UNSTAD, LOFOTEN ISLANDS; NORWAY

The following entry contains some photographs taken on this day, followed by a transcription of my handwritten journal taken many years later. I was going to say “many moons later” originally but if you talk too much like a hippy lady you start taking too long in the grocery store. I scarcely ever go to the grocery store these days and that’s the problem with trying to make an art project like this is that these days just never are anymore. Who can keep up!?

VIEW FROM THE UNSTAD SURF CAMP LOOKING OUT OVER THE TOWN TOWARD THE SEA // IPHONE

SELF PORTRAIT ON THE TOP OF THE MOUTAIN ABOVE THE TOWN // IPHONE. TRIPOD. FISHEYE LENS.

THE SHEEP GATE NEAR THE SEA. // IPHONE.

BIKE RIDE ALONG THE ROAD THAT LEADS FROM BEACH BACK TO UNSTAD SURF CAMP.

UNSTAD SURF CAMP AND ADJACENT FARM // IPHONE

Ok…Here are some notes I transcribed from my handwritten journal on the day these photographs and video were taken. I should put some pictures of what the journals themselves look like because I like the way the sharpie handwriting looks on the drugstore Mexican school children notebooks and it should most likely be preserved for eternity but that will have to wait for another day.

10AM
I awoke and scrolled the phone. Then I walked to the camp kitchen and made a breakfast of coffee, crackers, salami, cheese, cucumber and two boiled eggs. A large, lesbian couple who were French seemed to disdain me. I didn’t like them either. They reminded me of teachers that didn’t like me in Elementary such as Ms. Keough. I then descend into a regrettable self flagellating psychological state.

!!AM
A nice Australian offered to ask Marion (who is one of the Camp’s owners) if I can trade a guitar performance for a surf board rental. (I think his name was Matty?). I was playing guitar on the front porch of my cabin. After this I made another coffee that was a bit gross with the Nescafe machine. Smoked a cigarette. Tidied room. And sat down to write but it didn’t really work. Smoked another cigarette. Then went upstairs to the deck. I watched the clear blue skies, the yellow flowers blooming in the field, the green mountain sides, and the red barn with its piled timber.

There was quite chatter in Norwegian. A couple on bicycles came up the road. The girl joked, and her voice echoed. The white Unstad Surf Camp Flag was flapping as I finally caught up on my writing. It’s not perfect but I see how engaging in artistic practice begets artistic improvement.

I think I need a nourishing meal. I’ve been eating mainly cucumbers, cheese and crackers for days now. I will see about a dinner reservation at the camp restaurant. Then maybe hike to the viking observatory peak and take some self portraits. Also I need to practice music today!

LOUD FOOTFALLS BOTHER ME
I walk quietly. This bothers the loud footfall walkers. My Aunt Elin once called me sneaky when I entered her house without her hearing. She is right. I am. I am a criminal by nature, trained since childhood to move from place to place constantly avoiding detection. I loath the sound of the footfall as it vibrates on the floor because I don’t like to be touched. I can feel the vibration through the floor and it feels like an act of aggression. I want to strike out against it. And if it is not intended as aggression, it is at the very least demonstrative of a dangerous lack of self-awareness. This should be attacked if you are a member of the wolf species.

If you go to therapy they teach you names for all your disorders. I don’t know the name for the one where you don’t like loud noises and want to attack the loud noise makers because you believe yourself to be part wolf. Then the another part, presumably the non wolf part tells you to feel badly as a criminal would. I don’t think the name for this disorder is werewolf because it does not depend upon the full moon to present itself. Psychology, like astrology always seem foolish at every hour of every day because all that’s real is blood.

4:20
A tattooed, shaved head Chef at Maude’s request gets his field guide because she sees that I am interested in the flowers. The white flowers are called Anthricus Sylvestris or Hundkäx in Swedish. The field guide was called BJÖRN URSING, FĀLTFLORA, 867 VAXTER I FARG. That means 867 plants in color.

After this I hiked to the top of the mountain. Got scared part of the way up and took photos at the top. On the way down I swam in the icey lake. Nearly had a cry at the beauty of the surroundings….the sun on the brilliant, green mountain side, standing knee deep in the cold clear water, birds flitting about in the under brush.

I picked up my bike where I’d left it at the sheep’s gate near the ocean and rode the remainder of the way back to camp. Once home I changed clothes and walked over to the dining room for dinner. Marion insisted I have the whale stew. First she brought out fresh baked bread and churned butter. Then the whale stew came out garnished with incredibly fresh sprouts of some type of garden green. It was an incredibly delicious and nourishing meal and it was nice to see Marion’s stern innkeeper face be gone, as she was proud of her work and taking care of a lost soul or whatever she saw.

After dinner I thanked her and went back to my cabin and drank two tall beers and smoked on the porch watching the sun go around the horizon. At 11:30pm, before brushing my teeth and going to bed, I practiced the following songs.

La Escondida
There is No Need to Name the Mooon
The Awakening Spirits Dream a New Day
The Wilderness is Not for Purchase
Look Up the Number
Danny Says (Ramones)
All My Loving (Beatles)
Spanish is the Loving Tongue (Bob Dylan)
Can I Sleep in Your Arms (Willie Nelson)
Muhammad Ali
Chuck Berry
Animals (needs review)
Floortje (needs review)

1AM
Bedtime.