Sunday

Walked the moors in the afternoon. Only light rain. haven't been there in many years. Smelled delicious of autumn leaves. Returned at dusk.

That was one week with blogging. Wondered whether I managed. I it was hard ;-) It will probably be some time for my next blog post.

På daukvalkikking på Bleiksstranda

Når kvalbåtene er fullbestilt og været setter en stopper for aktiviteten er det jaggu bra det ligger et kvalkadaver lett tilgjengelig.

Marjan og Darja fra Slovenia virker ikke helt overbevist. Helst skulle de vært ute med kvalbåtene og sett levende kval. Dårlig vær ene dagen og fullbestilte båter den neste satte en stopper for det.

– Kanskje vi kan prøve på Stø? foreslår Marjan, men virker ikke helt overbevist. Det var nå her de ville være med. Jeg treffer det slovenske paret innerst inne på Bleiksstranda.

Kvalstanken
– Har dere sett en død kval her? spør jeg dem. Høvelig nysgjerrige henger de seg på i letinga etter kvalkadaveret. Etterhvert går det opp for meg at vi er i feil ende av stranda. På veien treffer jeg en syklende Bleiksværing. Han kjente kvalstanken i helga og peker raskt ut kadaveret.

Midt i bukta nedenfor kirkegården ligger det. Ei rød trosse og noen tonn med illeluktende spekk. Kvalen ser altså ut til å ha hatt landkjenning tidligere. Nå er det nok håpløst å slepe den noe sted. Kanskje den kan tjene som reservedelskval for dem som har bruk for det? eller som alternativ safari for værfaste turister?

– Er det en spermasettkval? Hva døde den av? Hvorfor ligger den her? spør Darja Stefanisin — uten å få svar.

– Vi hadde lyst til å dra på kvalsafari i dag, men det var avlyst på grunn av været. I morgen er det fullbestilt og i overmorgen må vi dra hjem igjen, sier hun tydelig skuffet.

– Vi skal i alle fall få med oss lundefuglsafarien, mener Marjan Artnak. Han er hobbyfotograf og ivrig medlem i fotoklubben hjemme i Kochevje.

– Jeg har sett så mange havørn her. Det er veldig morsomt å fotografere her. Hjemme er ørna veldig sky og det er nesten umulig å komme på fotohold. Her har jeg fått mange gode bilder.

– Så så vi elg på Bleik i går kveld. Det ble det fine bilder av, legger han til.

Lyric Saturday (annother day)

I'm off to a poetry reading. Covering it for the paper. No expectations - good at least. The gay is a Christian and school teacher. He will also blow the flute - recorder. I hate that instrument. It's the Norwegian school instrument. You have to play it from 3th grade. The sound of 24 children blowing like madmen in this torture instrument are unbearable.

My kind of poetry are more like voluptuous, inductile, nerve itching, dirty words filled with angst and anguish. Found in poets as Charles Bukowski, Jens Bjørneboe, Jakob Sande or the the old Norse Edda-poems. Not to mention Jon Fosse. Which is not a poet, but theater dramatist. I read his novels as lyrics descriptions of life itself. Lou Reed and the Velvet Undergrounds, which I listen to right now, do also touch this nerve - as in Venus in Furs.

Well. They were done when I came. Then I have the weekend off :)

Lost friday (another day)

Lost because I fall asleep before 2100. Grabbed three beers with the editor after work. Thought about going out and have some more beers after dinner, but my little rest on the sofa were the end of that day.

Even though the day started out good. Woke up to an email identifying Wednesdays monster:

Lars Ove Hansen at the Norwegian National Center for Insect Diversity recognized our monster as a Hawk-moth. Then it turned from monster to sweet big, little butterfly.

Facts in Norwegian:
Vindelsvermer

Facts in English:
Hawk-moth

Amnesic thursday (another day)

What did I do this day? I were at work - weren't I?

Aha! Drowe along the cost, down to Risøyhamn and interviewed the CEO of the electrical power company. That take most of the day. Then?

Is that all I did? What about my spare time?

Aha! Had none. Used a good amount of time to search through the removal load for my tax card. No tax card, no money. No money makes Martin a grumpy man.

Then I headed to cover a political meeting for the paper. Arbeiderpartiet (Labour Party) were to take a stand for or against building of the planned windmill electrical power plant, Andmyran vindpark. They voted no, with some disagreement.

Then my day were done. Home at 2130 hours. Either I finished a book, or I just went to bed?

Did I finish the "En ettermidag om høsten" (an afternoon in the autumn)? Anyway, she did not find her lost housebound in New York. It was a kind of open ending, or something I missed.

Buggy wednesday (another day)

A nice day got even better when two girls and a mother come with this buggy rascal. Not one of our common bugs! Maybe it comes from Sahara. The scientist at Alomar have recently found sand from Sahara flying over our little island. Wind and dry weather made this possible. They also said that the sand would come down if it rained. Well it rained, and this creature showed up! I liked to speculate on this.

