Instead of the epicenter of literature Sweden: epilogue of literature Sweden

This is a cultural article which is part of Then24’s opinion journalism.

In my eyes is it important that the Book and Library Fair in Gothenburg invites everyone who lives and breathes. If this is not technically feasible, everyone who is dead should be invited. If for some reason this does not work, you should not invite anyone. That’s how I am. To paraphrase Eva Lindström: I’m not a pilot, I’m an idiot. I think everyone should join. That is my basic attitude. Book fair as collective suicide.

If I see a chain, my spontaneous reaction is that all links are equally weak. It makes me excited. I am of course talking about who will be allowed to exhibit. On the mythical floor. It’s funny that it’s called that. Not floor, exhibit. The language indicates that, let’s say an intern in Timbro’s booth is an artist. I’m exhibiting in Gothenburg next week… well, I don’t really know what to call it, performance? Iconoclasm?

It’s a shame that the Book and Library Fair in Gothenburg is in Gothenburg, by the way. It’s a shame the floor is lava (self-published). The book and library fair in Gothenburg should, according to a kind of macabre and burlesque logic, be in Sölvesborg. White trash is my trash is your trash. In my second novel, the narrator says, which, by the way, is a confused five-cell (just like Catia Hultqvist), and now I quote from the madness: “Where you borrow books, you soon borrow people”.

I think that it’s a plus that everyone visiting the fair this year is a well-educated, underpaid librarian. And that they are Christians. And that they have taped their mouths with silver tape. In protest against something touching (you can’t really hear what… the lips are, as I said, bound). And that they form a human dam against the Pacific Ocean. And that they sit down where you are not allowed to sit. And that they stand up where you are not allowed to stand.

I think that all countries on earth should be this year’s theme country, at the same time. That’s how it should be every year. I have always felt at home and inhibited in themed countries. I love when the climate hates me schematically. I am an alcoholic. I think you should withdraw beer and wine rights on the fairgrounds, like any human rights, but you should allow all other drugs. One should not only allow all other drugs, you should give them out. Free drugs for Christian librarians who are women and children. It’s okay if Christianity is self-taught. Emotional child labor is important. It’s okay if the drug is onomatopoetic, Birgitta. We know it is omnipotent.

When I was little I was so pretty, like a wreath. When I was older, I unwelcomed my way into Natur & Kultur’s subscription buffet inside Park and scooped up the gizzard

Right! I don’t think men should be allowed to visit the Book and Library Fair. I don’t think men should be allowed to read or buy books. Reading and buying are the same thing. I think men should do other things. Out with pocket! I think men should take one step back and two steps forward. Kill your darlings. I mean: show don’t tell. I mean nothing. I do not think that anyone who deals with literature should be paid. There is too much literature. I think we should dilute the role of author into absurdity. Our profession is not a profession, labor critics in all theme countries, unite yourselves. Arm’s length distance in all book factories demeans honor.

I think everyone should get the Nobel Prize. I don’t think you should beat yourself up as the (self-proclaimed) epicenter of literature Sweden, I think you should stab yourself in the heart as the (self-indulgent) periphery of literature Sweden. Or literature Sweden’s epilogue. It would be nice if it ended at some point. It would be liberating to embrace defeat. Instead of collective suicide: a collective sigh. Out of relief. the man who smiled is a 1994 crime novel by Henning Mankell.

Can you be cremated? audio books? Can one be reincarnated as Author’s Book Machine? When I die, I want to be stapled, not to be confused with Danish tape. I think that an organic network consisting of 500 relatively young adults who almost know each other should dine and give speeches in tastefully quirky ways while symbolizing a senseless, life-threatening new-age cultural elite that loves to dance like spiders after the barrel of free wine. I think porous sectarian children’s tables are underrated. Deadly and adorable are the same thing. I understand why Leonardo DiCaprio wants to be with a young writer.

Speaking of authors: I think 56 of the best of our time, including Anise Don Demina and Malin Berghagen, will each carve a poster for the climate. These protests shall be free to print. THIS WOULD CHANGE EVERYTHING. I think 56 of the worst writers of our time should do something else. I am a spider. I don’t know how to explain this to you, but last year’s paper shortage is the best thing that has happened to contemporary literature in northern Europe since Eldkvarn burned down.

