WHEN SPRING CAME (THE ROAD GOES TO GOD KNOWS WHERE)

WHEN SPRING CAME (THE ROAD GOES TO GOD KNOWS WHERE)
Essay | Written by: Jakob Cæsius Krohn | Translated by: Pil Lindgreen | Tuesday, March 1, 2016

The party is over. It's the day after. It's doomsday now. It's Ole Jastrau looking at his pallid face in the mirror on the wall there, citing Pilate's words to the thorn-crowned: "Ecce Homo!". Behold the man! It's Alex Chilton waking up from the euphoria to the sight of a dead parent: ”You’re a wasted face/ You’re a sad eyed lie/ You’re a Holocaust”. It's straight-to-the-point with Iggy Pop's "I Got Nothin": ”Out of the cradle – straight into the HOLE”. It's the second icy winter in a row, and it feels endless. You are on the brink of the abyss, on the edge of the precipice. In other words, you're on Nyborgvej.

Let's rewind a bit.

The eternal Terp and I are at "Restaurant" Østerport. Right away a lady asks him for a dance. She goes by the name of Tina Turner. Everything else is quiet. I go to the bar and carefully choose a seat next to the apparently most normal individual in that waxworks. The completely petrified bartender has no name. I learn that he once, in the beginning of times, had a nasty story with drugs and since then has kept a low profile. Right after a regular comes in and whispers warningly in my ear that the woman I'm talking to is totally nuts.

Fakta has the biggest choice of jarred potatoes in the whole city, as my landlord told me. At the junk dealer I've never found something I can use, that is, except for Mark Twain's weird apocalyptic novel "A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court". The kebab-goop wasn't even attractive for my son. When the children's mother came along with a broken vacuum-cleaner at "Nalle", she was told that it would've been cheaper to buy a new one somewhere else. It's a combination of a laundromat and a solarium. From the houses' asbestos trap to Aldi's eastern German misery. Nyborgvej is just a HOLE or ...

And you philosophize about the neighborhood's name: Korsløkke. "The Crucified" and "Dionysus", as Nietzche, author to "Ecce Homo", signed his name on the edge of the precipice. With a noose around his neck? And this despite Claus Deleuran, one of the funniest men in Denmark's history, grew up here. Yes, the street has housed uncountable generations, which since the Middle Ages have been able to see the Cathedral dominate in the distance. Sorrow and joy go hand in hand. And your sweet child is walking beside you. And despite that, the sun warms a bit from the merciless March sky. And just around the corner, your new partner is waiting. In other words, you're on Nyborgvej.



Front page


This Is Odense