Utdrag fra kåseri

Det er størrelsen på forkjølelsen som avgjør avgjørelsen, om doktoren din med vemmelse sier ”lungebetennelse”. Men fortvil ikke, det er nemlig dette mer alvorlige stadiet av sykdommen som er mulig å behandle.  Lungebetennelsens vrange og sutrete lillebror, forkjølelsen, kan nemlig bare forebygges. På den annen side kan den forebygges med enorm effektivitet. Tilbake på den første siden igjen, kan den aller best forebygges av de som allerede er bærer av sykdommen, ved enkle knep mot spredning, og dessverre har mennesker gjennom all dokumentert historie gitt ganske faen i hverandre. I praksis betyr dette at forkjølelse spres over på velkledde og immunforsvarssterke mennesker fordi en eller annen gjøk på arbeidsplassen eller blant kollektivtrafikken ikke evnet verken å ta på tjukkere sokker et par dager tidligere, eller å holde seg for munnen når han nøys deg i bakhodet der du uvitende og menneskeglad fikk mikroorganismer fra dypt i hans neseganger og ned i svelget. 

”Ekkelt” er ikke et dekkende ord, men at vi synes det er det kan godt være instinktivt. 

Historietime

Vi trykket på alle ringeklokkene utenfor en blokk i nærheten. Det skapte mye kaos i oppgangen og hadde liten fare for å bli tatt.
Vi tok kinaputter i postkassene inne i oppgangene, som smalt mye høyere enn de utendørs.
Vi gikk på biblioteket og lagde så mye bråk at vi ble kastet ut. Vi hadde også en periode forbud, og ble nektet adgang dit.


Vi tok også harpiks-trikset; med et fiskesnøre festet til en tegnestift som vi festet til vinduskammen på utsiden. Strakk ut fiskesnøret så vi kunne hjemme oss bak noe, men samtidig se vinduet. Gned harpiks mot fiskesnøret som lager en katteskærende lydresonans i vinduet og inne i leiligheten.


Vi festet et tau med litt slakk mellom to dører i oppganger hvor dørene gikk innover, og ringte på til begge. Var du heldig prøvde begge å åpne samtidig. Og den som hadde fått døra litt opp, fikk døra dratt igjen når naboen prøvde å åpne sin dør og slik kunne de bli stående å dra i dørene uten at noen av dem fikk åpnet ordentlig og irritasjonen ble stigende. Naboene måtte klare å bli enige om at bare den ene skulle prøve å få åpnet døra nok til at han evnt. klarte å få klippet av tauet. Her gjaldt det å være tøff nok til å bli i oppgangen så lenge som mulig for å følge utviklingen. Så løpe!!! 


En annen litt stygg sak var tomme melkekartonger (den gangen 2liters) med sølevann i, lent på skrå inn mot døra så sølevannet ville renne inn i gangen til den som åpnet da dørene jo gikk innover (ble også brukt malig i melkekartongen av de mer barske/jævlige gutta). Tøffest var de som ventet lengst i oppgangen for å se hvordan det gikk og få med seg ansiktsuttrykket til personen som stod der våt på beina, i en pytt av sølevann. Når så personen kom løpende etter oss gjaldt det å forvirre med at alle løp i forskjellige retninger.
Men en gang ble en som bodde i blokka mi og var et år eldre og ikke så god til å løpe, tatt. Han ble løftet med tilbake til leiligheten og måtte ligge på gulvet å vaske opp alt sølevannet. Når vi traff han etterpå så vi at han hadde grått, og han ville ikke være med på denne streken lenger.


Terje var fæl til å erte og når jeg var 8 år havnet jeg en gang i slåsskamp med Terje. Mange stod rundt å så på og brillene hans ble under basketaket ødelagt. Tror jeg ikke hadde eller hadde tatt av meg mine. Det ble en huskestue i etterkant mellom hans foreldre og mine om betaling av disse brillene, men tilslutt hadde han innrømmet at det hadde vært han som startet, pluss andre som bekreftet det og jeg tror ikke vi måtte betale noe. Engelen meg, hadde i alle fall ikke gjordt noe galt, og husker at mor og far litt overraskende faktisk støttet meg.


