Du kan også læse dette indlæg på Dansk
Kunstgruppen min utstiller for øyeblikket på Aros, og her er mine bidrag til utstillingen. 
Noen ting forandrer seg aldri. Tidligere risset kjærester sine initialer inn i trær, nå offentliggjør man sine nyheter på Facebook.
Cool Calm and Collected er tittelen på en Rolling Stones-sang, samt navnet på en utstilling på Aros. Jeg har tatt utgangspunkt i titlene på alle verkene i utstillingen, og har samlet ordene på min egen måte – i et dikt.
Gjendiktningen heter Cool calm and untitled og du kan lese den her:
Cool calm and untitled
He
Made in China
People call him yellow
He feels blue
# Newspaper-series
about him:
having intercourses
with God.
God is not
single anymore.
Afghanistan 5012 km.
The Orient.
We the exposed.
He –
they see him
as a letter,
not words
that make text
that matter.
They see him
as a letter,
a geometric version
of calculated
BODY parts.
Geometric ears
absorbed to a white version
exposed at a sex-shop
in Lumberton.
He. Again.
Looking in the mirror.
Feels like a dragon.
CELESTIAL.
Imagined.
Absorbed.
Forgotten.
Like God.
Like my tribe.
Will God shock him
by pulling him out of
our repetition of mirrors?
Or shock us even more
by being untitled,
NOT in the center?
If God is here,
is he light
or
is he lettuce
is he SUPERFLEX(IBLE)
or
LV– LXIII
or is God good at all?
He
An industrial portrait
made of maquillage
A Bocca Baciata
Copy righted VOGUE
He is limited to being monochromic
swinging between blue and white
and nerves and forgetting.
In Afghanistan 5012 km
We are limited to imagined optimism
/state of emergency,
nerves and forgetting.
Black bullets rotating
Bells die
Justified beliefs
We stretch
Reaching SURVIVALISM
Control
I die
untitled
Thirty-Three
Objects
1-33
Balloons and fingers
Fluids moving in disrupted waves
Lampposts watching over any surviving in the east
In the south
Eyes
Whips
Heads
In the landscape
Me.
I’m jealous of the
cosmonauts and “guldnakker”.
There are capitals
and letters
seeing,
touching,
breaking.
He is a CAPITAL letter.
He breaks in the sun NOT
Untitled
Lost in a
masquerade.
A caption.
Perdue.
Making squads of
octocorallias,
while being
gold,
or squids just to change into
a masquerade and
loosing himself all over again.
Crossed between
the first,
the older
and the late
him.
Someone sits upon
His back
Like a chair
He’s in cannot-mode
Is-mode
Algebraic
Checked
And Calculated
The cannots are in the Details.
The two of us.
Exotics.
Beings.
People.
Untitled.
We are running towards the revolution
Of the Time for
ninu – a name,
and donkeys,
and men
and women
being as Untitled
and normal
as they want to be.
He wants to be
Should be
Here
Untitled
Not How
What
If
Who
When
Not broken
Condensed
Not a job
He is not all these things
He is so much less.
