Bad, vile and meaningless: The Picture Of Henrik Koskinen from Alan's clob

The Picture Of Henrik Koskinen

It's strange to wake up to a feeling of being moved internally. But I were. I was holding a diary in my hand, painstakingly built by young girl, from her earliest years of just being able to hold a pen and scribble a letter to the flowing scripture of an adult. I was holding her: her memory, her record of being, and all that concrete that those passing years had left behind.

It was stranger yet to have watched so many remarkable movies last night. We saw Bubba Ho-tep, the story of Elvis and a black man who thinks being president Kennedy fight off a mommy. Kennedy's in wheelchair and Elvis needs support. And the mommy, it is told, sucks peoples souls out of their assholes. Despite being unconvential, it's actually really pretty convential. You see, it's all the same clichées as in the so-called real movies. The lines that people say before doing something violent: "I cam here to chew bubble gum... and kick some ass. Too bad I'm all out of bubble gum." Ok, that's in another movie but you get the idea. This movie, possibly holds one of the best battle-insults ever. Next time you see hieroglyphs scribbled on a toilet wall, watch your ass.

Electric Dragon. Insane. Can't describe it. Except that it had the sort of humour that only the Japanese can muster. Plenty of it. This movie may be a metaphor about a hard childhood. Saved by the guitar. (You need a guitar if you are so loaded with electricity that arcs keep on bouncing off you.) Particularly if you're angry.

CLFL. Or was it FLCL? I dunno. Furikuri. Whatever. I guess it was FLCL. The name. In fact, I am so unsure about what this stuff is, that not knowing the name almost fits in the picture. It was bouncing so fast on tangents, off a storyline that is even less coherent than my usual dreams that follow weeks of sleep-deprivation... Oh yeah, and some sexual innuendo transforming in sub-seconds to mech battles transforming into ... you know, UFO experiences. And so on. Don't know. Ask not.

Look at me: I feel like empty, dried up old red bucket my mother used to water her plants with. I got some green mould growing at the bottom, the dim memories of being filled with water fading from years before. But then there is, the influence that passes into me: suddenly I feel a trickle of the very stuff flowing down my walls. The water is crying, or are the tears water? The compassion is unbearable.

I feel a pain stirring at the bottom of my heart, a pain that wishes to break free. The pain that reminds me of neglect, of all that people are and should be. It it the pain that shall transform me. Then I won't be a bucket used to flower plants any longer. I'll be THE LAWN MOWER. BWAHAHAHAHAAAA!