Om vinteren:


Bilene før hadde støtfangere som var festet utenpå bilene, som på en folkevogn, og det gjorde at vi kunne henge med bilene på vinteren. Vi huket oss ned så bilføreren ikke skulle se oss og holdt oss fast i støtfangeren. Alle hadde speilglatte bots som gjorde at vi sklei med bilen. Kunne være ganske slitsomt og meget farlig, spesielt om bilen begynte å kjøre fort eller det kom andre biler bak oss. 


Om sommeren:


Vi blåste erter med blåserør både på folk og på vinduer. Og skjøt kramper med sprettert. Gjorde veldig vondt å få en slik i låret. Sprettertene kunne bli bygd ganske store og kraftige, vesentlig av gamle flaskekorkåpnere og masse tape.

Hele året:

Hadde gjengturer inn på butikkene på Tveita-senteret.


Kan ikke huske noen ble tatt, men problemet med stjeling og gjengsamling på senteret ble så stort at broren til Bjørn, Jan, ble ansatt som vakt. Jan hadde bodd flere år i Thailand, hvor han hadde konkurrert i kickboksing og tatt med seg Thaidame tilbake (meget uvanlig på den tiden). Han ringte ikke politiet, men banket ofte opp de som ble tatt for tyveri nede i kjelleren under senteret, eller i noen tilfeller knakk armen på dem.
Politiet lot stort sett Jan holde på selv om de viste at mye var over streken, fordi de selv ikke klarte å få kontroll på miljøet og at de hadde et slags samarbeid med Jan.
Navnet “Jan” var det redsel og respekt av i miljøet og han var mye i media. Tror han på en måte var med på at den harde kjerne i gjengen ble skapt. Knallhard disiplin og ingen tyster på noen. Jeg trente da i et rom der nede i kjelleren på vektløfterklubb. Et møkkete kjellerlokale med gamle vekter som vaktmesteren på senteret hadde ordnet og en råtten dusj.
Vi varmet opp med å løpe i vareleveringstunnelene under senteret. Fulle av eksos og varebiler i stor fart, helt sprøtt å tenke på nå. Omtrent som i boksefilmene til Sylvester Stallone. 


Jan og andre eldre skumle kraftbamser var ofte innom. Løftet litt vekter og dengte løs på en boksesekk som hang der for å vise oss hvor sterke de var. Husker en som hoppet opp så høyt han kunne på veggen for så å la seg falle ned på siden mot en tynn treningsmadrass på gulvet. Dette for å herde seg sa han, og det så ikke godt ut. Vi 4-5 som trente der var yngre men godtatt som tøffe nok, og det var litt status å kunne gå gjennom senteret med treningsposen og kunne hilse på de skumle gutta, man ble liksom enda litt breiere mellom skuldrene. Og det kom diverse folk innom og solgte styrkefremmende rare piller og pulver som vi svelget eller blandet med cotagecheese eller juice. Når jeg kom hjem husker jeg at det noen ganger kunne ta lang tid før jeg kunne løfte og klare å drikke av et glass, fordi hånden og armen var sliten og skalv.


Men det var ok hjemme at jeg holdt på med dette. De var litt bekymret over at det ikke var noen som trente og passet på oss. Det hadde de grunn til også, for mye rart skjedde der og kunne gått ille, men kan bare huske en gang at en ble skadet.
Det var ikke nåtidens treningsapparater, men gamle tunge vekter som du kunne bli klemt imellom eller liggende under. Det hente også noen ganger at jeg trente der alene og et rop om hjelp ville ikke ha blitt hørt.


Husker det var skummelt å være der alene. Høre all støyen fra senteret og måtte si til seg selv at det bare var en følelse at det liksom var noen andre der nede. Støyen gjorde at det ikke var lett å høre om noen kom, så de gangene skvatt man når plutselig noen stod der. Derfor var det også nede i noen av disse lokalene Jan banket, knakk fingere og armene til tvilsomme personer. Ikke at jeg så dette noen gang, men at det skjedde? Ja!


Boka Politi&Røver tar for seg bla. tiden fra denne perioden. Handler om Tveita-gjengen og Jan som ble Norges mest beryktede pengeinnkrevende Torpedo og dørvakt på diverse utesteder, og politispaneren Johnny Brenna.


Ellers var vi bare kjekke og greie, gjorde stort sett bare lekser, gode gjerninger, eller hjalp mor med husarbeid.
(...?)

