Maximilianos onödiga toalettsits.
En fattig liten comeback i bloggandet. Skitsamma.
För ett par månader sedan flyttade Maximiliano, en nära vän, in i en ny lägenhet. Allt i sin rätta ordning. Det var bara det att det badrummet inte hade någon toalettsits till toaletten. Det vill säga att man fick sätta sig ner direkt på den kalla porslinringen när man ska skita. Man hamnar i en riktigt obekväm spänd position och känner samtidigt en sån där obehaglig kall beröring mot låren. I flera månader levde Maximiliano såhär. Men häromdagen var jag och hälsade på och lade väl märke till att han hade skaffat sig en skön toalettsits och alltså till slut fullbordat sin flytt. Jag kommer ut ur toaletten och gratulerar honom. Han svär åt mig tillbaks. För att därefter berätta att har blivit så van att sätta sig direkt ner på kissringen att han alltid glömmer bort sin toalettsits som då alltså förblir uppfälld, och att det inte bara händer hemma utan lite varstans, och átt han svär åt sig själv varje gång han upptäcker en toalettsits i ryggen när han redan är klar med sitt toalettbesök, reser sig upp med det klistrande ljudet av allt halvtorkat kiss som lossnar från skinkorna, muttrande över att han kastat bort tvåhundra spenn. Jag kan inte sluta le och bara hoppas, hoppas, för mitt eget nöjes skull, att det är en sån vana som kommer förfölja min vän Max i resten av livet.
Ska försöka komma tillbaka och skriva mer regelbundet nu. Först och främst önskar jag alla ett fett år 2010!
Axel.
The Badger at the Youngfolkstreet.
The automated doors open and I reach down to unleash Nikes extremely ugly and dirty giant-pudel which is tied to a newspaper wagon in the exit of the supermarket. It was her Mothers dog actually, but for some reason she kept on calling him hers, which was strange because neither my girlfriend nor I were particularly proud of him. Linus, as he was called, is barking and moaning, jumping and crawling, not knowing up or down and surely squirts a little when I arrive with the food bags to pick him up. Tons of brie cheese, talleggio, crisps, crackers, soda, raw ham and so on, shining like gold from the food bags. Cost me a fortune. I give the girl that works behind the customer desk a last look. Picturing my hand entering her red uniform and my fingers playing right at the line of where her panties start. If the shopping line to her desk wasn’t the shortest I used to make excuses to stand that line anyway. She wasn’t that stunningly beautiful if you thought about it, but there is something about girls working at supermarkets, I strange unexplainable sympathy and some kind of tragic feeling, makes me want to undress them, at least. This girl was short with nice curves, some oriental heritage, black curly hair and a nose piercing. Could imagine myself a hiphop-girl underneath but one often get surprised when you see workers in uniform change to their civil clothing. In this case hiphop reflected as nothing more than a style of clothing. She was older and probably not interested in me but it didn’t make any difference. Every time I was shopping food and stood in front of her I had the silent echoing in my head, baby, come here, you deserve something better, or, you don’t know what I could do for you only during an afternoon, unbutton your shirt please.
