The dread lined

PRESSEMELDING:

(by Louis Scherfig:)
NEW
as in not brand new, not Ferrari new or anything Italian steel factory new. Not remotely sunbeam new, fresh as particles, as parts of particles, not early morning egg hatches new. Not new as in N.E.W new, not first sip of vodka new, or cellophane wrapped forget-me-nots new. Not new as single sparks. Not novel new, or new as a simile.


WORLD
I never saw this much emotion in one place. I never saw it.

HEAVEN (is for Janis Joplin)
her voice is her vice. Her face her mud. Her words is her will, her soul her weakness. Her death is hers, her love her breath. Her smile is hear spit, her tear is her muscle, her voice her vice, her hand her dick. Her time is her space, her truth her mouth. Her eyes her eyes, her brows her brows. Her eyes her eyes.


TREE
Go to the whole God, what happened, yeah I heard everyone died is that an explanation, sometimes just whatever. Canned cerebral what killed Johnny feeble, yeah some ninjas you hand me an aspirin. Bad man on the roof. Noise, kaching-sounds, kaching swoosh shwooosh, trlrlrlrlrlrlrlrrrrr. They break a back. Horrible, it looks like joker is sending crew down to steal tiger words, not good, well you know you watch and I wont let him. What’s up cod, please let em out of here, so I can scan the roofers hard, who are these things, military baby screw the agony get moving, hold on please let me go. Sorry dock you are always now, just do me a favor. I am stuck up here, get over here. What you doing with there. It came from over here I am sure of it. Come on, where are you. I really hope you wont let me down here boy, if you do I bet we get really upset with women, who get out of there, cut me down, johnny. What. It sure came from over there. Who the hell are you. This is all that is bad man. Where in the hell are you. Where in the hell did he go. Aaaaaahhhh. Hey hey sir you don’t know just forget about it. come with me. One of jokers men is using that hand as a hostage, I need to get a cape from the scene. Get away from me. Over here I got him. I got more than man down over here. Hello is anyone there. Now that all the technic container destroyed I should go back and see how the faded is doing. Hello can you hear me. Hang on. Thank you what are you doing in Arkham city. It seems that way, is it wrong not to be mad about that what now, you need to stay here and keep out of sight because I will be back. Strange, strange is giving joker the weapons, are you sure he tries to control who wants the streets, I am going into that now don’t worry.


SHAME
I eat lunch with Geer 35 km outside Copenhagen and we are not even considering if we have to cheat us into art because it is unimportant. Lying and lying on beaches and fill stomachs with homemade. But then it becomes boring and we rush forward so as not to become total parodies of large heavy stones. On the way up the narrow stairs named after some old jeans Geer gathers some loose chalk and runs past me with his thin hitler hair and soon I will find out why: the asphalt near our transportation is now a cross which is upside down from where I stand and along one or the other beam is written YOU MUST CONSTRUCT ADDITIONAL PYLONS. It's because he wants to win a Pulitzer soon. Forty minutes and ten more minutes later I take hold of our problematic brotherhood breath and pull us into the backcountry to catch our love for air but after four five seconds of normal wear I forget why. Geer gathers thoughts up from beneath the asphalt and adjust the course towards a nearest harald nyborg because he has a barbaric level. In the hall I ask stupid questions and realize that I only understand frivolities but Geer drills his thin nails into my forearm (as if he would say: you will thank me later) and lifts us down the back of the store where a whole family is testing waders because they have decided to soak in organized crime. I see a broom closet without cost but only with marble squares and here we silently puff them all in without me knowing why but Geers movements are suddenly also my movements and while we close each our door, we sing that the field is mowed and the hay is harvested and grain is in barns and hay is bundled. Geer disappears into another voice and I tickle him for a few minutes because all cameras have turned against us like silent architect lamps will turn to anything that is made of paper. When he wakes up, he points resolutely against the row of dark blue rubber boots and says: we are here to dance ballet. I agree and although my mouth remains closed as a sealed unit, I am sure that my face says: guaranteed by the State. Outside, gulls are beginning to accumulate in asymmetrical groupings. They feel that there is something in the air that is totally fucking up the day. Geer choose boots for us and immediately we begin a horrible series of pirouettes and arabesque grotesque attitudes. We feel that now we will go more happily at it. Finally, it seems to bear fruit so Geer storming into a strange orgasm and its anatomical pattern gives us chills. We use that solid impression to get out of the store and retain the 'we're not finished for the day'-attitude which I very roundhandedly when formulating within the more or less Tibetan pleasure subsides. I look suddenly over his shoulder and think that I recognize the silhouette of an abstract playground with a black / big bomb at his side.

