Dialogue with a consumer product

Following in the admirable standard I have set in my bloggings, I shall not continue with my Icelandic episodes. Nothing but pilots here. Routines are for cowards. 

A consistent product - Coca Cola, the Mugabes, the Olmerts of this world

You gotta know when your days are up,

You gotta know your shelf-time

So, to cut with my fascist leanings, I shall remain:  the transmutating product!

So come on friends

To the barricades again!

ICELAND in 1991 - episode I

Iceland, as far from Washington as from Moscow, is advantageously placed in a political climate of improved relations between East and West. Having played host to the memorable Fischer-Spassky chess match in 1972, it moved onto the political chessboard in 1986, with the Reykjavik summit meeting of President Ronald Reagan and Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev.

"Tipping is not customary in Iceland"

Hunter

"thought that i could organise freedom
how scandinavian of me"

The owner of one, "delaware car", replaced his license plate, with ontario ubiquity.

Maps and Directions

I would scalp his head and put it on my face....

He's just got such a great thick beard when he grows it out, and naturally brilliant long hair

Dude...dude.....!

....But its going to waste!

Somewhere in white Ontario, he sits behind his desk, sipping on his apple cider. I would like to picture him calm, but placidity seldom resides on his visage. Maybe its the flowing hair that he parts every morning. Maybe it's his affliction, you know his, his.... Leon. It's a long story. 

He's intrigued; a white man trying to understand the suffering of a people quite distant. 

Turns an inquisitive look towards his map. 

He gets up, frowning, searches his pockets for his glasses - vanity is the death of his vision -  trying to focus on this small stretch of yellow. 

It stops there. His mind, like a native, is not known for a sedentary lifestyle. His thoughts are nomadic in nature, wild and easily perturbed. 

He dreams of a dreamy french girl, who dances like Zizi Jeanmaire and lives everyday through chanson.

He'll come back to his academic wanderings sometime. For now he's frequenting art galleries, affectionately known as parisian laundry.

Relapse

Deleware - The First State, delcares a license plate. 

Let me rewind a few shots; I feel like I'm falling into a routine, well hardly, but for the sake of brevity, yes a routine. 

I wake up, run through some menial rituals, assemble my persona, walk out the door, past our green party sign and down madison. On a good day with at least ten minutes to spare before my prof starts rambling on, about god knows no what, I'll have my headphones on. 

Nothing like a good vibration of the eardrums, before the monotone annexes brain cells.

Now I stare at middle-aged white men, standing around their houses, smoking, walking their dogs, or women. 

Now its the muscle-men unloading trucks of beer into the same dreary establishment....Madison Pub. 

Now I jump over into the parking lot; I've always preferred diagonals: a line joining two nonconsecutive vertices of a polygon or polyhedron, plus they save time. Here I come across the familiar license plate. What exactly its doing, in a parking lot behind a church, I have no clue. The enigmatic message, well at least for me, has me wondering every morning: Delaware, the first state?

Huh,

named after a British nobleman, 

Thomas West, the 3rd Baron De La Warr, 

the famous message on the plate comes from the auspicious fact that it was the first State to ratify the constitution of the United States.

Sa Blev Det Bestamt... so it was settled!