Hve loginn fölnar, glóðin þrýtur
þýtt er myrkrið flýgur yfir svalt.
Kolin grána, skíman reyknum gýtur
og nú fyrst er mér kalt.

Því skjól og hlýju hvergi er að finna
og hjartans vetri linnir ei svo glatt.
Er hjarnið kalda býður manni ei minna
en miklar lygar og lítið eitt satt.

Í stórfengleik mig eitt sinn þekkti sólin
með mjúkar varir brostu augun blíð.
Á hverfandi stundu bíður kaldur mórinn,
hvert hvarfstu á braut, horfna tíð.

Að nú snúi aftur vorið er nú ósk mín,
er byrgist sýn mín köldum hríðarbyl,
Að kaldur vetur hafi aðeins verið draumsýn
sem aldrei verður aftur til.

(Maack, '05)

For those of you who are inept in Castilian that's Sunday bloody god damn Sunday.

That's what day it is, but only by name as it's gloomy and overcast, cold and windy. This is not your sunny day.

Last night I went to a birthday party of a close friend, Anna West, it was at a Karaoke bar and I proved to the regular clients of the bar, as well as my friends guests that I have the black belt in Karaoke.
I've been wondering though, what psychologists would say about my choice of songs:
Hard To Handle (Otis Redding), Just a Gigolo (Louis Prima), Bad to the Bone (George Thorogood & the Destroyers), Dr Feelgood (Mötley Crüe) and last but not least Everything about you (Ugly Kid Joe).
I guess it infers that I'm an oversexed druggy bad boy with general disapproval of other people. But. I'm not to say, am I?

Oh well.
Sunday is gloomy. That's for sure.

I'm sitting in my apartment and it's so cold. I've got the heat turned up to a similar level as I do during high winter and also an electric oven heating up the place. I'm wearing my loafers and wool cardigan and I'm still bloody freezing.
And I need a smoke!
God damn it.

Well, I ain't got a dime but I've got plenty of debt, so I can't really bother about that at this moment.

All I can say is that I'm bored out of my skull.

Here's Billie Holiday's version of the Hungarian suicide song; Gloomy Sunday.

And I've traveled from here to there and back again, from the freezing gale to the crazed inferno, east of the moon and west of the sun.

I don't quite know how to recommence with a blog to all of you. There are plenty of you that I might hurt if I went on in full candor describing each and every minute detail of my absence from myspace expression, but then again that way I might avoid all your glances and glares as you might miss the big picture if I shrouded it in subtle nothings and details. Anyway, if I have hurt you in the past few months, I am truly sorry, but there is little I can do about it now, save for apologizing and admitting that I feel very much like an idiot for having done so.

I've been trying really hard for the past few weeks to realize my own nature. Not entirely in sobriety, au contraire, I've been drunker than a sailor on shore leave all too often lately.

Incidentally I've stopped working and have been slouching around in my own head, onwards to oblivion.

In some aspects I'm once again realizing my own lackluster ways, my own flawed nature as some people would courteously and quite erroneously describe as a diamond in the rough, I've rather found that the closest I am to that these days is a misplaced pebble in a mountain of cow excrement.

But I'm not going away into oblivion, nor am I going to go into teetotaling sobriety or any other such nonsense. I'm just cutting down on my consumption of alcoholic beverages. I've been considering what to do with my self. I tend to get so horrendously bored by other people that I get myself into a drunken stupor, it's becoming a habit due to the sheer amount of boredom I go through these days, or any other days for that matter.

That doesn't change the fact that I really, really hate to worry other people or for that matter hurt them, but these are common practice for any drunk, no matter how well raised, mannered or flawless they seem to be, and I'm only the first one of these three.

For all too long I have been limply trying to harness and tame my aggressive nature and steer it down a positive road, but I'm getting too bored to handle that either. It may be that I'm just a sad ol' prick at a young age or that maybe I'm just lonely.

Nick Drake's 'At the chime of a city clock' comes to mind:

The city clown
Will soon fall down
Without a face to hide in.
And he will lose
If he won't choose
The one he may confide in.
Sonny boy
With smokes for sale
Went to ground with a face so pale
And never heard
About the change
Showed his hand and fell out of range.

Whatever that meant.

There is a summer storm outside my window. This kind of weather always makes me crave some warmth and company, but at the same time desire nothing but solitude. Although at the moment I'd also give either of my cat's ovaries for a smoke. They just don't have 'em anymore, so I can't have a cigarette to relax this tingling sensation of confusion in me.

The other day, me and a couple of mates went to a so called 'Sweat', which is pretty much a form of steam bathing or sauna in a sweat-lodge American Indian style.
This was my second time around and I felt no spiritual upheaval as many of my less skeptic friends. I just felt physically better for a while, but even more thirsty. I don't mean for alcohol or water or such, but for a better life, for something worthwhile instead of this eternally downwards sloping spiral of mental and sensory masturbation.

Something good.

