says ‘ Anybody who rides a bike is a friend of mine.’
I like that. I feel all those who cycle are my friends. One big family.
When I meet others who are cycling, I sometimes say hi.
But today I am alone in the forest.
That’s also nice.
As I was leaving the flat, Børre came over to me. He was asking whether or not I had bought a helmet.
I said I would get one when I had some money.
He reminded me what happened to the unfortunate dad in the kindergarten. I nodded and said I’d be careful.
But I’m not particularly careful.
Riding fast on forest trails is fun.
Sometimes I ramp off roots and rocks.
When I told Børre I was going to the forest, he said his father had seen an elk there once. He was proud.
I have also seen elks, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him.
We made an arrangement that I’m going to tell him about all the animals I see. So far I’ve only seen a horse and a squirrel.
I cycle myself to a sweat, and stop by a pond for a bath.
I’m having a bath even though it’s April and the water is cold.
While I lie in the sun drying, I throw the ball up in the air. I’m lying on my back, throwing it up in the air. I’m usually able to catch it, but every now and then it bounces away.
Then I have to get up and fetch it.
Now it’s rolled off for the last time.
I can’t be bothered to fetch it.
It can lie there until I have finished drying.
I’m thinking about where it went wrong.
It’s probably quite fundamental.
My parents have done a decent job. I don’t blame them for anything. I’ve also had good times in school. Nobody was ever mean to me. At least not over a long period of time. Occasionally it happened that someone said something nasty or something, but then I just kicked them on the shin, or punched them in the stomach. No big deal.
It must have been something else.
For some reason I suspect that I know too much about things it’s stupid to know a whole lot about.
I know a helluva lot.
This is what I know a lot about:
– Movies
– Literature
– The Media
– Politics
– Celebrities
– Art
– Advertising
– Aerodynamics
– The Information Society
– Roland Barthes
– Computers
– History
– Language
– Music
– Supermodels
– The Sahara
And when I say a lot, I mean a lot.
I know names, dates. Hundreds of them.
I know who was first on Mount Everest.
I know who directs the most unintelligent American sitcoms and soaps.
I know of a survey that shows that in 1957, one year after Brigitte Bardot starred in the movie Et dieu créa la femme, 47 percent of all French conversation was about Bardot.
I know that when air hits an aeroplane wing, suction is created on top of the wing, and that is what makes planes fly.
I know what Aristotle thought.
I know what other philosophers have thought about Aristotle.
I know how much Claudia Schiffer earns.
I know that time passes a little slower on the sun.
I know how long Christo and Jeanne Claude spent wrapping the Reichstag in Berlin.
I know the recipe for Coca-Cola.
I know a helluva lot.
I’m not the only one who knows these things.
Many people know more than I do. That’s fortunately not my problem.
My problem is what I am supposed to use it for.
What do I do with it?
It’s confusing.
I could of course appear on Jeopardy and win a trip to Greece. For two. But I don’t have a girlfriend. I would have to go alone. And what am I supposed to do in Greece? There is no reason to believe that I would feel any better there.
I am not so stupid that I don’t see the use of a certain amount of knowledge. But I don’t feel convinced about what is important and what isn’t. I lack direction. An overview. How does one get an overview? Maybe it comes with age. But maybe not.
Am I supposed to just go around waiting like any other idiot?
I should never have learned how to read.
The mother of a friend of mine told me that she used to go to some kind of club when she was little. I don’t
I like that. I feel all those who cycle are my friends. One big family.
When I meet others who are cycling, I sometimes say hi.
But today I am alone in the forest.
That’s also nice.
As I was leaving the flat, Børre came over to me. He was asking whether or not I had bought a helmet.
I said I would get one when I had some money.
He reminded me what happened to the unfortunate dad in the kindergarten. I nodded and said I’d be careful.
But I’m not particularly careful.
Riding fast on forest trails is fun.
Sometimes I ramp off roots and rocks.
When I told Børre I was going to the forest, he said his father had seen an elk there once. He was proud.
I have also seen elks, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him.
We made an arrangement that I’m going to tell him about all the animals I see. So far I’ve only seen a horse and a squirrel.
I cycle myself to a sweat, and stop by a pond for a bath.
I’m having a bath even though it’s April and the water is cold.
While I lie in the sun drying, I throw the ball up in the air. I’m lying on my back, throwing it up in the air. I’m usually able to catch it, but every now and then it bounces away.
Then I have to get up and fetch it.
Now it’s rolled off for the last time.
I can’t be bothered to fetch it.
It can lie there until I have finished drying.
I’m thinking about where it went wrong.
It’s probably quite fundamental.
My parents have done a decent job. I don’t blame them for anything. I’ve also had good times in school. Nobody was ever mean to me. At least not over a long period of time. Occasionally it happened that someone said something nasty or something, but then I just kicked them on the shin, or punched them in the stomach. No big deal.
It must have been something else.
For some reason I suspect that I know too much about things it’s stupid to know a whole lot about.
I know a helluva lot.
This is what I know a lot about:
– Movies
– Literature
– The Media
– Politics
– Celebrities
– Art
– Advertising
– Aerodynamics
– The Information Society
– Roland Barthes
– Computers
– History
– Language
– Music
– Supermodels
– The Sahara
And when I say a lot, I mean a lot.
I know names, dates. Hundreds of them.
I know who was first on Mount Everest.
I know who directs the most unintelligent American sitcoms and soaps.
I know of a survey that shows that in 1957, one year after Brigitte Bardot starred in the movie Et dieu créa la femme, 47 percent of all French conversation was about Bardot.
I know that when air hits an aeroplane wing, suction is created on top of the wing, and that is what makes planes fly.
I know what Aristotle thought.
I know what other philosophers have thought about Aristotle.
I know how much Claudia Schiffer earns.
I know that time passes a little slower on the sun.
I know how long Christo and Jeanne Claude spent wrapping the Reichstag in Berlin.
I know the recipe for Coca-Cola.
I know a helluva lot.
I’m not the only one who knows these things.
Many people know more than I do. That’s fortunately not my problem.
My problem is what I am supposed to use it for.
What do I do with it?
It’s confusing.
I could of course appear on Jeopardy and win a trip to Greece. For two. But I don’t have a girlfriend. I would have to go alone. And what am I supposed to do in Greece? There is no reason to believe that I would feel any better there.
I am not so stupid that I don’t see the use of a certain amount of knowledge. But I don’t feel convinced about what is important and what isn’t. I lack direction. An overview. How does one get an overview? Maybe it comes with age. But maybe not.
Am I supposed to just go around waiting like any other idiot?
I should never have learned how to read.
The mother of a friend of mine told me that she used to go to some kind of club when she was little. I don’t
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