(THIS ARTICLE IS MACHINE TRANSLATED by Google from Norwegian)
By: Georg Johannesen
April 1967
Everyone talks about the ugly limb. Not to mention if they haven't been in prison – and don't count the war heroes as proper prisoners. The heroic replaces the pain. Sitting there like another prisoner, it's like lying on the Lemmen, with a slight difference: Only the best prisoners have the power to get on the Lemmen. You're like most people, and then you don't get there. It doesn't concern you. The insanity is there, but you are not interested. Just like this: The room is about ten square meters, kitchen green and brown with wall bed, window with glass like foamed milk, and a few more things. Ceiling bulb, bucket with lid. You are always there and you are alone, because you are not even completely with yourself.
First, it's morning. Some come down the hall, rattle with cups and tubs, stop here and there, approaching. There is a sudden hole in the door, and breakfast is brought in: 1 piece of bread, a dice of margarine, a mug of sea-brown coffee. Afterwards, work. For example, you can line, right? You get a thick stack of cards, which you unfortunately forgot to print a few lines. These lines you can create, equipped with pen, ink and ruler. You strike, you clap, you get away from ten to fifteen cards. Outside it has become almost bright.
But then you have to. You're crazy, so just give up. You need to go to the radiator and entertain yourself a bit. Behind the radiator are the cockroaches, where you have your little Auschwitz. They are many, they are gray-brown and crisp-dry, in a moist and crawling way. Like Blessed Obstfelder, you recently found out that God is a great creator, only a very laughable gentleman could create wall animals, cockroaches, etc. God is thus a whore and you are his little monkey. You therefore take down the large board with REG-
LEMENT, the wording is as follows: A prisoner is always handsome and straightforward. He gets up when he gets up. He works when he works. He eats and drinks, and the opposite. He lays down when he lays down. A prisoner is always handsome and straightforward.
The director of the board.
(Sign.)
But it was God’s cockroaches. You turn the board with RULES, because on the back, with your little pencil you have made the following defense communication:
Cockroaches (killed):
Crushed IIIII II.
Print mesh: IIII.
Brent: IIIIII IIII.
As you can see, burning is fun. You place a match to an unlined card, a flame thrower arises, and you insert it into the brick wall under the radiator. And look, the Jews are coming out of the ghetto! They run, they stumble, they burn, they fall with tiny bangs in the floor and lie down. It's like being a German. It's like being a general.
Once you have played and the junction of today's victories on the back of RULES, it's time to clear the bucket. And then you have to "air". Down the short wall of the six-story box you live in, the stairs hang. Go up it, and according to RULES make sure there is five meters between you and the next man, as well as the previous villain. Downstairs are the guards. The big hop flows from all departments – long galleries with doors, handrails – and netting to prevent disorder and suicide. As in a church, Bergrav once said in deep admiration. (That's why the churches are empty.)
So God is a jerk and you are his little monkey.
There is a cement cage on the roof of about 20 square meters, and with chicken netting instead of roof. Up there, the guards walk on long planks and look down. You walk around, you stand still, you jump, run: Use the body. It is young and tender, and still happy in its small way. Such movements are dangerous. There may be sudden and horrible desire for women. Actually, you had forgotten it. How were women now? It was soft and warm, smelling good, with skin and stuff. It tasted like caramel pudding and symphony music. But more really like ... – You think and feel. – Hey, are you going to stay up here? Genuine human from the top of the cage. You walk out and down and get dinner in aluminum. Then you line up, sleep a little on the floor. So what? Maybe read? Every week you get three books. They come from the cell to the left of you as your three move on, and to the right. (A simple system that should be introduced everywhere. Book is book, and everything else is snobbery and delusion.) You've been lucky this week. The first book is almost legible. Novel by Christiansen. Next is about radio engineering. So be it. And then – a priest's book, a priest, something for priests, etc. You might enjoy it.
You then have body and soul, your soul is elastic. It is not in the RULES.
19 o'clock More bread, a mug of milk. 19 o'clock inspection. Today's meeting with the community. Thus: Keys. Fat man inside. Keys. You get up with an invisible hat in your hand. Fat man: "Good evening". You answer the same. Fat man studying your window. No, you haven't felt it broken with the spoon or ruler. Escape requires her husband, and you've become a chicken. Fat man looks at you. Fat man's eyes glide into your eyes. Good night, says the community. Wait a little while to answer, so the fat man's blood pressure rises. And then: Good night again! Mechanical, so that it becomes rude. Friendly, so he can't do you anything. Fat man: More blood pressure. Fat man dies faster. Keys. Fat man disappears. Keys. You've been so awake by this. A little nervous, maybe, but awake and clear like gin and water. If you think of a color, you see it on the wall. If you rub your forehead against the corrugated glass, dance small suns, stars and rockets inside. A weird universe for itself.
But then comes the steps. And two, click. And two, click. It is half past ten and the lights are off. And two, click. But here are many hundreds of lights to turn off. Therefore, it takes a while for the steps to approach. And two, click. They go down there. Now they come up. Click – Click. So the light went on. It is so. One is not always master of one's wrestler here in life. But you are awake. No one gives you the syringe or puts you in the basement until you go crazy yourself. RULES require you to sleep. You climb up the window, you climb back down, do gymnastics. Masturbate or write poems. A bit of a choice. You then have body and soul, your soul is elastic. It is not in the RULES.
Some day are you free. And so strange: You came in with a good conscience, but all punishment seems fair in the long run. There is guilt, it is looking for evil deeds, which you must therefore commit. You have become social. The brothers Cain and Abel have taken up residence in you.
