March 30, 2013

Dear friend,

Do you recognize the format from The Perks of Being a Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky? Obviously, I’m referring to the book, though Chbosky directed the film adaptation as well. Admittedly, I don’t think the film is any good at all since what is interesting about The Perks of Being a Wallflower isn’t what happens to Charlie, but the way Charlie perceives what happens to him. Hence, what intrigued me about Charlie weren’t the things he wrote about in his letters to the stranger, the unknown “Dear friend”, but the way he wrote them, since the writing seemed to reflect his mind. 

  In the beginning, everything he wrote was very simple. Short sentences. Thus, it made me think that Charlie was sort of naïve, you know, someone with a simple mind. Eventually, I came to realize that it wasn’t so. On the contrary, I figured that Charlie had a really complicated mind - the kind of mind that won’t rest or stop spinning. Not even for the tiniest second. Consequently, I concluded that Charlie needed all the dots to keep track on his thoughts and order them up nicely, so that they wouldn’t run away with him. However, his style of writing and his vocabulary did develop eventually. I think it had to do with all the books he read. I mean, the books his teacher in advanced English class gave him because he thought Charlie was smart and special. Undoubtedly, Charlie learned from those books. Not only about writing, but also about life.

   The first book Charlie read was To Kill a Mockingbird. It seemed to mean a lot to him although I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe, it is because I didn’t get all the intertextual references though I’m sure that they were there somewhere. However, I have a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird on my own shelf, but I wonder if anyone will ever give me his own personal copy, just like Charlie gave Sam his copy because he loved her. So, I wonder if I will ever be loved by someone who loves books too or if I will be mistaken for someone with a simple mind when really my mind is quite complicated and wonderful and fantastic and intriguing and somehow difficult to grasp since it definitely is the kind of mind which runs wild if it doesn’t use dots.

Love always,

Ina

Trust(?) your senses

Bienvenus mes amis! 

Your ancient reptile is back from the Buy-a-harbour capital of the little kingdom in the heart of Scandinavia to welcome you to laguepe and ladsor’s kitchen garden dedicated to the curious, waggery loving soul starving for art and other spiritual drugz. ladsor has been on a journey through the RITUAL of inuits expressing themselves by use of break dance to farmers defending themselves in plays before going BACK TO THE DESSERT with associations flying back to Algeria as portrayed by Camus’ “The Stranger”. 

But no one can fly like our waspcat - laguepe is terminated at the stars with yet another publication having become a reality. Her latest work of flash fiction is to be seen in the february edition of “Slagtryk” - an e-magazine that selects the best poems and flash fiction texts of professionals as well as amateurs for publication each month. In the text WITHOUT TITLE our dear laguepe supply the tones of an untouched piano with melancholy colours and honours the small far too often unnoticed sounds of our everyday life that give evidence of our excistence trying to challenge our senses and definition of music. Read it like I did and I’ll ask you, 

if you can hear the sound of the glints of my teeth.

Because:

They reflect the flash of fiction

for which I hunger

(and)

I want to eat

her words

and taste their sound

The synesthesia gives them wings and allows you to grap them with your fingers - feeling them -  before they continue to your digestive system where they will make the fibres (from the other veggies of our artistic garden) - formerly thought of as oh so slow - look like they are organic Ferraries on wonder fuel. 

So have patience. Forget what school taught you about having to understand everything

(and)

Just enjoy the feeling of something growing inside you.

Bienvenus mes amis - to laguepe and ladsor’s strange kitchen garden of odd wonders!

Glossary:

ancient reptile = ladsorsorous = ladsor = Rosdal

laguepe (French) = the wasp = Cathrine = cat

-omission of capital letters and punctuation intended-

Picture source: earlier challenge

Flourish of Ice

by ~InaRosdal

Crystallized leaves

by ~InaRosdal

ladsor is so eco friendly that trees grow on ladsor

this little tree grew with the help from Qvistgaard

A story of olives

by ~InaRosdal

PROJEKT UDFORDRING: Hænder

Ugens tema: Hænder.

Ugens udfordring: Fotografer hænder, så de fremstår skulpturelle. Fotografiet skal være minimalistisk.

Da jeg kom i tanke om, at der var deadline på udfordringen i dag, syntes jeg det var lidt håbløst, fordi lysforholdene på mit værelse var for dårlige til, at jeg kunne udføre det, jeg havde forestillet mig. Irritabelt tænkte jeg ved mig selv, at det eneste sted, jeg ville kunne skyde et billede uden brug af tvungen blitz, ville være foran vinduet - "men så kommer der jo silhuetter, og baggrunden bliver grim..." og PLING det var så dér, ideen til dette foto kom: jeg tapede et tyndt silketørklæde op foran mit vindue, satte mit kamera på stativ, indstillede selvudløseren og forsøgte mig frem med nogle forskellige "håndpositurer". Det her er et af de første fotos, men jeg tror, at det blev det bedste.