Finished off Renbergs Videogutten (the VCR boy) yesterday. Liked it a lot. Two teenage boys waiting for something to happen. They so desperately want something to happen. Then a new boy show up at school. Now things are happening. The VCR boy have the biggest uncensored collection of violence videos they have ever seen - and he hire out his little sister.

The film setting machine broke down again. Luckily we know how to fix it, but it's a bit annoying. And of course this happens just before the paper goes into print - when time is a matter.

Soon finishing Mirjam Kristensens "En ettermiddag om høsten" (An afternoon in the autumn). It's annoying. Now I have to use money on another book. On the other hand, I'm feeling the urge for a dive, after several evenings reading.

Whaling tuesday (another day)

A little bit of this, and little bit of that. Then a man grab my arm and tell me he think I should go to Bleik, to photograph the dead whale and write about it.

I search the beach. A Slovenian couple hook up. We find the thing that once was a whale. It's some tons with blubber broken down on the beach. Hopeless to tow away. A red hawser in the tail, tell us that it has already been towed from another island.

Most of the gas is gone out of it. It smelled bad this weekend. It's not bad right now. But it's high tide and land breeze. It will probably not smell like roses on a calm summer day when the heat comes.

Lazy monday (another day)

Not much happening.

Interview the priest at the air force base.

A friend comes by. I lend him Schopenhauer's The world as will and representation. Hope he can handle it. It is nothing for delicate young men. In certain countries the book was not published. It was said to destroy the youth and all hope for the future.

Finally online. I update this blog. Tried out Windows Live Wire. Both ok and bad.

Having pasta carbonara.

Will continue with Tore Renbergs Videogutten(The VCR boy).

Working Sunday (another day)

Put on the coffee maker at 10am. Bring the coffee back into bed. Just started on Mirjam Kristensens "En ettermiddag om høsten" (An afternoon in th autumn. A young couple goes to New York for vacation. She loses him at the Metropolitian museam of art. Can't find him. She's lost in the city. Wery claustrofobic. Open another book Tore Renbergs "Farmor har kabel-tv" (Grandma got cabel-tv). Read a couple of pages. So far, it seems to be a novel about growing up in the 80's. Not overly happy about it. I'm not into the 80's retro. I grew up in the 80's. It was not fun. Ugly clothes and bad music. Don't miss it much.

Have breakfast and drive down to the church. Must photograph a reunion. 50 years since they left school. Recognise some of the people. A couple of my old teachers amongst them. How old they look.

Have two hours to kill before next assignment. Drive to my parents place and pick up some of my stuff. Mostly books and old records I have stored there.

It's 3pm. I stand at a soccer field by the sea. Local team Høken (the hawk) meets Svolvær. Bleik doesn't show it's best side. It's cloudy and rain in the air. They loose 4-7. Not to bad. It could have been a lot worse. Svolvær is at the top of the league. Bleik is not.

The cellular is dead. My operator Netcom having problems. Call my sister on another phone. Asks her if she and her boyfriend will have dinner with me.

She brings me some incense I've asked her to order. Cinnamon, camphor and eucalyptus. We light up the cinnamon stick. It smells delicious.

I make wolffish and salmon in curry, with vegetabels and rice. Their usually picky on the fish, but I know this will match their taste. After dinner we sit down in the living room. Having ice cream and coffee. They have been in a wedding this weekend, and have a lot to share.

At 10pm I'm alone again. Writing this. Listening to Björk. Debut then Gling-Gló. A marvellous record.

Now I will probably do the dish, and have an evening meal. Bread with chesse. don't need it, but then again. There' a lot of things one don't need. Now I will probably try to update this blogg, just to discover that the network is still down. A bit annoyed by that I will go to bed. Don't they understand that I live my life in the matrix? I haven't been online since early afternoon saturday. I will read the before mentioned books. Then tuck in around midnight.

WARNING EXPLICIT CONTENT

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Forpult vanskelig å skrive en sånn helsikes tekst - Ops! Der var det vist gjort?
Tro hva som skjer med dette innlegget nå? Vil det få flere treff enn de andre innleggene? Eller google-annonsene, endres de? Kanskje det hjelper på legg inn et par bilder, med en advarsel i koden for bildebeskrivelsen? Får lete litt på disken og se om jeg finner et bilde av en dame i knekort skjørt ;-) sånn da var det gjort. For ordens skyld. Ikke klikk på lenka over.

Ballantine's and a nudie dip

Nothing that a bottle of whisky and a nudie dip can't cure. - I need this one. Countergirl at the liquor store smile at me. I hand her the Ballantine's. - 299, thank you. Have a nice evening.

Car parked. Shoes tossed away. Trousers over the sofa. Shirt goes the same way.

- Nothing that Ballantines can't cure. Crack says the cap. Sissle says the good stuff. Sprinkled over the ice.

Sweat dripple down. Through my beard. On my tummy. Stops at the elastic. Panties wet with sweat. I cherish the sun. Naked at my veranda. A Tuesday afternoon.

