The Exorcist



“Per exorcismum non expellitur diabolus, sed significetur qoud per baptismum expellitur diabolus.”


Listen to Mr T.


Today, at the Drift I was reading some journals and interestingly enough I then read an article I was sent about the new film starring Michael Fassbinder, aka Magneto, and Keira Knightley whom seems to be universally hated by females of Iceland. Nonetheless, I do have to admit that I feel that Keira represents the height of subliminal aesthetics.

In the film itself Knightley plays Sabina Speilrein who was supposedly a patient of Jung that literally believed in his idea of synchronicity. Seeing her being spanked in the cinemas will surely be an example of the pure abstraction of Kant and the pure pornography of Sade joining forces, since they are the two faces of the twentieth century avant-garde, and perhaps towering figures of modernism – especially seeing since women are still mass consumed. Vide Wendy Steiner.










































Sigmundur Davíð

One should think that Icelandic politics would be a fertile ground for comedy, especially because the politicians are surreal due to a combination of the isolation of the country and the peculiarity of the nation itself, a fact that becomes painfully clear when Flugleiðir, not Icelandair, decide to advertise the country as nation of elf believers. Mind you not cool elves, but dorky ones. I saw Huldufólk 102 at Raindance – and sometimes I wanted to laugh, sometimes I had to cringe; yet I never cringe as much as when I hear two politicians speak: Sigmundur Davíð and Bjarn Ben.


Viking is not the first word I think of when I think of Sigmundur Davíð, however this is the first image that pops to mind:http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pillsbury_Doughboy


Dedicated to you: oh yes. A tattoo for the silly one.

On Monday, I left Iceland to come to The Netherlands. My Sunday night was spent at my mother’s, I fell asleep fairly quickly only to wake up to the sound of my mother waking me up. My parental units drove me to the airport where I said goodbye. My last meal was an overpriced breakfast: 1700 krónur for eggs, tomatos and cucumbers. While trying to read Harry Potter and The Deadly Hallows on my Kindle, the man lying on the bench across me was picking his nose. Nice. My flight to Amsterdam was fairly uneventful, I played the B-version of Tetris as homage to retro Marvin, played some Super Mario 2 on Gameboy and then read a bit. Immediately after arriving at the airport, I was overwhelmed by the heat; before claiming my luggage I relieved myself on the artificial fly in the toilet. I was greeted by Ronald and Nicky and said goodbye to Ásgeir who was leaving to go to UvA.

We then proceeded to take a train to Heiloo, which basically means holy forest. St Willibrord , also the first bishop of Utrecht, came here to convert the heathens and now everything in the vicinity is named after him. Heiloo is essentially a green, yuppie suburb of Amsterdam and Alkmaar. The people here are quite nice.

Alkmaar is another matter; there you can find the worst red light district in the Netherlands. After going to Amsterdam yesterday, I can truly write that with a clean conscience. It is apparent that gangs are dealing in human trafficking of mainly Eastern European women, I guess via Germany. I had to look down walking down that single street in Alkmaar. One thing I did notice however in both Alkmaar and Heiloo, combined they are the equivalent of Reykjavík in population at least, yet I have seen three Greek restaurants here and Reykjavík has none.  Right now there is a carnival in Alkmaar which has overtaken the centre and is supposedly a great attraction for young people and others to drink and drink. I might visit the haunted house tomorrow. Alkmaar is famous for driving away the Spanish – and thus is rightly called Alkmaar victrix and there is even a lovely statute indicating the victory – and in that park you cannot use soft drugs or drugs I suppose. The sign indicated soft drugs. And yes, Alkmaar has small Beatles museum because Lennon’s first guitar was made here, correct me if I am wrong.

The waag or market scale building is quite lovely, and there is a quaint windmill at the beginning of the city centre. However, not only was the red light district one of the most disgusting things I have ever seen – in Alkmaar they also have a bubble gum alley, which is aptly named and quite frankly very nasty.

During the week, I visited Utrecht where I felt at home and something circular at occured. Serene tranquility and utter curiosity combined into one, with a dash of regret.  When I am in big cities I always feel like the hobos and addicts are drawn to me. Utrecht is a lovely city, in the dams you can rent tiny boats and have lunch. I found an Ethopian restaurant. The departments are smack in the center of medievalesque buildings. There are lovely parks to jog in. Lovely. After leaving Utrecht, I made a short stop in Amsterdam which I still feel is artificial or at least a huge area surrounding the central station. There are too many tourists, tacky ones at that – people that seem to think it is normal to bring your child to the red light district at 22-23. The prostitutes all look the same, overblown mannequins that masquerade as lustful beings; instead they are just another cog in the capitalist system. I am sure prostitution was classier before air travel became so cheap.

After waking up today, id est Friday, I biked to Albert Heijn  to get my favorite smoothie drink and have some sushi and lovely, lovely muesli bread and goat cheese to make up for the Blair Witch experience of last night. While biking through the holy forest, not only did I drop the bike light because it did not function properly on the bike, thus I held it and shortly  after my right contact lense fell out and then finally the light fell, leaving me in the dark and with limited vision in one eye..

As I mentioned previously, Saint Willibrord is plastered all around the area, with his own white church and what seems to be a mental institution close by my own squat abode. The thought that I had bike past a mental institute struck me on the way back from Akersloot. Yes, six kilometres from Heiloo there is a small town called Akersloot where they have a Kennedylaan (two houses seemed to have busts of him on their wall), Churchhilllaan and a Martin Luther King one as well. I also noticed Bizet and after going to the supermarker gor a bottle of Evian and an apple I started noticing other composers who had the honor of being inducted into the town’s street names. Of course, Wagner came up, then Chopin, Beethoven and Brahms – I started to think that somebody had been a  fan of the romantic period, yet all of a sudden Mozart street popped up. After biking through the town, I thought there was nothing else to see, however I had a sudden urge to turn right and see if I was close to the sea. I noticed some South American Indians – is that the correct word phrasing? Well, Mayan, Inca I am not sure they were and there was a market, I biked past the market and went to Alkmaarardermeer. A lovely place with lovely, clean toilets. After biking back I noticed that the market was much larger than it appeared to be at first and saw rockabilly people and thought I nice it would be to be a girl that could wear such fine dresses. One house I noticed the Dixie flag – shortly later I noticed the rockabilly pair again and this time I noticed the man had the dixie clogs on.