Foot and Mouth

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Something like.

At a kitchen table in Råcksta, Hasse sits and thinks about life.

Life does not think about Hasse.

Outside eating disorders blogs by.

Dog stands by the door and wants out.

The dog lies by the door and wants out.

Dog is dead.

The time goes: zzzzz.

Hasse has not left his apartment for a few weeks.

It is the fear of Them others.

Etc.

Yes yes Them ...

Hasse has bought a yellow sludge that is 99% bacterial killing.

That was all he could think of.

At the bank office.

Hasse take a queue number.

Hasse takes two queue.

Numbers.

Goes to celebrate "Art's Birthday".

Blood taste in his mouth.

Goes home sleeping dreams of Hollywood.

Trips over the dog on the way into the apartment, it smells.

Life a long time coming.

Somewhere in between is Hasse.

I AM CHICKEN going on seventeen Hasse.

Standing in front of the mirror beeps himself in the navel.

Think of the body. Hasse.

Of people who anoint themselves with lotion for one hour!

Lubricate just how hard can that be? Apply and rub…

Ah. The old wipe out the world ploy, Hasse murmurs.

Becomes the queen of Snow White in front of the mirror:

-Worship me or taste my wrath ploy.

Taste my wrath, it tastes elder.

Ploy.

If you become trendy you avoid paying for things yourself?

A singers dream!

Though Hasse has no such dreams.

Kill me MIRROR! as Black Swan he thinks.

The perfect ending.

You make only one really good performance and then you die.

Practical.

As life.

Hasse is plotting for a fine farewell.

A Workers' Ballet with red Polish clowns and tractors. There, in the big finale Hasse's alter ego Nasse gets torn apart by two tractors to the left and to the right and around for one and a two.

Something about a split.

Sexual insanity, competition and ballet.

Splash!

... And it is bittersweet that your imagination is limited.

And that nothing is your fault.

All is a documentary and everything you write is personal experience going HASSE. Going once.

You are a docu-doll.

(melodramatic)

So when the blood has stopped spraying the audience and the last reviewer written his last analysis of how power seeking yet strong and tight with a touch of Foucault Hasse's ballet was.

When Hasse's upper body remains on the stage frozen with a faint smile.

Then you are asked to rise from the dead to perform at "Art's Birthday" in which the line for free culture is going all the way down to the Baltic Sea.

And you do it.

And again and again.

For free.

Hasse's tractor ballet with a slash finish becomes a hit.

Hasse - The Worlds Greatest Escape Artist.

Megalomania!

Tough and unlimited in bed.

While an apartment somewhere like in Råcksta just standing there as is.

The apartment: Hey hey I have baked scones in 1984!

A brown sludge that once resembled a pet is located on the doormat. The radio rattles up something that once may have been P3.

The refrigerator has crept away to ZHULS dimension.

It's not easy being in love.

Gore!

Organized disturbing the peace.

There is something stale, self-righteous and not sexy about the art here.

You make yourself immortal.

Where is the sense?

Brazilian blowjob.

Over and out.