Sometimes one wants to think about nice things, talk about nice things, and draw nice things. Completely void of any politics and things one should worry about.

I just love cranes. I love their long, erect and proud necks. I love it when they call out “Here I Am.” I love it when they soar across the sky, almost like a Pterodactyl.

They dance when they meet, oh yes, on the first date. They stick together in perfect twosome. No swingers allowed.

When I hear them call, spring is here.

New beginnings.

New life!

There’s absolutely no doubt: Norwegians consider the potato to be almost the most Norwegian of the Norwegian.

The potato however, has its roots in South America, and this tuberous crop has saved many lives throughout the world in difficult times.

How many of the Norwegian national treasures are truly Norwegian? Have we claimed ownership over something that isn’t really ours?

And does it really matter? Should we in fact go back in time to verify what truly belongs to you and me?

The 17th of May is a magical day for most Norwegians, but how do we decide what it is to be a true Norwegian? Should we check out our ancestry, tick the right box, and exclude everyone else on this day of independence? Can you be Norwegian at heart, even though your ancestors are from elsewhere?

I am a Norwegian, and I choose to celebrate my day with a multicultural condiment of fellowship, inclusion and global understanding.

By the way: I’m celebrating 17th of May in Sweden who forced Norway into a union in 1815.

I’m a traitor.

Happy birthday all Norwegians, wherever we come from.

Sometimes, things just take time. Too much time. But in certain situations…does it really matter?

Sometimes we just grind everything we have, every little memory, every feeling or emotion, every little bit of money we have, every large and bad feeling we have. And we turn it into something more chewable. Into mush.

But are you as ground meat really good for you? Well, surely you get rid of all the bits that are difficult to chew, but do you see what is actually there? Or have you ground everything into the complete unrecognisable?

Is grinding your heart, soul, and flesh a good idea?

Wouldn’t we like to be whole, decide ourselves how we should look before and after?

This has nothing to do with meat, in case you wondered…of course.

This drawing will be done shortly.

In my drawings I use the Winsor&Newton Promarkers (pens,) and the occasional brush marker.

Please, have a look. You’ll love them. And the price is good…very good actually.

http://m.winsornewton.com/row/

Werk it, Pen wise.

…of tradition?…or religion? …or as a result of male dominance? Or just choice?

…or rotate this drawing around, and it becomes an image/representation of the male reproductive organ?

Most of my Muslim female friends don’t wear these garments, most wear hijabs. Is the latter for religious reasons or from traditional values? Or being forced upon them?

I haven’t asked my Muslim girlfriend’s about wearing hijab, but why haven’t I? Is it because of fear of stepping on their toes? Or is it because of me being worried about intimidating them? Or me, myself being intimidated? Or loathing?

Does asking a question mean that I intend to be rude? Or is it about trying to learn about choices, traditions or religion?

I’m a teacher, and a physical human being, and I asked a fellow teacher once, who happens to be female…and Muslim: “I occasionally pat students on the back, or give them a hug. Should I or shouldn’t I?”

She answered me: ” In Sweden we are tactile, and if they don’t like it, it’s their responsibility to tell you. But they have to learn that a pat on the back is not being offensive. It’s a part of Swedish life.”

Questions are important!

Especially when we’re afraid of asking them!

I’m presenting one of my favourite dancers today. It’s basically a little cameo appearance, but she will appear every now and again to express her love for ballet.

Please welcome Frida Celine.

She has no formal experience, but her love for ballet is undoubtedly evident in these pictures.

In this picture she is showing us the 4th position in ballet.

So, hang on people, get ready for the enthusiastic Frida Celine.

By the way, she loves comments. “There’s always room for improvement.” That’s her mantra.

Get together or tear apart?

Hanging out with friends this week and seemingly “lovingly” excluding other friends?

There’s a Norwegian “politician” who claims to act in the best possible interest of The People. Once she acted quite orangey in the Mediterranean Sea, claiming to put herself in drowning people’s situations. You can see her floating in the drawing.

There is an abundance of stories in this woman’s repertoire, which is too lengthy and too immeasurable to render here.

I’ve always had this naive view on authorities in my country, but why do I get disappointed over and over again?

In my imaginary world, we all get along (yeah yeah, world peace and all that cheese), accepting and cherishing each other’ differences. On a more serious notE, and in the words of Gracie-Lou Freebush:”I really do want world peace.”

Heaven? Jannah? Nirvana? Himmelen?

Does it really matter what we call it? I have used 4 question marks here. Why? Because I think it’s more about “why.”

Why can’t we accept each other’s differences? Why do we always have to say what we want, and not what someone else decides for us to say, and we have to copy it?

Why is there a problem that I’m gay? A problem that a good friend of mine is muslim? A problem that another great friend of mine is a Christian? And another is Sami.

Why do we always have to have an opinion?

It doesn’t matter. It SO doesn’t matter. That’s my opinion.

As Liza Minnelli once sang:” The World is a Stage for all of us.”

But what if “The Stage is a World for some of us?”

Being pink, being a so-called Pansy, is not for everyone. Our world is in some countries difficult, deadly, and doomed. Why? Because somebody loves someone. That’s a crime. That’s my offence.

When I was on stage, life was beautiful. When I’m off stage, life is still beautiful. For me. Being gay, pink, and wearing a pansy around my neck, is kind of no sweat where I live.

Some countries kill some of their population, just because they love someone. Just because they have committed adultery, because they have become pregnant by rape. These are private occurrences.

And these are for everyone to partake in. And it’s bollocks. Big hairy, disgusting bollocks.

I love someone. And he’s called Stefan.

Death in christianity is about ressurection and Jesus. Death in Islam is about the afterlife. Death in Buddhism is about a passage of life into death, sequentally about being reborn.

So, death is scary, most of us can agree to that. But why?

Death should be more about a finishing of a project, you look at it, you are content, or maybe even dissatisfied, but…you have done it…you have finished the project. You can lower your sholders and have a glass of wine.

Which means that one should make life wonderful ….for oneself, because you leave on your own…eventually. They may sit with you, but you´re on your own. And it´s wonderful…. Because you are the star. You matter. You´re IT.