, sometimes twice. Tjay write Love with capital letter too.
Really, I have nothing against valentines and tangos while we're waiting for Love but my book is likely about something else. Maybe it’s about battlefields and fortresses, cavalry, aviation and participation in the progression, or the book about ability to refuse flyers from some manic street preacher. Possibly, this is a story about a full price for an unimaginable drama of the big hat, of some sombrero. Why let Love star everything? This could be a book about hunting the people, about wildlife, maybe about next life too, angels, demons, ah, about my struggle… about stone throwing and dogmas, revolt, nerves and eternal peace, my ass. About a greater Germany, Huge Russia, Gods America, Soviet Asia, Mighty Angola, Fiat Italy, Custom Palestine ... each country should be a better country again, or what?!
I’m kidding. I will not write about what I could write about. What man can write about anyway? What critics and publishing executives like to read the most? What ordinary man on the street asks himself frequently? Well, exactly. I am constrained to resort to cliches and will explain everything about everything in a good time.
If a poet is saying he has a hundred voices and a hundred fold consciousness, that he sings a hundred songs from a hundred of his throats, that he thunders as he shouts, that Goddess of freedom has not yet crucified him, that no sad news has hit him and it never will... then maybe he's just crazy. Rest of us don't need all that. One for nothing, whatever for all!
But most important first, I actually account for en Linda, a large and strange flower no one has seen yet. My next book will be more common, calculated to target audiences, with market research, the best solutions will be conducted in collaboration with all interested publishers and everything will be tested upon test groups long before I start with writing. Art is a product after all and it should be treated accordingly. You can try to sell cakes made from cowshit to reach some crazy point, and someone should try to sell it, for sure. There's lots of shit on the market. But I am not so sure it is wise to promote shit as it is an electric bike. Who knows, I have to do a blind shot until I get the experience. Maybe this is the great novel about walking into the innermost, about a move without a trace, about someone who never crossed any boundaries, about a unicorn who doesn't believe in his own magic hr sees in his mirror image? Irony might not sell that much. Feminists say irony is an expression of sad man's impotence, both physically and mentally. True, I agree. No to irony! Sad man must give up now, or I'll name a book titled “How to Avoid the Partner? And why not?".
I could write about my hometown, parents, my wife's and our kids. I live in Oslo and Oslo has no hair. It's a bold town. I just don't see any hair, it's not like San Francisco, it's not a planet in some universe far far away, to say so. Take boldness that as a metaphor for efficiency. In polar circle we need to wear a hats, so why bother with hair. That's it. Or should this be a travel book with a funny title? Title is always some hook or a simple joyful and creative free expression. "Bold City"
This Book may be of inconceivable bestiality written in the new language. Goalian! Goalian stands for figurative abstractions, its goals to fascinate and challenge a imagination. If there has to be some action in this fabel, it should start in the war. Everyone asks me about the war I fled from anyway. Almost everyone talks about some kind of war, before and now. Millions are on the run from war all the time, literally and metaphorically, on multiple levels. Migration is a huge industry.
Do you think you are at home or in some kind of quarantine? War itself is not an industry, no, it is just the consequence of a particular industrial escape, basically. All yesterday's parties I've been to were warlike as well. There is war over the last beer, the music, the hashish, cocaine, war about free ladies and gentlemen, about my ass, about when should I go home? I can't write without writing about a war. I don't want to be a stranger to the common culture. Maybe it's best to have a good timeline ready for the novel and forget about my individual unfolding, linguistic problems, semantic acrobatics and all holism? I will be more specific about inner life in my third book. Now I have to get to chapter No.2 first. Ok?
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