I dream of a jubilee cancer record and a manic prophet who has devoted his whole life to good news. I want a blunt pen. When I was little I prayed Jan Guillou about an interview inside a toilet at the Book and Library Fair in Gothenburg. He answered no. He washed his hands. I mean: he washed them. When I was little I was so pretty, like a wreath. When I was older, I unwelcomed my way into Natur & Kultur’s subscription buffet inside Park and lapped up the gizzards. People in the industry love such vile behavior. Nature & Culture should change its name to Heritage & Environment, Love & anarchy to Autofiction & epilepsy. I think everyone should know each other. Park is and will remain Avenyn’s chromosome park. I think that nepotism should become the new people’s home. I think everyone should be on the list. Or we’ll set the list on fire! Trunk! Let’s join hands now, Modernista and the Writers’ Union, we shall overcome.

I think that the shrimp sandwich at the top of the Gothia Towers (not to be confused with the Twin Towers, rest in power) must not only be called a condom (XL), it must taste like a condom (XL). I think cookbooks should have the constitutionally protected main task of solving murders. Who killed my father? Yes, you… I don’t know, Lyric Friend?

I think ellerström’s publishing house should stop publishing poetry collections and start mass-producing caps that say “You and what kind of troll-Mallarmé?” on. I think it should be strictly forbidden to see the human. You shouldn’t turn the other cheek, you should turn the page. Let me offer some baroque universal literature criticism (the weakest link, in the comments): “There is violence on both sides, the book has two sides, and there is violence on both.”

I think free thought, I mean free energy was the very physical catalyst for the war on terror. How is the war against postmodernism going? The battle against pataphysics?

Did I say the librarians should tape their mouths shut? Forgive me. They should tape their eyes. And my eyes. Tape over and tick over are the same thing. I think that Lydia Sandgren must stand on an open stage in Room for Apathy and describe the plot of the film Rocky. Preferably chronologically. I think the Glade party should take place in a glade guarded by a corrupt guard company. How many guests can fit in a white suite?

I think that Dagens Nyheter and Expressen should share a booth and casually overuse their slogans “in the evening Expressen” and “Every morning Dagens Nyheter”. It doesn’t resemble that much Fallen angel. Love is wonderful. Love dies in the suites. Once in the suites, it dies in the suites from… I don’t know, drugs? Cancer? Civil courage? Oyster?

I think that an intern at Timbro will design Then24’s monster, I mean stand. I heard he is an artist now. Situationist on the ball. The blog became a showcase. Which culture page are you on? I’m on the bad side. It always lands with the leader side up. I misunderstood the ten second rule. I have misunderstood the concept of breakfast. I want to know who will get this year’s Crimetime Award. I hope it goes, posthumously, to The Man Who Died (the working title of the script Henning Mankell DROPPED OUT OF A CAR). I think the voting is rigged. I want all food served at the Book and Library Fair in Gothenburg to be raw and expensive before it is scattered to the wind. I want it to be a little too internal, just like a spine, sitting in the middle. Is that an airplane? Heading for the Tower of Babel?

I think free thought, I mean free energy was the very physical catalyst for the war on terror. How is the war against postmodernism going? The battle against pataphysics? The special military operation against autistic writing? I want us to join together and freeze, I mean all the translators out there. Translators are air and should be treated accordingly! Translators must breathe! I want to see fake bleeding across different borders. What the limits are doesn’t matter. It’s not that careful. These are new times now.

The donkey may be the animal world’s proletarian, but the eel is the animal world’s liberal generational portrayer. Slippery as hell. Smooth as a syringe. During a formative eel, I mean a formative year when I stood in the booth of Swedish culture magazines and read a juvenile target offense poem that sampled the gender metaphors in Ulf Lundells Jack so I could see out of the corner of my eye Tomas Bannerhed (who just won the August prize for his debut) sit and sign his book for zero people. Zero people are 500 ghosts who work with PR. Zero People is 56 pulsating pieces by the foremost writer of our time. Three poems are 14 rats.

Björn Hellberg is a pseudonym for your dreams. An army of crying Greta clones has come to tickle Ola Julén to life with her braids. I have outrageously good split vision, which I had intended to use in the writers’ national team’s match against Norway on Saturday, but Norway has left the walk over. Let’s pretend we’re not worse. I am asking you, communicate this Trojan message to the outside world: The Book and Library Fair in Gothenburg is cancelled. Then let’s set the clock back 70 years while we’re at it. Let’s dub the third novel in our epic series The Third Kingdom. Then all of us who belong to the already saved can stop, I mean expose ourselves (freed from witnesses, witnesses and readers are the same thing). Or we put our eyes in formalin. Mare Kandre was obsessed with formalin. See you in the crowd. We really are a bunch. Now we get the Book Fair in order, once and for all!

Source: Then24

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Deborah Acker

I write epic fantasy; self-published via KDP. Devoted dog mom to my 10 yr old GSD, Shadow! DM not a priority; slow response at best #amwriting #author.

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