Anders Danielsen Lie Monologues

I always worried something would go wrong, but the things that went wrong were never what I worried about.

I'm so tired of pretending everything is okay. It sucks being in so much pain. It sucks. Everything sucks. I don't want to be a memory for you. I don't want to be a voice in your head. I want to be happy together.

You were the most important relationship in my life. You don't have to say anything. I know it's not the same for you. That's normal. You have many years left to live. But I know, I feel it. And I want you to know. You were the love of my life. You're a damn good person.

If I regret one thing, it's that I never managed to make you see how wonderful you are.

I wasted so much time worrying about what could go wrong. But what did go wrong, was never the things I worried about.

Well, you know... I kind of expected this. I'd given up long before I got sick. Really. I just watch my favourite old movies over and over. Lynch, "The Godfather Part II"... How many times can you watch "Dog Day Afternoon"?

Sometimes I listen to music I haven't heard before. But... It's old as well. Music I didn't know about, but from when I grew up. It felt as though I'd already given up. I grew up in an age without Internet and mobile phones. I sound like an old fart. But I think about it a lot. The world that I knew... has disappeared. For me it was all about going to stores. Record stores. I'd take the tram to Voices in Grünerløkka. Leaf through used comics at Pretty Price. I can close my eyes and see the aisles at Video Nova in Majorstua. I grew up in a time when culture was passed along through objects. They were interesting because... we could live among them. We could pick them up. Hold them in our hands. Compare them.

Yeah, a bit like books. That's all I have. I spent my life doing that. Collecting all that stuff, comics, books... And I just continued, even when it stopped giving me the powerful emotions I felt in my early 20s. I continued anyway. And now it's all I have left. Knowledge and memories of stupid, futile things nobody cares about.

Yeah, but I've got cancer. I'm dying. Of course I'm being retrospective.

Not for that long. In recent years. I reached a point in life when suddenly... It just happened. When... when... I began to worship what had been. And now I have nothing else. I have no future. I can only look back. And... It's not even nostalgia. It's... Fear of death. It's because I'm scared. It has nothing to do with art. I'm just trying to process.

I have imaginary conversations with you.

If we go on, I'll fall in love with you. Then it'll be too late. Maybe we should agree to... stop seeing each other. The problem is our age difference. I'm just afraid we'll fall into a vicious circle. You're much younger than I am. You'll start to question who you are. I'm past 40. I've entered a new phase. Whereas you still need time to find yourself. You don't need me waiting. You need to be completely free. I'm just afraid we'll hurt each other.

I remember these colours. They were always my reference when I drew my comics. These coulours.

If he's a kind man, then go for it. With a kind father, and you as the mother, everything will be fine.

Language opens the door to the subconscious. Freud was a great writer. He could be self-critical. He never hesitated to revise his theories. He viewed each individual patient as a research subject. Freud didn't distinguish between therapy and research. I find that very compelling. Especially these days, when scientific methodology is applied even in the humanities.

Most people have kids without sorting out their life first. They figure it out.

It started with a backache. I've had backaches before. I didn't worry. Then my skin turned almost golden. I thought I looked good. It turned out to be jaundice.

It's, you know… the butthole. The anus. His butt is smooth in the movie. This thing is gone. That's bad in my book. In underground comics you shit, you puke, you fuck and all that stuff. Bobcat is a wild cat in a world of domestic cats. He's a rebel against the bourgeoisie. One of the most iconic buttholes ever.

The World I knew has disappeared.

I lied and said I forgot my sunglasses.

It will get better. Everything will be alright.

Except it won't, you know.

Look at my life. I'm 34 years old. I've got nothing. I don't want to start from scratch.

He taught me to bike, row, how you can exceed speed limit by 20% without getting busted. 60 at 50, 108 at 90. She spoke of adult matters in English. She taught me to always floss. To put things back where they belong. They hated reactionaries, but waited years before buying a VCR. They were both from Oslo, remembered places we passed. Slightly deaf, he insisted on hearing the absurd: What do you think is best? Got waffles on your chest? They thought intellectual achievement was superior to sports success. They were sympathetic to celebrities who protected their privacy. They made me a critical reader, comtemptuous of the less eloquent. But anyone i brought home got a warm welcome. They never missed the evening news. He took a test, then proudly told us he had an artistic personality. He said people who valued military experience were dull. She held a tolerant view on drugs. He wanted to ban barbecuing in parks. Democracy was just the best alternative. She thought Bardot should help people, not animals. They respected my privacy. Maybe too much. They taught me religion is a weakness. I don't know if i agree. They never taught me to cook or to build a relationship, but they seemed happy. They never told me how friendship dissolves. Until you're strangers, friends in name only. They let me be picky about food. She said I could do as I wished. Decide what to be, who to love, where to live. They would always help me. They were stricter with my sister than me.