When brain activity ceases:

He hit her. His hand flat out against the side of her face. She wasn't allowed to do this. Not at all, was it even physically possible? Was this perhaps not real, like what he saw was not there, and what he thought simply invalid?
He bend open the fingers on his clenched fist, and stroke a finger on her cheek. The hand started shaking, a freezing wave rushed though him, he felt like crying again, but there was a vacuum in his stomach eating his tears, his thoughts, his very being.
It was real..
And he thought it again: She could not do this to him.
She could not fucking do this to him!
I don't deserve this, I didn't do anything wrong and this i not fair! I loved her!
Rushing through his head, this made every muscle tense. Made him raise his fist again.
He didn't hit this time, but laid his hand on his head.
Hate! That's what he felt for her now, looking into her eyes. She didn't even blink.
He really hated her, and another wave, another climax of these realized feelings rushed through him.
Still, he didn't scream it at her. He didn't say it to her. But he whispered, whispered something else.
I love you.
Two of his fingered closed her eyes, as a tear fell from his. How could she?
They where supposed to live the rest of their life togheter.
She where supposed to live..

More about religion:

Live a good life.
If there are gods, and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by.
If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them.
If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones.

- Marcus Aurelius

The Talk

He thought: If only I where a girl, it would have been easier; The world is somehow more open to girls wanting girls, than to boys wanting boys - even the words are better: Lesbians! Never, at least rarely used with hate. Gays! A word introduced to the generation as a curse word on the internet.

Still, as his mind was made up, he knew he had to tell his mother at this point. His very religious mother; The mother who once had been protesting against "fags" in the army, and often talked about old mrs. Gamboa down the street who had a homosexual grandchild, the poor soul.

She could break hell loose; She could break down; She could even physically attack him for all he knew.

Still, this needed to be done; He lived by himself with few friends, obviously did not have a girlfriend, and he had wanted to "come out" to colleges at work, and once even went to a so-called gaybar, but had realized he needed to open up to his last remaining family first; This was the only way to do this without any psychical wounds.

He wondered: Had he had this fear of telling her if not for her religious beliefs? Was the word of God - the words of middle-eastern philosophers and astronomers - so imprinted in her mind that it was stronger than herself? She was one of the nicest people he knew in oh so many other ways; He had idolized her after she donated money to homeless, volunteered the time the local elderly-home was understaffed, and once even traveled to Indonesia when there was a earthquake (not the overly media-covered tsunami, but one of the many other tragedies in these countries). None of these things because of, or connected to her religion though, contrary to what religious friends and neighbors bragged about, he had heard them use sentences like "the lovely christian lady down the street who helped out" and "God has put the spirit in her". It weren't fair. It was her spirit that should be complimented, not God's intervention on it.

He wanted to scream to them: Do you know how you're suppressing sexuality on me, on priest, and bishops; Do you know how you're suppressing truth, knowledge; How you are promoting blissful ignorance, an outer shell of polished stupidity - while the men speaking of your agenda, this inconsistent tale of miracles and divine laws, are raping little boys. It has even become a cliché!

He gathered his thoughts: Religion aside, he was here to break some big news to his mother, the "woman of his life" if you will, seeing as there would not be any others with that title. His mouth was dry, did he get some water first? Delays, procrastinations, dullness. He cleared his troath, thought: Fuck it, here goes:
"Uh, mom?"

His mother turned, smiled, shut off the tv they'd been watching, and looked at him. Said nothing.

He made a stuttering: A start without a continuum; A wish without a hope; And he lifted his gaze upwards as to not let the tears come to easy. Didn't he hope; Didn't he think: Hold me, it hurts when he noticed her coming closer?

She hugged him; The mother hugged her son.

And she said: "I know son. I know, and it's allright. I love you all the same"

This time, a mothers love for a son, was stronger than the love for a god.

This is religion.

This is religion.

& This is religion.

"The way that i love you isn't healty for neither of us, I think you should move out."

When she heard him say it, the words slipped by her as some unimportant nonsense he just thought out loud, and she turned around to him with a smile. He didn't smile back, and the words, still hanging in the air, sinked in. What he really meant, she never knew, she never bothered, and allthough he had been a perfect lover for half a year, and the former desire-based relationship had slowly begun evolving, that night she just left.

