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Thursday, March 4, 2004

I know what

I was reading posts and comments all over the net, till my eyes filled with tears.



By Jesus/Moses etc. - the world looks bleak.

Otherwise, why is everybody moaning in despair?



What is to be done?



It took me some time, about five seconds, to come up with an excellent solution:



The world is an imitations of the blogospheric one created way back in that six-day colossal endeavor.



Every human being is a surfer.



It stays to reason that some of them over there are plain trolls, creating havoc.



They use nicknames which mask their vile intentions.



Impossible to change them as individuals.



The only way out, correct me if I'm wrong, and I'm never wrong, the only way out is to exchange territories: Let them rule the world alone, shivering in the cold, and let us rule the real and original universe, of eternally sunny blogs.







Her Grandmother's Jesus

It's impossible to find on Amazon anything under Dannish Women Writers, and even less so any of Hanne Marie Svendsen's books. I did find, and plenty, under "Cultural Insularity".



If you have not read yet Hanne Marie Svendsen, read on:



"...Almost every day we used to visit my maternal great grandmother.



She was in bed for years, sick with leukemia and was always dressed in white... had a string attached to her bed so she could pick herself up.



I remember a picture of Jesus above her bed, a sentimental picture, with lambs. Whenever she looked at Jesus, I felt she didn't approve of him. She approved of Yehova, the God of the Old Testament, because he was strong, but I had the feeling she thought Jesus was much too soft.



The priest came to visit once a week and then he had cherry wine and little cookies.



In her youth she had been dancing but when she experienced this great religious "awakening", she became very pious.



The religious movement was around the eighteen-eighties. A very stern religious movement. They had to give up playing cards, dancing. Sex was a black cloud.



Living so dangerously, with the sea at their front door every day, they needed something secure, that stern, that rigid - just to survive.



Dancing was a sin, yes..."



My father and mother did not belong to this group at all..."



from Once She Was a Child, (Noffey Haneffesh/ Corinna, HudnaPress 2003) - a book on conversations with international women writers, on Childhood as the mythological Paradise.