this is my band. we make amazing songs but we will never be famous. western norway represent

telling tall tales of when i fought the samsquamch

(via facemite)

oslo i hate you

ej stakk ut på byen igår
sjølv om ej ikkje ha lyst
inne hos dej e det mørkt, ute e det lyst
junk food, dyr øl, oslo, ingenting
faen helvete satan kuk drit

sa jævla mykje dumt fordi ej va so tyst
mobilen hekje dauda, ej berre laug for du e stygg
uansett ka ej gjor, det vakje meininga å gjer dej trist
gå ut på byen og gjer det same so sist
for alltid, ej gir no faen, whatever

translation-ish:

went out to the town last night even though i didn’t want to
at your place it’s dark, outside it’s bright
junk food, expensive beer, oslo, nothing
fuck hell satan dick shit

said alot of dumb things because i was so thirsty
my mobile’s not dead i just lied because you’re ugly
go out on the town and do the same thing as last time
forever, i don’t care, whatever

please buy my music so i can buy a bus ticket home and leave this terrible city for a week.

i had a dream last night
i was an artist 
and all my paintings were famous
they put them in hotels

this isn’t my piano

i crashed out at my friends place
been drinking beer for a week now
and playing videogames

i’m a pretty good viking
in age of empires 2
aaaaah
yeah

it’s really difficult sometimes
to drown out the noise of people
to drown out the noise of fans
on mac book pro

here i wrote a bunch of sad words about how fucking sad and lonely and tired and broke i am but i deleted them because words are pointless.

yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d
yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d
yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d
yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d
yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d
yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d
yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d
yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d
yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d
yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d

yanny-boy:

perr-o-mojado:

Hahahahahahahholy shit

I actually lol’d

mira has a piano in her berlin apartment. dream apartment.

sup berlin.

1. sit in a tiny wooden box suspended exactly half a metre over the hjørundfjord (google it) by 666 thin nylon guitar strings.
2. cry the red-tears of your ancestors as a blood-gift to thor (god of thunder), let the tears soak through the wooden panels and drip into the murky salt water of the north sea.
3. record your lips uttering the word “palc” with a tascam mfp-01 or a fostex if you like those more, preferably on repurposed leonard cohen cassettes.
4. flip the tape! play it backwards.
5. bounce it down to a .wav, re-encode the wav as a 4kbps mono mp3 file.
6. layer it like two thousand times and sidechain it to a linn-drum kick.
7. instant berlin club fame

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