PROJEKT UDFORDRING: Tro

Ugens tema: Tro.

Ugens udfordring: Skriv en sætning, der beskriver en tro, eller tro generelt. Sætningen skal indsættes på et fotografi, du selv har taget og have en relation til fotografiet og troen/tro.

PROJEKT UDFORDRING: Af ukendt frø

Ugens tema: Papir.
Ugens udfordring: Skriv et håndskrevent digt på et papir. Digtet skal være skrevet med farven grøn, og "grøn" skal derudover have en relation til digtets indhold uden at blive nævnt ordret.

Halvhjerne på mit gymnasium...

... ja, altså ikke mig, men ham den udsultede!

At male med kaffe

when ladsor goes KNIVUTYJNHbkugam WITH COFFEE
(se færdige resultat her)

needsCOFFEE II

needsCOFFEE II

by ~InaRosdal

Traditional Art / Paintings / Portraits

LOLz

pænt nedern lizzåm at ladsor er væk i mega lang tid og så når ladsor endelig kommer hjem, så tager laguepe atoxique afsted

Først sad ladsor i en hytte i et land langt, langt borte, der beslaglagde ladsors tanker. Så ville ladsor rejse hjem, men ladsor blev slynget ind i en portal, der sendte ladsor til en ny hytte langt væk, hvor ladsor slet, slet ikke kan finde hjem på egen hånd og det regner og det regner og regnen skyller alle ladsors censurerede tanker rene som muren, hvorpå edderkoppen ved navn Peter kravler op, så indtil solen kommer frem må ladsor imidlertid

GIVE OP

PROJEKT UDFORDRING: ladsor's mareridt

Ugens tema: Søvn.

Ugens udfordring: Skab et produkt ud fra de associationer begrebet "en blå drøm" giver dig. Alle materialer og kunstformer må indgå.

For en stund svæver jeg vægtløst i rummet. Der er kun mig og mørket, som udvider mine pupiller og dermed indgangen til min sjæl. Jeg stirrer frem for mig, men ser ingenting. Med ingenting omkring mig til at sætte min eksistens i perspektiv, svinder jeg langsomt ind, som til en ubetydelig latent virus i det store himmellegeme. 

Pludselig er der mange af mig. Hundrede. Tusinder. Jeg er splittet. De har alle blikket rettet mod mig, og i det de synkront blinker, ved jeg, at jeg er i live igen. Så blinker jeg selv, og de er væk. I stedet viser stjernehimmelen sig for mig, men jeg bevæger mig væk fra den, nedad og nedad og nedad, til jeg til sidst som en buet fjer lydløst lander. Mit baghoved synker ned i  det bløde underlag, og jeg trækker vejret dybt og panisk, som er jeg bange for, at jeg skal blive ved med at synke. Ned gennem puden, ned gennem madrassen og ned i det uendelige hav af drømme, uden mulighed for at komme op igen efter luft. Det næste åndedrag kommer dog igen ubesværet, og jeg falder til ro.

For en stund betragter jeg stjernerne over mig. Milliarder af fragmenter i et univers, som jeg inden mit fald var en del af. Mit blik sløres, og nu er stjernerne ikke længere stjerner, men blot fugtpletter i loftet over mig; de blinker dog stadigt hånligt og nægter at lade mig glemme, hvad de en gang var.

Pludselig rammer en dråbe mig. Så hundrede. Tusinder. De er alle stjerner, med samme skæbne som min, og falder med tiltagende hast fra fugtpletterne i loftet. De forenes omkring mig og endnu en gang fyldes jeg med frygten for ikke at kunne få luft. Jeg vugger rundt på det uendelige hav af drømme, madrassen er den synkende skude, og ude af stand til at løsrive mig fra den, bevæger jeg mig nedad og nedad og nedad, til jeg til sidst rammer bunden som et anker. Klonerne af min virus står igen omkring mig, og betragter mig som dommere. Det næste blink vækker mig dog fra mit mareridt, og jeg falder til ro. 

Wake up
Wake up, wake up, it's time to breath.
To wipe away the tears with your sleeve.
To feel the warmth in your room,
to feel you heart ticks "boom boom boom".

Sleep no more, when it's day,
not even if the world seems grey.
Borrow my paint brush and paint it blue,
until these words seem more true.

Don't smile for the last time, smile forever.
Smile because you deserve much better.
Don't let your sorrows cut too deep.
Wake up, wake up, you may not sleep!
(Januar 2008)

©ladsor

Dette digt er tilegnet en ven.

PROJEKT UDFORDRING: Descendant of Earth VI

Tema: Jord.

Udfordring: Samarbejd om et portræt, der relaterer til ugens tema JORD.

    Descendant of Earth VI by ~InaRosdal on deviantART

PROJEKT UDFORDRING: Gaia V

Brikker