The Youngfolkstreet is almost without movement. Though not empty, the fake taxi-drivers stands outside McDonalds, the bums outside the liqueur store, the guards outside Kelly’s bar, the couples outside the video-stores. It is dark and starting to get cold but Linus and I have only about five blocks to walk. I liked dogs, just not Linus, ha was noisy but not very playful, stupid but not very trustable. But I wasn’t ashamed of him, maybe mostly because he wasn’t mine but anyway. And you shouldn’t trust people that don’t like dogs someone had told me and that eventually sounded reasonable. After passing the first video-store and a kiosk Linus starts to drag the leash. I notice a couple of police-sirens two blocks ahead on the other side of the street. People had stopped to look at something around the police car and two policemen are searching for something around the fake grass soccer-field below the Maria church. I get distracted when I suddenly notice I small dog running in my direction about forty meters ahead. Some old ladies in front of me take hold of each other and move aside. People around me freezes, a rare feeling spreads like the light during a second over the Youngfolkstreet, that image, or not just an image, more likely those things that take place and seems to grab all the perfectly normal little moments within reach that one are experiencing and turn them a little upside down. I see that it is not a dog running against me. It’s a Badger. A Badger? Seeming to have lost its mind, and only ten meters away when Linus starts to bark, pudel-barks. The Badger changes direction and slides around in a u-turn only one meter from my feet and I get demonstrated for me the sound of a Badger for the first time. A ugly roaring mixed with a panicking grumping noise. Linus looks like he wants to shoot himself up in space of excitement. Anyway, first time I see a Badger. First time a Badger sees me? As a kid my big brother, who was forced into the boy scouts by our Dad, told me that one should put crackers in your boots if you walked were there lived Badgers. Because if they bite they wont let go until they here a cracking sound from the bone. Very aggressive creatures he said, not speaking about Wild boars. This was in the south, my home tracts, and we had a lot of Wild boars is some woods. I could notice that the Badger was strong, about one meter long with a lot of muscles, big scratching claws against the sidewalk and a fur with thick hairs. He was also unbelievably quick. My intuition told me that it was a ”he”. After changing direction he was on the other side of the street in about three seconds. A car honks and the cops notice him. I run over to the other side and ask the cops about what is happening. The Badger has disappeared beyond the Maria cemetery and the policemen don’t give me much of an answer. But it doesn’t take much to figure out that he probably comes from the Whitehills Park. But I never heard about a Badger in a city-park. They are very rare. Anyway maybe he got chased out of his nest by a dog. Maybe a Golden Retriever from the Farmer Street, a dog of a lousy cd-salesman.
When I get home I watch “Black hawk down” with the repeating thought I can watch whatever I want without being ashamed or feeling less intelectual. My girl already sleeps when the movie starts and when it ends she is laying with her back against me in a pathetic position. I reach over her trying to see what she is dreaming. She is sleeping with her mouth open and I get her sleepy breath in my face. I lay down for some more minutes thinking about that I still like her breath even when it is bad, but something tells me that I will hate it in a week. Breaths used to be confirming element for me, I knew that I was in love, more or less, if I started to like a girls breath even in the morning or on her hangover. And my girls breath had become to smell a bit strange the past couple of weeks, or maybe I just thought about it to much, but the fact that I thought about it a lot was also a sign of that something was wrong. She also got her panties on the side and to far down over the ass. I am going to give you for that, I thought first but then I didn’t feel like it and couldn’t figure out what I should give her for it. The dog Linus is sleeping with his grey-dirty fur in the doorway next to the bed. I take a look around.
Without a warning the window blows open and the curtains starts blowing in smattering sounds inwards the room. I twitched a little but my girl keeps on sleeping. I am a bit stiff and surprised for a moment. Feel a little vulnerable in just shorts so and put my jeans on before get out of the bed. From the window I can see the housetops south of the Youngfolksstreet and if I climb out on the roof I can the see the Whitehillspark if I look east, all in black siluettes backed up by yellow from the streetligths. To my great surprise there is no wind at all. How could? I am right there, standing on the rooftop of my building like a King five floors up, when one of the siluettes suddenly moves. I take a step backwards put my hand on the window. A big creature steps forward, monstrous, hairy, about three meters tall. It’s the Badger, but much, much bigger. Could have been one of these mascots for an American-football team, but way too scary for amusing people. Red eyes and a jaw big as a crocodiles. In this moment I am falling backwards through the open window and land on the floor. The Badger, which stands on two feet by the way, takes a step after me into the room. I am laying with my girlfriends schoolbooks under my back and its hurting. Anyway I keep calm, glance at our bed and she is still sleeping. I am not so scared that one could imagine. It is not the moment for panicking, I am sure, you know, wouldn’t be that moment even if it took place in a movie, that’s the description I have got to give. The Badgers starts to talk to me and without really thinking we have started a conversation.
