Them girls 8)

Due to prom-night-hangovers the only thing 

I have accomplished today, is playing piano. 

Caffeine is good. It makes me do ridiculous things much faster and with greater enthusiasm with a huge smile on my face. I should really begin to stop.... Tomorrow.  

Sitting on the top of Copenhagen. Drinking a cup of coffee to the stunning view across the rooftops of our humble little city, I am spending my afternoon doing my homework for Monday's school day.  “Illum’s café” on 4^th floor is where I’m at.

“An evocative café experience worth exploring” a persuading sign outside of Illum read, which enticed me upstairs towards something new, instead of going the good old second rate cafés as usual. From the reviews and other recommendations I have received on this café, I finally decide to try it out. So here I am, packed with positive expectations, waiting to get blown away by this evocativeness. But evocative wasn’t exactly the first word entering my mind, when stepping inside the room of Illum’s highly reputed rooftop café. 

A clinical, overly-modernized decor with an intense red colour dominating the view of the room interferes with my brain and catches all my attention. The room reminds me of an art gallery, where you aren’t aloud to touch anything, and barely dare to breathe. The waiter escorts me to a little table by the window and creates a formal atmosphere by his following “What can I help you with, madam?” and “yes you may certainly have a double latte, madam”. His face is expressionless. His questioning feels impersonal. It all just seems like a part of an over-practiced routine, his boss told him to do.

15 minutes past my ordering, the coffee is served. A tiny cup is placed in front of me, containing of what looks like 5 sips of coffee, for which I paid 60 kr. for. I sip the coffee and this is where the strong feeling of disappointment really takes off. The hideous decor, the robot waiter, and the waiting time, I can deal with. But when my 60 kr. coffee is served tepid and mild, when ordered hot and strong, that’s where the shit hits the fan. Even though I’m a fairly open-minded person, one shouldn’t be messing with the quality of my coffee. That is a very sensitive spot of mine. A cup of coffee that expensive should be bringing a café experience of exquisite excellence, with sublime service and a coffee so well tasting that it deserves a space in my diary. With coffee that expensive, I certainly expect an “evocative café experience worth exploring”. And yet I still sit here, receiving the quite opposite. Fuck this. 

Tuesday afternoon, 

a coup of noodlesoup and 

a whole german paper to be written.

See you on the other side. 

"Dear Astrid, thank you for your help yesterday. I would like to commend your general work effort lately which have been excellent. It is a pleasure having you as aspirant here at Baresso. Have a nice monday!" fucking woooooooooooooop :) :)

I miss my sister. I really do. Miu.

This is me and her, when we were 4 and 6 years old.

Now we are 17 and 19, and she have moved, which I can't stand.

This is so great

Tuesday

Sitting in school. Realizing that I should be working harder. Knowing that it is not possible right now. Feeling tired and hungry. Looking at the time, which says a quarter to 11. Feeling empty. Noticing the nervous laughs coming from my fellowstudents, probably uttered with a hope of scoring easy points from the teacher. Laughing to myself a bit. Listening to lecture about the doric column problem without really listening. Caring less and less. Wanting to go to stakehouse right now, but having to wait to the end of the day. Looking forward, looking so so forward to the eternal french fry refill. Getting even hungrier. sldkfjsdlkfsjdæfjioæieuwrosd fuck this.

21.02.2012 is the same backwards. crazy shit.

Vacation is nearly over, and Im wondering where it went.

I have accomplished just about nothing,

but that can hardly surprise anyone.

Everyone is busy tonight,

so I think I will leve them to their dooings,

and go dine with my uncle,

who just flew in from Iraq.

Have a nice saturday evening.

.

.

.

.

Bach did it btw. Listen to this.

Time = 22:05, monday the 30.

Hunger status = Full, Energy status = Tired, Top daily accomplishment = getting out of bed, Goal of tomorrow = getting out of bed, Craving of the day = grill cheese sandwich. bet tomorrow will be the same, Song of the day = Terrible love, Birdy, because of the snowy weather. Leg = hurting from all the dancing. poor me.

Now = chilling in my room looking to the left.

How about a tall glass of I don't give a fuck?

I don't care, if this is hipster. I love her anyway. Birdy, everyone.

A fucking genius without limits.

If he weren't dead, I would marry him.

Niels Henning Ørsted Petesen everyone.

I just realized, that I have had this blog for over a year. What Up.

I am sorry.
Since I started blogging my urge for making one of those really meaningless selfcentered blogposts has been growing. When I read other peoples blogs, I hate those posts, but when you are into blogging, and are out of ideas of what to post, it is hard not to. So here it comes.
The most egocentric blogpost of nonsense I have ever, and will ever make.

Its name is At Home on a Sunday with my Cosmic Love, my Florence and my Machine. It is about what I normally spend my Sundays with: crap. Enjoy.

More than 2500 left handed people are killed every year from using right handed produkts. Have a nice friday.