- Nothing that a nudie dip can't cure. Half way through the bottle. Wrap a towel around the tray. Pack down two glass. My cellular goes the same way.

I nod at the barbecue party, on top of their garage veranda. Next to the beach. This is what they see:

To sandals. Blue cooling bag. Glass of whisky. Pantied man.

Staring down in the light blue sea. I will have a heart attack. Heart will stop beating, reaching the Atlantic.

Snapping for air. Cold water dripping through my hair. Were doing fine. Old buddy. Not in too good a shape. Still standing for a cold dip.

Swim towards the rocks. Making sure I will not drown. The cold won't take me. Turn around and head for an islet.

Warm kelp. Hot stones. I watch the garage party. They watch me. There's some activity in their neighbors house. I see someone at the window. Window goes up and down. Up and down in the red house. House wife gone mad. Cleaning out the heat.

Reaching for ice. I beat the tray against the rocks. Fill my glass with ice. Sprinkle more Ballantine's over it. Heavy glass. Nice glass. Bought it for survival times - like this.

A friend comes by. - There was an ambulance up at the red house. A woman fainted. They took her away.

- Maybe she saw something she couldn't handle, I reply.

Bollocksing our way through the bottle. Gnat bites. Sun colling down. We head back to his place. There will be some cognac on he table. I know.

Wake up fine at 7am. Can't find my panties. But then again. I'm probably not the first to wake up after a round of scotch, not knowing where the panties are.

At work. Same old stuff. Writing. Talking. Talking. Writing. Then it hits me with full force. I cling to the keyboard. Knowing that I some day will meet my creator. Not only some day - but this very moment.

I need something else to think of. Grab my camera bag. Drive down the main street. Out of the city center. A quarter later my mind is set on other things.

Kval, blues og raketter på Discovery-TV

Vinden spiller en seig sensommerblues, med flatt regn og sedvanlig lavt skydekke, når ferga runder molohodet.
Borameternåla går ned i knestående og sommeroptimismen har snudd til e-moll, i det syklene brummer over landgangen.

– That´s life as a Harley rider. You never know what hit´s you, sier Pat Savage og kikker inn i skodda. Canadieren har gitt jernet på Andenes før. Nå er han på vei fra Nordkapp til Harley-treffet i Ballangen. Så bærer det en tur ned til Lillehammer, før han om to uker er tilbake for å traktere blueshungrige andværinger. Gutten har vært på veien med gitaren i 25 år, så avstandene bekymrer ham neppe.

Unnfanget på HD
Canadieren har ikke bare en forkjærlighet for blues. Interessen for Harley-sykler er nok mer en normalt utviklet. I følge Pats egen mytologi er han unnfanget på en ’56 Pan Head Harley Davidson. Nå er han med et filmteam på Andenes for å feste kval og raketter på videoteipen.

– Vi håper å få ei omvisning på rakettskytefeltet, selv om vi ikke gjør oss noen forhåpninger om å få festet ei oppskytning til teipen, sier han og kikker inn i tåkehimmelen. – Klippene fra Andøy skal vises på TV-showet mitt, «A Bikers Lifestyle ... The Savage Roads», forteller canadieren. I showet cruiser han rundt med musikervenner på motorsykkeltreff i New Zealand, Norge, Storbritannia og Japan.

Kenneth «Kula» Johansen kjører sammen med Pat. Kula spiller i bandet Blue Hawgs. De skal varme opp publikumet i Ballangen.

– Fotografen er ivrig og er både høyt og lavt for å få gode kjøreklipp. Jeg tror dette blir en ålreit film, sier Kula.

– Vi har kjørt i alt fra strålende sol og 20 grader på Nordkapp, til regn og skodde her på Andenes. Det er helt topp kjørevær dette. Vi vil vise Nord-Norge på godt og vondt. Dette er eksotisk for dem, forteller Kenneth Kula. Før han legger til. – Vi traff på rein. Den kom rett og slett out på veien og hilste på oss. Han kan ikke forstå annet enn at tv-visninga vil få en fantastisk reklameverdi for Nord-Norge.

Rocket launch

Rocket launch
Nice column
of smoke,
over the chimney,
behind the roof.

Nice column of moke, over the chimney, behind the roof.

Ground quakening. Windows shivering. Some kind of thunder shaking my ears.

- What the dot dot dot is this? There are no such thing as earthquake around here.

Then I remeber the rocket launch. Run to the veranda door. A thick column of smoke stands over the ocean. I hear the rocket engine burning out. The second engine takes over with a blast, far, far away. If it was clear sky I would have seen the first engine fall burning throug the sky.

Made a bloody noise. I leapt a good inch or two.

This happende at 0050am. There will be one to follow this one, so I sit down. Waiting. Exactly 30 min. later the second rocket is prepeard. I grab my camera phone while running to the door. Hopeless. The fog is so thick now, the smoke barely shows.

NASA are here now. Everyone believed the launch would come some days later. There are som heavy, misty clouds hanging over our little island now. But it is no wind, so maybe that made them take a chance on the launch?

rocketrange.no