And he was glad she did.

He had about four of these relationships going, and had to end one of them. Maybe even one more. The second she was out the door, he got up and threw all that reminded of her, including the sheets, pillow, and a few dvd's they had pretended to watch sometimes. A kind of anger got over him, intense and suprisingly, and as he picked up his phone to call her back home to him, he ended up trowing it in the wall. Emotions had become a distant part of his life these last years, and the last spoken sentence was just a planed desicion, based on strategic thinking. But this feeling, the wave of anger, became sadness.

Øyeblikk

Jeg ser på deg, og du ser på meg.

Vi ser på hverandre.

Livet, realiteten, er uten spesialeffekter - jeg ser ikke, jeg bare føler, bølgene av følelser som krysser hverandre.

Jeg rekker likevel tenke: Øynene har i mange kulturer blitt ansett som vinduer til sjelen, og herrejesus i himmelen: Vinduet mitt står åpent, hengslene er av, hemningene er så vidt der enda, og når denne hendelsen er over..

var det kanskje ikke bare et sekund; Var det to?

..later jeg som ingenting.

Stille gleder jeg meg allerede til neste gang.

_______________________________

I look at you, and you look back at me.
We're gazing into each others eyes.
Life, reality, is without special effects; No VFX, or added contrast - I don't see, only feel, the waves of emotion crossing between us.
And i think: Eyes has in many cultures through history been considered to be window into the human soul, vision being the primary of senses, and the mind, thoughts, right behind it. Is my window not now unhinged, the glass shattered,  the content pouring out, and my every thought visible to this person looking straight into me?

When you again look away ...
was it a second? Was it a year?
... I stop holding my breath, pretend casual; And with my silenced cheer is already longing for it to happen again.

Finaly

When she began working at the hospital, she was afraid of getting to much responsebility. But now the tables where turned, and she became encreasingly frustrated along with the growing amount of stress this particular night had at hand. This night wasn't the first she'd experienced, but this time people she was able to take care of had to wait longer than necessary while she still had to assist. The choirs she was given, was sometimes riddiculous. She was even trained for operating open flesh wounds, and had courses in more severe wounds, but now she had to get towels and pills. She deserved more credit than this, and after finding the head doctor of tonight to confront him with these thoughts, her appetite for acknowledge was quenched.
She had to take care of operating hall 5. The place where people at medium risk was sendt. This was perhaps a bit more that she was going to ask for, but maybe she could use this oppertunety to show herself.
The hard studying of being a doctor to help those in great need of it, had not given the time to make many friends. And as the reason of making this choice of career was the death of both parents in a climbing-accident - of witch they now would have recovered if taken propper care of - she did not have anyone other than her much beloved, and therefore fat cat in her life. But now she was finaly employed here, and without any intentions of leaving soon, she feelt confident time would give her friends, and possibly other forms of close human contact. There hadn't been any form of depression in her along these long days, or longer nights, alone in the little appartment. But now the need of emotions for humans, both as separates and as a species, had to become more practical, and less theoretical.
Fifteen minuttes later, her joy of giving life to an old man was a long wanted feeling. The man had a great blood loss, but was luckily found by his daughter and grandson dropping by for a visit. The man had been lying a whole night alone, bleeding, and would not have managed another day without the propper care.
But he was saved. She had saved him, cleaned the wounds, stopped the bleeding, and given him adrenaline and blood enough for the wonderfull human body to fix itself over time, and regain perfection.

Love Differences 4

As she approached her exhusband, to pick up their son, she tought back to the times they shared together before. Of course it could never be the same, or anything like it. And she would never admit to him how much she missed having another person to care for.
And to be cared by.
Besides, she was afraid much of the emotions she felt, was because they shared a child together, and therefore couldn't get out of their lives and forget what had been. It was a comfort to know they where friends, however. At least for the sake of the boy. She herself ha not had the luxury of even knowing of both parents, as her father had vanished shortly after she was born. She did still have contact with the ex-husbands father though, dispite the fact of him not liking it. His father was alone after loosing his wive. A loss she couldn't imagine. The death happened three years ago, and sadly had it's impact on the relationship of her and her ex.
Their kid had never got to know his grandmother very well, making it easy for him to accept it, but for his father it was a sad feeling not to share the wounderfull person his grandmother was.
This was not the fact that had ruined the marriage however. It was his short period of execive drinking that had broke them apart, and lack of love that had not brought them together again.
She pushed all of these toughts away when she saw the best thing in her life, aged at 8, running toward her. It was only a week since he was dropped by his father, and this was no special pick up. Yet they both came together in a huge long lasting hug. She held him tight in her arms, both smiling of joy.