Well.
Some might say that I was indeed reborn from my ashes in the sweat-lodge. I burned my daemons out and soared in spirit.
Well. I regret to inform these parties that all my daemons are intact and these fuckers somehow had my address and they were back and branding their names into my cerebral matter not long after.

I still want that feeling. That feeling of gratitude, that feeling of being new born, fresh, blazing, burning through the sky like a rocket from hell.
Sadly enough, I'm realizing that I've developed a sort of vertigo from which I had been priorly entirely lacking in, although it's not really the fear of heights, but rather differing grounds and the velocity of descent towards them.

I realized this last night as I was taking part in the shooting of an advertisement which was partially shot on the roof of a six level apartment building. This I find quite horrific as I've been able to be completely care free of such things as great height in the past. Hell. I've been climbing since I was a kid, but I guess it may be that this sweat-lodge called out for my lust for life, my addictive nature calling out adrenaline as to make amends for being completely sober towards a dangerous point last night. Hell. I was knurded out by a caffeine jolt.

Well.

As the Übermensch one strives to be, crashes towards the ground after being airborne since it's last nativity/funeral pyre, this phoenix sings again of escape from this carnal state, it's desire to burn again, to fly, to soar and to crash again in an ever repeating vicious cycle.

Here's 'the Pyre'
Maack

Perverted by fear
to a point of no return
Where are you going to go?
When are y'going to burn?

Step into the fire
let yourself burn down

If I had another day
I know I'd spend it well
I'd stand close to you
I'd burn us both to hell

Step into the fire
let yourself burn down
Set into the pyre
Burn, burn down.

It had to end this way
Nothing could've stopped it.
I'm burnt down to debris
Ashes, smoke and shit.

Step into the fire
let yourself burn down
Set into the pyre
Burn, burn down.

On this journey we take paths. We take different paths after which one we see as the one to fit us the best. Most of us stick to our paths for a while, some for years, some for shorter periods of time, trying to find out just who we, as individuals are.
I have no idea who I am at times and I've all but stopped looking as if I could find some solace. I'd rather just do as I please.
So with my rugsack in my soul, I travel onwards to inevitable death. I have no idea where this journey leads me, except I'm fairly certain about how it will end, inevitably.
Today, I am changing professions. I'm leaving the ol warehouse and then cutting down on work by many, many hours.
I'm too fuckin' sick and tired of 9-5.
What's even more daft about 9-5 here in Iceland is that our clocks are set an hour and half earlier than the actual natural time so when the clock says 9:00, it's actually 7:30. This means that showing up at 8:00 is showing up at 6:30.
I hate that shit.
Well. Hopefully I wont have to do any more early mornings from now on. From now on, I'm mostly playing music.
Well...
...of course there will be some other work, but not as much. I just don't have the power anymore.

I guess you could say that I'm a tourist of life, with no interest in where this journey takes me.
But, don't think twice. It's alright!



I'm walkin' down that long, lonesome road, babe
Where I'm bound, I can't tell
But goodbye's too good a word, gal
So I'll just say fare thee well
I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don't think twice, it's all right (Robert Zimmerman)

Even though it's been a while since I've blogged, I've yet to forget you, my dear readers.

My days have passed in a seemingly hazy state as of late. I've been working on new material as well as working at a new location. The Alehouse of masters Kormákur & Skjöldur in downtown Reykjavík.

There isn't much to say else at this moment, but I promise, come next weekend, I will blog again.

Until then, I leave you with this picture of yours truly.

Regards.

JEVBM

(Yes, I was very hung over, yes, this is taken at GrandRokk, yes I had a couple of pints of Murphy's before going to a meeting. Still. That's just my natural state...)

My life has been pretty void recently.
I've been thinking a lot about the factors that play into my enjoyment of life as always and I've been coming to a strange feeling of alienation from my peers.
See, I've recently hit 26 and all my old friends seem to be either in long time relationships, pregnant or recently had children, engaged or getting married or actually doing something worthwhile with their lives.

Well. I guess it would be a bit blasé to say that all my friends were in these categories, but I can't excape the feeling that the world is passing me by, but all the same, I look at my old camerates, friends and lovers through the years and think; why fuckin' bother?
See, happiness is something I've given up on. People tend to think that happiness is something as tangible as a Mars bar from the nearest kiosk. However, this is not so.
Hell. I'll feel happy for a couple of days after cleaning my apartment, but what good does that do in the long run? If I constantly keep on cleaning my apartment, I wouldn't feel the thrill of it anymore as when I neglect it for a while and then stop my bout of procrastination.
I guess I'm the same way about people. I tend to neglect people and then bicker excessively with myself about why, and actually, I'm quite neglective of almost anything. Aside from my animals which are certainly dependant on me (and very spoiled by me) and my stout and marijuana habits, I'm certain that Icelandic pot growers and the Murphy's brewery in jolly ol' Ireland would go bankrupt without my contributions.