- Do not wake her up, says the Badger calmly. His voice sounds like a bums, but through a couple of big bass speakers.
- Ok, I respond.
- Do you know who I am?
- No, hell no.
- I am the King of the Youngfolkstreet, he says proudly.
- The King of the Youngfolkstreet?
- Yes, he answers with a stronger tone than before and his red eyes are changes colour. They become brown. Small miniature blood-drops forces out of his pupils and coagulates within some seconds and then he sighs. A rasping sound when he blinks.
- Ok, and what do you want? I ask, recently noticed that this is serious after all.
- First of all you should get rid of that awful dog, The Badger says and points at Linus.
- Yeah, but how do you mean, “King of the Youngfolkstreet”?
- I am King of everything around here, I am the emperor and I know everything.
- I do not follow.
- Do you want an example?
- Yes.
- Ok, the fatty that works down at Yellow and Blue, the clothing store, has always wanted to practice boxing or some martial art but he never had the guts to start practicing and the only reason why is because he is afraid of farting loudly if someone punched him in the stomach. And the fact is that he would be a national champion. I am the only one who knows that. That was his fate but this place just seems to fuck people up.
- Fuck people up?
- Thats right. A rasping sound.
- Give me more, I tell The Badger like I was calling a bluff even though I believe him.
- Ok, you for example, you haven’t thought about trying to find a girl with a breath that actually smells good and stop getting used to “learning of liking” breaths that you know actually smells bad?
- I don’t know, but what are you doing here?
- I want to reach over my Spear to you, my time as King has past.
- What? What.
- Yes.
- But I am not even from here, I am from the south.
- Just like all of us, more or less, and the real natives around are the ones we saw spelling stupid little words on those kidsprograms back in the Seventies. You remember? Kids with mucus under their noses from the November flu kicking ball in parks. But now grownups and raised only from that fact, born in to a sad life out of the woom of a television actually, and for Christ sake, we don’t want the Spear to be in the hands of these melancholic creatures or do we?
- All right.
- From now on you give the orders.
By some reason in this moment I look over my shoulder where my girlfriend was sleeping, the shining film of sweat covering down the crack of here ass which I don’t fancy no more. The Badgers brings the Spear out his fur and reach it over to me. Then steps out of the window and leaves an earthy smell. The Spear was a just stick from a any tree, probably from the Whitehillspark, nothing at all.
When I woke up the next day I didn’t have the Spear. But anyway I went out trying to imagine the responsibilities of my new post as emperor which was a word i thought suited me better. I had made out with my girlfriend when we woke up, therefore I had here taste in my mouth and it didn’t bother me but, still, still there was something strange about it. Actually the thing that bothered me was that I had no idea about what I should do with myself if I suddenly was a King after all. I walked up and down the street and nothing came to me, except for the old whisperings in my head, now maybe with a bit more ordering tone. Like the girl in the twenty-four hour open video-store, and I see the owner, a middle aged Turk that by the way owns the biggest basement of porn in the city, standing behind her and watch her ass while she hands me over “Con Air”. And me, desperately in the way of a majesty trying to demand her, show me your most hidden birthmark. Or the girl that tries to speed up time smoking outside the barbershop. I will never return you to yourself. Or the girl that almost always takes my orders at McDonalds, the one with green eyes. The clinging sound of her metal nametag hitting the ceramic floor when a grab her tits from behind over the French fries fryer. If my lip as much as touches your ear-lob you will never forget it. And I will never forget this. And you all will from now on always bow for me. And apart from all this, later as King I discovered that the strange ingredient in my girlfriends breath was a little scent of Dog. And I also could feel what a sad and bitter little badger I would become in about three years or so.
FARSORNA #3.
SCEN 9. INT. MICKES RUM - NATT
LEON ligger vaken på en madrass med ljuset släckt. Endast ljus från en datorskärm i ena hörnan lyser upp hans ansikte. Bredvid LEON ligger MICKE på en säng. Han rör sig i sömnen. LEON tittar på honom. Vi tittar närmre på MICKE som ligger på sidan och grimaserar en aning.