A black bomb is up to anything but trouble and scares. Out on the ice at sea out on the globe. Geers spontaneous vomiting of bile and intuition reminisce of something from the past (all memories belong to the past) and therefore I wonder not that our distorted ringside is a semiotic rape. And the ugly third degree burns that came out of too stable dreams do not seem to do either on or off and then it doesn’t really help that I currently sleep like Da Vinci draws. All this I think of while Geer has found peace in a dilapidated church where the classic rock song is written up on the clock. He looks me in the eyes when I arrive a little after him and a little more crestfallen than he thinks is good. His gaze is fixed and I can see that he barely had time to realize something so he tells me: some thing are similar to the utmost brilliant, sweet king of friends, while all other things are grasping the abyss of foolishness; like drinking hot coffee through a straw. Of course I am sold and concurs that this is how the world sometimes works. The church we are inside has a crazy tired feeling surrounding the furniture and the melodramatic gables and walls. I tell Geer about the things from my childhood that I know that I will never forget even if they are completely irrelevant to my present and my future. He nods and hums a little sleepy thing and lets his gaze fall to the strange disfigured floor. I tell him that I think he has found his place in the church here and I think he should stay here and suddenly the season switches into something much more appropriate and more becoming. Geer says that we are still not finished and I get an extremely urge to be hoodwinked. He says he will return to the church for eternal peace but first we indulge a little into something abstract and I notice that the whites of his eyes disappear a little more toward the centre. He says that we still need to grab a bit of the everyday’s lack of weak colours and I have an extreme urge to revisit the mission to mars or eat pistachio ice cream. We ask for 6 balls in total and shouts goodbye and see you at the next bloodbath. A single Palestinian would entice us obvious spoilage with the promise of much cleaner skin than Tel-Aviv can offer but a secret wind sweeps him far down the street as if his talk was used up completely. We lose the feeling of having triumphed for the first time this year and Geer can feel that it is replaced by a ruby ​​in his inner while I can feel that it is replaced by tourmaline in my mind. The shock fails and I say goodbye to Geer who intend to keep his temporary promise and return to the church. I bow first and then I go deep for a two-man hug back to the church. I take his hand and hold it tight back to the church. Geer laughs a bit or maybe he just smiles back to the church. I ask him: where should we meet again back to the church. He says that it may be time that will show back to the church. I bite him in the wrist and say that it was a ridiculous response back to the church. And now the guests can go home back to the church.


DAYS
gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall junket gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall gall


RED
I have a table so my nose pickings have a roof. The roads to hell are paved with good intentions. I don’t eat human beings. I don’t do it. In rust we trust. Less win. Lioness. Red and not so red. To some considered a wardrug.


LINE
This one is dedicated to all the young boys out there in boyhood who love, just love, and place their whole existence around the irrationality of being bullied. Being bullied from early morning bleary eyes to the last bell rings. Being consistently on the edge, annoying everything around them with pure bother. Even things not alive are annoyed. The birthday balloons pop themselves very early on when handed to these fulltime frustrators, and the teacher blames the boy and says he cannot do anything right, and the boy loves that she thinks it was he who popped the balloon and that she doesn’t know the balloon just couldn’t bare being held by him, the fulltime frustrator, hence committing suicide. The girls waiting on the bus is not the least impressed by his skills as a tree climber. All they see is his ugly clothes getting uglier and dirtier as he rubs intensely against the autumn bark, green and brown lines of tainted misery sticking to his repulsive outer layers. They look away and he loves that they look away, not responding to his conscious repellion. He thinks it’s a certain style or attitude he is manifesting. He thinks so. When one day he ‘accidently’ thrusts a chemistry glass tube through his hand when pressing down on it, he thinks it’s best not to pull it out again. He thinks it’s best to keep it pierced for a while. Might seem clever, but the decision is not based on medical reasons, no, it is entirely based on absolute disgust. A move that adds to the equation, he thinks. The equation of boy plus loathe plus control plus okay isolation.


THIN
Sitting there feeling thin sitting here feeling not as thin then emotions come then they disperse then they come back sitting here watching peace, wanting it for earth sitting here wanting it badly for earth then peace dissolves then it comes back as catastrophe sitting here saying things saying things to the fridge saying things like fortune and boysenberry and saying it to the fridge watching the fridge, waiting for the response waiting in vain sitting here sweating and only sweating sitting here with the purpose of sweating then the chair is absorbed and is no more absorbed by indifference sometimes called apathy then it comes back as a camera the transformation bores me sitting here listening to absence and desire absence of moving trains, desire of something expected then there is a thunder and a horizon then there momentarily isn’t then the present continues.






Grünerløkka Kunsthall

Fossveien 19
0551 Oslo

Grünerløkka Kunsthall is a non-profit art space
located in Grünerløkka, a central district of Oslo.

Grünerløkka Kunsthall presents an eclectic program
of national and international contemporary art and
collaborates with various artists, curators and critics.
It also hosts several artist's studios.