Crise Cardiaque

Idag ar jag otaggad, sa jag lagger upp en uppsats jag har skrivit. Det mesta ar sant, men de inblandade vet.

Och ja, jag har snott lite har och var.

Love at four o'clock

"Crush". I am a bug under her foot. She is so brutal, the girl with flowers on her dress. She is walking straight, straight over me, and I am nothing.

When I was in the third grade, I asked my teacher something I, until that point, had been wondering for my whole life; "Why do girls only like boys with big muscles and boys only like girls with big breast?" My teacher smiled. She knew, that if she would try to be funny, the whole class would laugh, whether it was funny or not. "Well... I don't know if that is scientifically proved, Gunnar." She laughed. She knew nothing. The whole class laughed. They knew nothing.

This is scientifically proved. The girl with flowers on her dress probably don't know it is because in the stone age, big breast meant lots of milk to your kids to come and big muscles meant "good hunter". If she knows, she don't care, why would she, she is the girl with flowers on her dress?

Memories at five o'clock

  

A few weeks ago, I met a boy I used to know. A boy I used to hate. He was still an idiot, I knew that. He was sitting by the old warehouse with his moped and his girlfriend. I came on my tricycle and with a pocket full of broken promises.

"Hi Gunnar."
"-"
"You know Gunnar; you've always been an idiot."
 "I know."

I looked into his eyes. I wanted to say it all, that he was the idiot, that everybody who mattered thinks so. Then I though that everyone who matters to him probably thinks I'm an idiot, so I didn't think it. But I knew I was right, I knew he was a failure; that he would sit on that bench for the rest of his life, I knew that I would be somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away. So I said to him, "One day you will regret this."

The birds sang, the sun was shining, but he was everything but happy. His eyes was red, his mouth was black. He opened his black mouth and screamed, "Who the hell do you think you are?!" What he really meant was "Don't you know who I think I am?", but since he didn't know that, I answered:

"I am Lou."
 "Lou Who?"
"I am Lou Reed, give me love!"
 
The boy was, quite naturally, stunned. He starred at me with his red eyes, he was searching his brain of the worst insult he could come up with, but all that came out of his black mouth was "Go to hell, Gunnar." His girlfriend laughed. She was repulsing. Her laugh was like a monster from "The Fellowship of the Ring".

She was not like the girl with flowers on her dress, not a movie star in a school corridor, not unreachable. I did as the boy told me to. I took my tricycle and rode it to hell.

Future at three o'clock

We always used to listen to two songs in the car, my father and I. We found an old tape with two Lou Reed songs on. The first one was "Take a Walk on the Wild Side" the other one was "I'm so free". Lou would sing, so we wouldn't have to speak. Lou said it all: All about lost love, long gone friends and the problems of the world.

When my father had his cancer, I would drive. We would sneak out of the hospital, since he wasn't aloud to leave his room. He would sit on the passenger seat, in his white bathrobe, smiling. It always smelled a bit funny in that car. As if someone had been smoking cigars and eating unhealthy amounts of strawberry ice-cream in it. I can't drive, so we went slowly along the southern streets of Stockholm. Lou would explain it all:


When my father got better, he would still let me drive. Since I was the driver, I got to add another song to our play list.

Liars - On the Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack.

I won't run far, I can always be found.

If you want me to stay, I will stay by your side.

I want to be a father like that.

  

Friendship, six o'clock

  

It is October. The red leaves are on the ground. The wind is cold, but the birds are still singing. The sun hits the ground; it all looks like an old Polaroid photo. Patrick and I are sitting on a brick wall, playing our guitars. "Time for Heroes" by the Libertines. Pete Doherty wrote this song about the London May-riots and we are as far away from people fighting the police as possible. We are in safe Nacka, were nothing exciting ever happens, but it doesn't matter. We are friends. We are not Pete Doherty and Carlos Barat, were more than that, we are bound together. Two policemen walk by. I look at Patrick, Patrick looks at me. Without a word, we both start playing "Guns of Brixton", by The Clash. Anyone who has ever heard that song knows that the coolest thing you can do, is to play that very song to the police. One of the two policemen recognises it, laughs, and asks if it's the Sex Pistols. Patrick shakes his head and gives the Policeman a dejected smile. We look at each other. Two seconds later, the two of us are shouting out a line by Julian Casablancas, singer of the Strokes. "New York City cops, they ain't to smart!"

Time For Heroes?

Som ocksa rakar vara dagens lat.