Waiting for Whatever

These photos are from a series I’ve named «The Punk Years». I’m not sure what we were waiting for, back when we were teens, but I guess it was for something to happen. Anything. Hopefully something cool and exciting.

At the docks… from «The Punk Years».

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Self-portrait with Mohawk

I have recently moved. Now I live in a smaller apartment than what we had, but without the wife and the brain-numbing TV.

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I had to try out some new gear and I didn’t have any models around…

I have recently moved. Now I live in a smaller apartment than what we had, but without the wife and the brain-numbing TV. She got the TV. I didn’t want it anyway. She didn’t want me, but she wanted the TV. It’s more entertaining I guess. The downstairs neighbor in the old place used to reek of cigarettes. On a regular basis he came home drunk and argued loudly with his dumb girlfriend. One time she called on the intercom and said «I’m going to the ground floor» (That’s where she lived – we lived in the apartment above). I don’t know why, but I buzzed her in. I should have asked her why the fuck she used our doorbell, when she already knew that wasn’t where she was going…
Sometimes, when they argued loudly (I’m still talking about the neighbors), they used to smash stuff. Tore down shelves from the walls and shit. Then we would have to listen to the guy hammering for days afterwards, as he was fixing up his place again. He was an annoying, but yet an interesting character and he was very friendly when he was sober.

Now that I’ve moved, I live back in the same building that we used to live in a couple of years ago. Back on the rental market. I think that we spent four or five years here last time we lived here. When my son was born, we still lived here for a few months. Now he’s two years old and I’m back. He’s back too, because he lives with me half of the time (Luckily my ex wasn’t one of those bitches that take the kid and leave), but I doubt that he has any recollection of having lived here before. It’s the same flat too, the difference is that it’s two floors higher up than last time and that the ceiling us much higher in this apartment compared to the previous one. It makes it seem bigger. Technically speaking it is bigger, but the size of the floor is still the same. It’ll be a bitch to heat up this place in the winters. I guess we’ll have to wear jackets inside.
I have a better view than before, but everything is crooked. If you put a ball on the floor, gravity will make sure that the ball rolls down to the corner of the living room…

There’s many new people in the building since the last time I lived here, so I don’t know them all yet, but I know a handful of them. The landlord has changed the doors in the hallways here. They used to have glass in them. Now they’re solid and more sound and fire-proof, but I can still fart in the hallway and blame the neighbor.
Once, I guess it must have been four or five years ago, there was this guy that was visiting someone who lived in this building. They weren’t home, but he slept on the floor in their living room.
Now, how do I know that he slept on their floor?

One night everyone in the building woke up from the smell of fire and a fire alarm going off. We gathered in the stairs, all of us were half asleep, half-naked and ugly. We located where the smoke & sound came from and I I tried to look inside, but there was curtains hanging in the windows of the doors, plus the apartment was filled with smoke, so I couldn’t see shit. I felt the door with my hand to check if it was warm, but it wasn’t. If you ever find yourself in a similar situation and the door is warm – then don’t fucking open it!!
I smashed the window with my knuckles, stretched my arm inside, opened the lock and the door.
Some neighbors ran into the kitchen, put out the fire that the pizza had started in the oven and opened the windows to let the smoke out. I went directly into the living room and found this guy sleeping on a mattress on the floor.
I grabbed him and started shaking him wildly. He woke up, totally confused, with the apartment full of smoke and neighbors, while I was shaking the shit out of him with my bleeding knuckles and screaming:
«this is the last fucking time that you make a fucking pizza and go to sleep you dumb shit!!!».

The day after he came knocking on my door. He was obviously uncomfortable, because he was blushing and he didn’t dare to meet my eyes. With a weak voice he thanked me for saving his life the night before.
“Don’t worry about it” I said, “but don’t make a pizza again when you’re drunk”.

It’s fascinating how thousands of years have shaped us into who we are, even on subconscious levels that we’re not aware about.

The self-portrait in this post is from a test run that I had with some new gear. I’m sorry that I didn’t have any models around…