Mexican supermarkets belong in a david lynch movie. At least my local supermarket. Maybe it’s the only Mexican supermarket that’s as weird as this. But as in Twin Peaks, it so happens that all logic and rationality disappears the moment you walk in the door.

This unbearably hot and cloudy…

Thanks for involving me in your escapades you fucking freaks!

Carl Wheeler, 56, author and essayist, yelled towards his entrance door in the living room, as a party of 5–6 drunk people walked up the stairs Wednesday night 11.28 p.m. They were so loud, that he felt that his…

I woke up this morning and realised that I have no heart.

No really.

No heart.

Just an empty shell.

No emotion.

No love.


Just emptiness.

I think when I was younger, I had different ideals and goals. I though about the importance of being nice.

Being a good loving humanbeing. Compassionate. Empathic.

Now I don’t have those ideals anymore. And it’s too late to resolve them.

Most of all because I don’t feel like being nice. It’s not within me. Neither is empathy or compassion.

I simply don’t care.

The Gnome is outside the door.

He knocks.

“Who’s that”?

“It’s the Gnome”

“Whatta you want Gnome”?

“I’m hungry. Please feed me” !

“But I’m poor. I only have dry bread and some cognac”.

“That will do. Please open”.

She opens.

The Gnome is an eerie little man with piercing…

And there was this place

In this street of Metropolis


With some light

From somewhere

Guiding us

From the other place

To this

And there was this man/owner of this bar

Not old

Not young

Open all hours

For souls

Like us

One of our own

And our despair/intense…

Death has always been a part of my journey through life.

Like a passenger. Unwanted.

When I was young I feared death.

It was always there.

At the back of my mind.

All the time.



Cold and lonely.

Now im older and no longer afraid of dying.

Dying at my age would be controversial, unnatural, yet acceptable.

As a matter of fact, if I died in this very moment, It would be fine with me.

No burdens.

No more wasted time.

Just silence.

I’m in a haze


Tormented by a massive headache

My brain can explode any moment

And thousands of thoughts will flow out

Into the universe

Where my mind will remain/shattered

Till a storm or moon and stars dissolves it

Or the poor people



Eat it

I spent 1997 in a bar

Sometimes sitting

Sometimes standing

Sometimes crawling

Sometimes falling

There were good girls back then


Humble but not too humble

You could talk with them in those times

Not anymore

And there were the other guests


Mostly drinking tap beers with tequila chasers

Hoping that they would get drunk enough to find love

Most of them didn’t

I didn’t

Instead I found immense hangovers

Fear, anxiety, despair

And I would do it again

Thursday, Friday, Saturday sometimes Sunday

What else to do?

And then I would hide in my bunker

With TV and misery

All night long, hungover, horny

With the smell of cigarette in my hair

And cheap whisky in my breath

Sitting in the car

Somewhere in Mexico City

I’m looking at people

Staring at them

Filled with contempt


For no reason

It’s just an instinct

The first feeling

My shadow talking

And they stare back


Like if I didn’t exist

Maybe I don’t





Empty eyed

No consciousness


I’ve got a murderer inside.

Im the dreamer

And the destroyer of dreams

I turn light to darkness

And I laugh at your screams

I live in my mind

In my thoughts

In my reflections

of my own existence


A stream of thoughts

like dark waves

of an infinite ocean

I’m there in the water


Moving fast

And outside, there’s nothing

Kristian Rasmussen

Entrepreneur | Author | Absurdist | Expat

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