Reading 4 pages geography without reading them

Hello tuesday

This sunday can say hi to my ass.

I overslept 1,5 an hour, and were oh so terribly late for work. Stupid ass. They made me clean all the panels in the whole store as punishment. My hands are now all wrinkled from the corrosive soap. poor me poor me. But oh well. I dont really care for anything right now, so im just sitting in my room, thinking of sweet Christmas - wich by the way is in 41 days jahuuu - listening to melancolic choirsongs reminding me of it.

Weeeeeekkkkkeeeeeeennnnnndddddddddddd

Why can't I be a ballet dancer?

Sadly because I'm not elegant enough. That I will work on.

Today I have accomplished just about nothing. not a thing.

Another wasted, worthless sunday. well.. afterall im fine. I like doing nothing.
Thats why I'm not looking forward to a monday full of content.

The time says 01:52 and I just finished a 5 hour preperation for an economy test. I have never been this well prepared for anything. My brain literally hurts. I have used it too much today apparently. But I mean it when I say, that this fucking test is going down! Ask me anything about finance or debtcrisis, and I shall answer long and eloquent. I own this one. for once..

"Jazz is about being in the moment" - Herbie Hancock

.This picture makes me so damn happy.

Sitting at a coffee house. Today is sunday. Wednesday is deadline. I started Friday, and have written half a page in two days. Knowing that this is the day, I should be writing the most, I yet find myself just stearing at the half a page I have written, for an hour. I really am in lack of inspiration. fuck this.

This is how I feel

A physics teacher told me today, that all the constellations we see, is pure fiction. Because it takes millions of years for the light to travel, we receive information about what the stars looked like for 20000000 years ago, when we look at constellations. While the light was traveling, the universe probably changed a whole lot. So what we presently see, can't be trusted as real.

That makes me feel quite sad and quite small. goodnight.

I prefer my days sunny and my nights starry. I prefer my coffee black. I prefer warm soup on a day like this. I prefer kisses on the rooftop dashed in moonlight. I prefer looking at life from above. I prefer listening to jazz with a cigaret, eventhough I don't smoke. I prefer weekend nights spend wondering the streets of inner copenhagen. I prefer melancholic piano music. I prefer lyrics with a message. I prefer sincerity. I prefer simplicity.

- With inspiration from amalie skriver -

The time is 00:37 and I am forever tired.

Can you smell the fart?

When I rode my bike home this evening, with the moon shining over the rooftops of copenhagen, I for once felt a national sentiment. And then it hit me. I dont give a fuck about danish design, the royal family, danish nature or food or anything else, that normally makes the danish national feeling glow among people. Fuck it all. The only thing I have a national relationship with here in Denmark, the only thing, that really makes me feel danish, and commit to the danish culture, is Copenhagen. Beautiful, special, wonderful copenhagen. I could never feel more at home than here. This is where I grew up. This is where my story began and where my life received its value. I may travel the world, but I will always return to this place, with the feeling, that this is where I belong. I know Copenhagen will always be there for me, and that is why I feel the love.

Sunday the 4.

22.24. writing danish assignment. ask me if I want to. 22.25. stupid chronicle. I hate danish class, but only because of my teacher. It is funny how much my opinion on the different classes depends on my opinion on the teacher. 22.27. ..... my littlebrother os making an annoying noise, but my legs are to tired to leve the bed, and tell him to stop... slkdfsæsæsjlsdkjf soo annoying. 22.28 this is going to be a long night. 22.29 looking at my room and my life, and thinking that it needs some cleaning up. 22.30. why am I blogging?? 22.31 I wasted precious 6 minuts of my chronicle-writing-time on a useless blogpost. now I have to go.

have a good night.
goodbye sunday 4.

There are so many beautiful musicians who have passed my way

Going nowhere

FUCK THIS TUESDAY

à http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=63KB-EJKdyI ß

Wonderful song.
The mood it sets me in, reminds me so much of the best moments of this summer.
Wonderful sommer.

. Alone in Copenhagen .

What do you do?

Call a friend, go to Nyhavn, meet Peter and Steffen,

sail to their large party boat further down the harbor,

drink free beer, meet interesting and friendly people,

go home, make ice coffee and drink it on the rooftop terrace, looking at constellations.
. Pretty reasonable night alone in Copenhagen .

I am hanging by your thread

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I wake up in the morning with one thing on my mind:

To get up on my feet and be on my way. hey. The wide roads are calling.
I'm running out of time to make the most of this existing day,

just because I'm taking my time to get to the end. But then where is the end?

I want to create something. I want to invent something. But now I don't know what to create or what to invent. For once the creative part of me is glowing, but now I'm in lack of, no I'm OUT of insperation, to invent something creatively nice. The lack of insperation tend to get in the way, for the sudden and rare escape of my creativeness.

.My bed controlls me with to much power.

Nice to suddenly feel the sun against my face once again. That sure is something, I have missed for a long long time.
Welcome home summer. May you stay with your lovely rays as long as possible.