Finaly.

Love Differences 3

Yet another scream was heard, and the old man was kind of glad he wasn't arruosed anymore of hearing another couple make love nearby. Or anything else for that matter. If so, the neighbour and his new girlfriend would have kept him awake several nights in a row now, loud as they where.
No, at this age, he thought to himself, only real love can get me up and going.
He smiled, and thought on about his great loss three years ago. Seemed like then.
A milage can be rough, he wispered, well knowing of how senile he appered to be to his kids talking to himself. But it didn't matter, since the relationship was as steriotypical as it could be. They never saw him anymore. The only odd thing was that he couldn't care for the lack of love they showed, just knowing they actualy still did. And that they would indeed miss him when he passed away, and probably regret not paying more attention, wisiting more often, and call more.
Maybe i aught to write that down on a note, he thought out loud, already on his way to the kitchen. For the sake of peace when i die. The latter, he did not say out loud, but he heard the last word echoing in his mind, as another scream from the other side of the wall echoed in his ears. He lost his balance for a minutte, filled with these sounds, and grabbed on to the first thing his hand found. Unfortunatly, seventysix years earlier when he got a little wound on his knee, playing with some other kids, he discovered the reaction he had to blood.
He still had that reaction, and realising he had grabbed the knives hanging from over the stove, he just stood still for a minutte, not looking on his hand.
He felt after any pain, but knew his sences was a bit blurry with the years, and that the shock would have delayed the pain for a little time. By now he felt an imense amount of stress, and had to sit down. With his hand held behind him, he walked slowly to the livingroom, and fell into the couch. The world swurrled in front of him, his head was incredably heavy, and he felt tired.
At the finger roots, he could see some white bone. Two of the fingers had deep cuts on three places, and the blood was pumping with the beat of his pulse. He knew a second before he fainted he was going to bleed to death, as none would miss him in a few day. But there was no sad old man that lost conciousness. He saw his loved one in the end of the light, waving at him.

Finaly.

Love Differences 2

When they heard the scream, the stopped kissing, paused the movie they didn't watch, and opened the window to look. As there where only the empty street on the other side of the window, they both turn back to eachother, and after a few smiles, kisses, and teasingly touches, the living room became as empty as the streets outside.
The bedroom, on the other hand, became full of life. Even a new one, although they wouldn't know of it for months.

Finaly.

Love Differences 1

The gentle temptation of sensuality and another person showing emotions for you had taken her over. She finaly said yes to let him follow her home. It was not out of fear she didn't want him to know where she lived earlier, if not for the fear of crossing the line with him. Perhaps this time she got a small hope of him choosing her over his wife.
They slowly, hand in hand, arrived the door that had a postbox that said her name in fine hand-wrote letters. She knew he would ask to follow her inside. She knew she couldn't say no to him, even tough she didn't want him to. The pressure of the situation was disgusting to her, just like he himself had been sometimes. Still, she knew he would never get entirely out of her life. If she didn't move away or anything other radical. And she had played with the tought before, but was enough self-aware to know the whole ting would never be put into life.
"Could i follow you inside" He asked.
"No" She said to him, still softly
In her mind...
In real life, she didn't really answer. Just opened the door. And took a deep breath before entering.
"If you're the angel you seemingly appear to be, i'm still surprised you fell so accuratly into my life." He was of course making a compliment, but it made her close her eyes.
In shame. In regret. In endless disqust of the life she was stuck in.
She didn't turn to him and give him the fake thankfull smile like she used to, but instead told him, in the loudest scream she had made for years, to go to hell, leave her (the fuck) alone, and then broke down and cried.

Finaly.

Skole og utdanning

Dette fant jeg som utkast her på bloggen. Det er skrevet 05.03.09, som nærmer seg å bli to år siden. Men det er like relevant nå?