MICKE (SOVANDES)
Skabliffen.
LEON
Va?
MICKE
Ska i bläffen.
LEON tittar undrande på honom med ett litet flin.
LEON
BLÄFFEN?
INNERCUT
LEIF och MARGARETA ligger i en dubbelsäng med vita sängkläder. LEIF ligger på rygg och MARGERETA ligger på sidan med ryggen emot honom. Ingen av dem sover. MARGERETA tar LEIFs ena hand och för den ner längs hennes rygg, över hennes skinkor, sedan kramar hon ihop sin egen hand över LEIFs i ett grepp runt insidan av hennes lår samtidigt som hon svankar med ryggen. Vi ser att hon blundar. LEIF tittar ut i tomma intet och rör sig inte.
LEON (O.S) (STARK VISKNING)
LEFFE! LEFFE! KOM!
LEIF reser sig upp och går ut ur rummet. Han har endast vita y-frontkalsonger på sig. Ryggen är hårig. MARGARETA ligger kvar och tittar nu hon ut i tomma intet.
LEIF öppnar dörren till MICKEs rum. LEON halvsitter upp på madrassen och pratar med MICKE, som sover. LEIF står i dörröppningen.
LEON
Vad menar du?
MICKE
Skie i.. champan.
LEON
En gång till?
MICKE (IRRITERAT)
Men ja! Pågen!
LEON skrattar. LEIF fortsättar titta, böjer sig ner och tar sig lite över knäet. MICKE öppnar ögonen av LEONS skratt. Han tittar med alvarliga men glansiga ögon på LEON.
MICKE
Kan du ta det lite lugnt här.
LEON
Kan du ta det lite lugnt, HÄR? VADÅ HÄR?
MICKE
Jag är ju på väg.
LEIF skjuter fram huvudet en aning.
LEIF
Var fan är du på väg?
MICKE tittar upp mot LEIF och ljuset från korridoren. Han kisar med ögonen en sekund.
MICKE
MEN VAFAN!!
MICKE vänder sig med ryggen mot och LEON tittar upp mot LEIF.
LEON
Vet du vad Micke gjorde igår?
INNERCUT
MARGARETA ligger kvar i sängen med samma blick. Vi hör LEIF och LEON i bakgrunden men kan inte tyda vad de säger.
En vecka för ett tag sedan.
Måndag.
Peter Pan skriver (18.52): Jag älskar dig också…
Tisdag.
Buffalo Bill och Peter Pan går i rask takt. Buffalo Bill stannar upp utanför en butik som säljer maskiner och verktyg. “Det här är min favoritaffär” säger han. “Jag vill köpa allt som finns i den här affären”. “Jag kan tänka mig det” svarar Peter Pan, “på din födelsedag så köper jag nån aparat här och ger till dig”. Buffalo Bill skrattar och berättar om sina planer, att bygga ett hus nere i öknen, frigöra sig från alla som någonsin skulle kunna bestämma eller försöka bestämma över honom. “Gör det mycket ont?” frågar han när han är klar. “Ja fan till och från” säger Peter Pan, “ganska fucked up” tillägger han. “Ta det lungt” svarar Buffalo Bill och tar ett mjukt grepp runt Peter Pans nacke, skakar om honom lite.
Ondag.
De passerar ingången till det statliga sjukhuset, går igenom den gigantiska väntsalen. Där sitter lika många lösa katter som människor. Fast katterna väntar inte på doktorn. Peter Pan blir alldeles salig av förbryllelse medans Buffalo Bill avslapnat stryker medhårs de katter som ligger och spinner på den nästan oändliga receptionsdisken.