One thing I haven't been neglecting lately is my songwriting.
I've been working more and more on the material for 'Phoenix Last Burn' and recently, when struck by heavy fever, sensory mixups and hallucinations I wrote a song called 'Spiders in my hair (Your silence says it all)'.
I've worked out most of the lyrics and chord progressions in my post-hallucinatiory state and I am actually liking my writing from that stage. Get me more drugs, preferrably ones that make everything taste of tin and look suspicious. Small wriggly creatures all around.

Anyway.

Here's 'Spiders':


Spiders in my hair
Ate the worms in my food
But it's not so bad
Your silence says it all.

Got lust for despair,
The only way I feel good
Greatest thing I've ever had
Orgasmic death to which I fall.
~
And you should've known
That I'm not the only one.
Pray to myself
Confess all that I've done.
~

Love is never fair
Slippery when nude
Dung beatle so sad
Crushed under that ball

Cutting through the air
Dead red riding hood
I'm still just a lad
Did I have to grow so tall?
~

Life, the pursuit of happiness and all that jazz.
It’s not as though I care, as you see I’ve already fallen.

Again and again I crash the same plane, just to try this all again;
the ascension, the fall, the ever turning cycle of bipolarity.

Preheat broiler to 666°. Broil livers on broiler rack 7 and 1/2 inches from the heat source for 3 minutes on each side and in every position available. Remove from the oven and finely chop livers.

There are lice in your hair, as the same lies as before.
I myself am lousier than ever and guilt ridden as always.

Little bugs crawling over my skin, hunted by mice, hunted by snakes, hunted by the spectre of ambition lost.

Does anyone care?

Is there anybody out there?

And for that matter, why should I bother?

The past few weeks have been leery with the brown and the green.
I’ve spent my time, out of my skull, honing my six string and vocal chord skills with my musical companion Halli, mostly we’ve specialized in the compositions of MacGowan, Finer, Stacy and co. which hasn’t stopped the brown from flowing down our necks with the accompanying headaches the day after. Which leads us to the second part of this short impromptu blorgh.

The other day I wrote a little poem whilst hung over.
A story about a stoned, sad and hung over man. It’s quite shameless, if I understand my mate Samwise correctly. Or I’m shameless. Can’t remember which.
Doesn’t matter anyway, it’s not my problem if you people can’t take a fuckin’ joke.



"The untimely demise of glamorous amour."

With and aching head and a pickled heart.
I sit on the remnants of Saturday night,
well spread over Sunday.

Ash in my clothes
and a roach in the ashtray.

I lie down and think about you,
orgasmic solutions in a stream
down the inside of my trousers;

Dying seeds of mankind and a bleeding heart
for a love that didn’t last.

Brief recollections of your smiling face and
glimpses of sexual contortion.

Kisses in the springtime rain
are eternity in my soul.

~^~^~^~^~
(fin)

In other news my computer crashed last Thursday and will not be back until after Oestara.

Until then, this will have to make do with you, or something like that anyway.

(Johansen/Thunders)

I can't ever
Understand
Why my life's, been
Cursed, poisoned,
Condemned
When I been tryin' every night
To hold ya near me
But I'm tellin' you
It ain't easy

Ever since I been
Ridin', right on the
Subway Train
You can hear the whistle blowin'
Ya might think I'm goin' insane

And now your friends
They're fillin' up my car
But your so busy readin' Suzy says
Ya can't look now
You didn't see your lovers
There all just in rags
Ya know ya hid as pushin' up posies
Tryin' get ya fed

We was all
Ridin', right on the
Subway Train
And you can hear the captain shoutin'
He thinks I've gone insane

Cus' I keep
Ridin', keep on
Ridin', cus I keep on
Ridin' ridin' ridin', keep on
Ridin', yeah

You stop and you stare,
As I'm leavin' my favorite place
We have no regards
Ya can't find a trace
Ya gotta get on back to daddy
That's all its gonna be
He got the poison black arts of the pimps
But don't ya st- st-

I seen 'em travelin'
Right on the
Subway Train
Ya can hear th captain shou'ow'tin'
He thinks we've all gone insane

Cus we keep on
Ridin' ridin' ridin'
Ridin', cus we keep
Ridin' ridin' ridin'
Keep on ridin'

I think a see the train
I see ya got open track
I'm hopin'
One of those gonna bring my baby back

(Cus I guess I said)
Dinah wont'cha blow
Dinah wont'cha blow your horn
Dinah wont'cha blow
Dinah wont'cha blow your horn
Someones in the kitchen with Dinah
I know whoa whoa whoa
I said someones in th kitchen with Dinah
I know

I keep on
Ridin ridin

There has been a new addition to the small family on Falcon-Street.

I have just procured a mouse. A studbull by the name of Moose Lee.

I showed him to his feline sisters, and I must admit, I was surprised, they were more curious than hungry. Well. I can't say that surprised me, they're well fed and all, but neither attempted to attack our little friend.
Here I've got pictures:


Hmm... I'm more interested in the box.


Now, you're a strange little fellow, aren't you?


In other news, I'm working on the 'Keeping the Darkness at Bay' album, I'll get equipment soon and you'll all be dancing to the drums of insanity from dusk until dawn.