krg.

before embarking on the adventures below a word of caution, I'm in an english sort of mood today, hence the text will be english, marred I'm sure, here and there with the odd miss-spelled word, for this I apologise in advance.

studying at Handels in Göteborg, one must account for a large amount of selfstudying. The results go up and down a bit as a result, atleast that is, for me. But this feature of not being tied down to a bench listening to some lecturor or other, releases me to the world all the more often, and enables me to ponder on lifes little peculiarities, such as this: the utter and complete difference in taste between humans.

You see, earlier today I was moving along at a stady pace through the streets of Gothenburg, mostly due to the fact that I was on a bus, but still moving along nicely. At one of the stops, which shall remain nameless, a man fell into a similar mood to mine to enter said bus and once on it, all hell broke loose.

well, to say that hell brake loose might be cutting a corner or two for the sake of a good story, but if you let me refrase that to " things started to unfold", we won't be so far of the truth.
You see, this man, who we might call Mr Smith, took up his phone, and started to play music. In it self, admittedly, this is rather normal nowadays, but the less normal feature of Mr Smith's action was to put the music out and about as it were, via the speakers.

At first, nothing happend, then started reaction from A to Z. Three ladies in their upper golden age started a league of dissaproval through carefully orchastrated sneering, forrowing of the brows and pursing of the lips.

If you have an aunt who looks at you like you're something the blind cat Angus brought home, you will now vividly imagine the generall outlook of these three ladies, much the same as a restaurant guest looking at his, or her, plate and concluding that this was certainly not what was ordered.

Opposite to the golden age sneer-league, was the two young hip-and-cool-league girls, with such enthusiastic smiles that they could easily be confused for the cat Angus' hungry kittens staring at a saucer filled to the brim with double heavy cream.

And so it occured to me, how on earth can anyone make a living of appealing to someones taste? the answer is similar to a succesful first date.
 You do not necessarily need to fool anyone to fall in love with your exterior at first sight, but it does help not to cause repulsion.

My mind continued to wander away, as is its habit when not reeled in, and I came to think of the old moulding procedure so often exercised by, mostly at least, the gentler sex.

There must be some reason for all of this, and I stumbled across the expectations these beautiful creatures face in everyday life. Any woman is expected, rightly or wrongly, I judge no one, to appear and behave in certain ways. Any man is widely expected, again righlty or wrongly, to appear and behave as he pleases.

(at this point might be right and proper to suggest these are old fasioned and irresponsible views not to be encouraged, but lets stick to them for a good storys sake)

the expectations women have lived with could encourage them to thinking along the lines " well, if I have to be like this and that, then the man of my dreams bloody well should be like that and this".

These thoughts present an obstacle however, namely that the man of your dreams very rarely comes about.
thus, the easier and far more efficient way of finding a soulmate is to identify the closest thing to the dream, and then mould and fine tune the missing parts at your earliest convenience.

I've encountered such moulding proceduers myself, the style of your clothes, the interests of your spare time and the food of your choice have all come under scrutiny. what so many of these moulders seem to forget, or at any rate disregard as irrellevant, is whether the admired object actually wants to be moulded, and if this is the case, what is fair game to mould away and what should be left to its own devices.

some things are actually rather nice to have fine tuned, such as "you really need a new watch", maybe because you actually want one yourself but have put it of for a rainy day, and all you needed was a well timed shove in the right direction.
Other things such as " you really ought to care more about what you eat" may fall into the "not obliged to do so" column, and generally demands a more tactfull approach.

so, at the end of my thoughts, I realised that I missed my stop and had to get of the bus, with a happy feeling that I'm content to be just the way I am, after all, change it too much, and you loose that rustique charm that is me,

krg.

hellu! dagen till ära är jag fullt uppbokad av den smått obehagliga aktiviteten plugg, så jag nöjer mig med att hosta upp en text om kaffe jag skrev under min retorik kurs för två år sedan, smått romantiserande av kaffe, eller vad sägs?

Medans jag ligger och vaknar hör jag ljudet, jag börjar känna doften.

Ljudet är ett mysigt mullrande ljud som påminner mig om när min pappa strök skjortor i vardagsrummet på helgen. Detta ljud får snart sällskap av ett annat, ett droppande ljud som om något mycket litet dyker ned i något betydligt större och djupare.

Doften sprider sig nu i hela lägenheten. Det är en doft som lovar kanelbullar, sällskap och något varmt till strupen.  Doften gör att jag kan se det svarta havet som breder ut sig i kannan. Det är ett djupt, mörkt hav med många hemligheter.

Kannan tippas mot en kopp, och den svarta drycken blir med ens lite ljusare brun när den faller ner och träffar sig själv i botten på koppen, där den genast blir svart igen.

Koppen i sin tur tippas nu mot ett par läppar, en pust av lungorna för att kyla ner drycken, sen träffar drycken tungan och en våg av smaker överväldigar mig medans jag blir varm, sväljer och njuter av dagens, alldeles första, kopp nybryggda kaffe.

krg.