Peter Pan förklarar symptomen och den rödhåriga doktorn noterar små hieroglyfer på ett skrynkligt papper. “Säg till om det är saker som du inte förstår” säger Buffalo Bill till Peter Pan. “Det är lungt änsålänge” svarar han. Utanför köper de bakelser av en gatuförsäljare, käkar på vägen hem.
Tosdag.
“Är du orolig?”
“Ja”
“Det är säkert inget”
Fredag.
Sprutan tränger in i ena skinkan men känns som en upphettad hästhov som masserar benet nedåt, knådar musklerna innan för huden. Peter Pan blundar så hårt att ögenlocken skulle kunna trassla in sig i varandra och aldrig säras igen. “Han är inte härifrån va?” frågar sjuksyster. “Nej, han är långt härifrån” svarar Buffalo Bill som sitter på ett av handfaten och dinglar med benen.
I väntkorridoren. Buffalo och Peter sitter ensama. “Känner du något?” frågar Buffalo. “Nej, hur lång tid har det gått?” “En halvtimme” “Ok, jag har ändå aldrig fått någon alergisk reaktion på sprutor innan” “Ja det är nog lungt men vi väntar en halvtimme till ifall det skulle börja tjockna i helsen” ”Ok, du?” “Ja?” “Du vet, ni har ju tre olika sätt eller grader för att säga jag älskar dig på ert språk, ni har Jag älskar dig, Jag älskar dig och Jag ÄLSKAR dig” “Ja?” “När använder du vilket?” Buffalo Bill skrattar. “Jag använder alltid bara, jag älskar dig, för att inte få problem, varför undar du?” “Äsch skitsamma, nu har jag ändå sagt den mittemellan, jag älskar dig” “Till vem då?” “Till min döda kompis ex-flickvän” “Han som blev uppäten av hajar?” “Ja” “Fan vad sjukt” “Jag vet, fatta om det var en vithaj, dom vet ju inte om han drunknade först, bara att han var hajäten när de hittade honom, men fatta en vithaj”. Peter Pan ställer sig upp och tar sju långa fotsteg längs korridoren. “Såhär lång kan typ en vithaj bli!” “Världens längsta orm då?” “SÅHÄR!” svarar Peter Pan och går sex meter till, sedan går han sakta tillbaks och sätter sig. Suckar. “Fan va sjukt att jag har Syfilis” “Jag vet” “Fan va barockt! Jag borde skaffa en barock-peruk!” Buffalo Bill skrattar igen. “Men jävligt läskigt”. “Det kommer bli bra” säger Buffalo Bill och ställer sig upp, bockar, tar en osynlig skepp i handen, niger och bjuder upp till vals för att gå hem. Ett ljusrör i taket är trasigt och den rödhåriga doktorn som precis kommit ut i korridoren följer dem kisande med blicken tills de är bortom synhåll.
FARSORNA.
SCEN 1. EXT. GATA - NATT
Vi ser en man i vit t-shirt gå mot oss på en ödslig gata. Gatan är täckt med tegelfärgade radhus på varje sida, alla med små pittoreska trädgårdar som skimrar lite under det gula ljuset från gatlyktorna. Mannen, LEIF, cirka 45, har mustasch, kortklippt brunt hår, ölmage och muskulösa underarmar. Förutom t-shirten bär han stentvättade jeans och ett par joggingsneakers. Han går i normal takt och ser likgiltig ut.
Vi hör avvikande fotsteg.
En ung kille dyker upp runt en hörna, LEON, cirka 18. Han går i motsatt riktning på samma sida av gatan som LEIF, bär också en vit t-shirt, men v-ringad. LEON blöder från kindbenet och blodet har fläckat ner vänstra sidan av hans t-shirt. Han har blont tillrufsat hår med gelé och en sammanbiten min.
De får syn på varandra och LEIF rynkar pannan. Båda fortsätter titta rakt fram när de passerar varandra men växlar ändå ett par ord.
LEIF
Vafan Leon.
LEON
Jag ska bara byta t-shirt, sen blir det sinnes.
Båda pratar med en grov skånsk dialekt.