Jeg trenger jo litt utdanning, jeg som oppfører meg så udannet. Men når man sjekker div skole-nettsider, fordi man lurer på noe ganske enkelt, finner man egentlig bare mange flere spørsmål.
Så da ringer man. Hører rundt.
ALLE sier forskjellige ting. Det virker gudhjælpemeg som om det å samle inn og finne ut informasjon er del av pensum. Eller en test på om man er verdig skoleplass.

Jeg syns det var stress nok å prøve å få tak i en plan på hva jeg ville gjøre ut av meg. Så skal det være helt sirkus for å finne ut hva man burde søke for å få komme seg den retninga. Og til slutt kommer det en bonus på at det er langt fra sikert at man kommer inn.
Jeez!

Pure white in sight
It snows tonight
It looks so nice, the snow's so light
It's flying high; a flowing flight

Himmelen glitrer
Englene daler
Alle mann kjøper
Fine gaver
Det var nettopp høst
Snart er det på nytt vår
Men intill da:

God Jul, og Godt Nyttår!

Virus er en organisme som trenger seg inn i et levemiljø, bruker opp alle ressursene, produserer seg fort i antall, og som sprer seg raskt. Det er vanskelig å behandle et virus, fordi det tilpasser seg utrolig fort, kan gjøre seg immun mot det "verten" gjør for å kvitte seg med det. (Insulin osv)

Dette fortsetter i verste fall frem til verten dør.

Mennesket er en organisme som trenger seg inn i et levemiljø, bruker opp alle ressursene, produserer seg fort i antall, og som sprer seg raskt. Det er vanskelig å behandle et tilfelle av oss, fordi vi tilpasser oss utrolig fort, kan gjøre oss immune mot det "verten" gjør for å kvitte seg med det. (Naturkatastrofer, og...)

Men etter å ha slått fast at mennesket er en helvettes plage for verden vår - jorda vår, planeten vår - slutter likheten til et virus. Hysteriet rundt global oppvarming er elendig bullshit!

(bullshit)

Planeten vi lever på dateres røfflig til 4,5 billioner år (På engelsk, milliarder på norsk!) og har overlevd en del. For eksempel en komet som utryddet det som var den dominante livsformen; Dinosaurer. Å se for seg hvordan det påvirket verden, størrelsen på det som har truffet jorda, et støvteppe som dekket hele planeten i kanskje år, er fryktelig vanskelig. Men jorden er jo her enda.

Også tenker du som leser kanskje at jeg over-bagatelliserer. Det jeg vil få frem er at det virker som om hele jorden står på spill. Som om dette ikke bare handler om oss, men selve eksistensen, selve skapensen.

Vel: a) Verden hadde nok klart seg enda bedre uten oss. b) Vi dør jo faen ikke ut, leste du ikke andre avsnittet i dette innlegget!!??

*sadface*

Det er 20 år siden muren falt...

... men bare i Berlin

Paranoia!

[Mate real lizm]

Materialism - The theory\philosophy that says, shit has to be either physicly there, or explained by chemical reactions.
or else...
So, even your thoughts and emotions are just a chemical reaction and a explainable reaction.
Seems kinda logical?
And I have to bring up a quote from the book that inspired me to digg in to this, the new "Harry Hole" book. In English, ya'll!
"Materialism claims everything to be matter and forces. Everything that happens is part of a giant calculation , a chain reaction, consequences by something that's allready happened"
[...]
"Our actions is determined by our brains chemical reactions, wich is determined by whom decided to have kids whith who, wich again is decided by their brainchemestry. And so on. All can be traced back to for example the big bang, and even further. Even the fact that this [...] will be written, and what you're thinking right now."

Seems about right to me, but i'm not sure if it saddens me that my thoughts and emotions are mere chemical reactions, thus not "real" - or if this makes everything ok, but a bit pointless. So it's either like "everything's meant to be" or "fuck it, whatever".

Anyway: I do not dare thinking this through, or philosophize deeper into it. It's kinda like thinking about why and how the universe and all that was made, and that's a one-way ticket to deepshit-insanity.

Unable to decide quite what I think about this (Also I think the most comments i had counts 4 or somthing) much appreciation goes to anyone charing their thoughts on the matter =)

Menneskets beste venn; Høyrehånden - koser med en hund! Aww!

Ikke mange var klar over min og Adrians lille karriere i musikken...

All cred til Ragnild. Trykk på bildet for hennes blogg!