Michael Henrik Wynns skrivedagbok

[Michaelhe]

A light-hearted segment I made for my radio station

 

[Michaelhe]

 

[Michaelhe]

 

We all remember Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor in the movie version of Edward Albee's classic 1962 play Who's afraid of Virginia Woolf.

This short drama from a public information movie produced by a little known director called Alexander Hammid in 1954 achieves a little of the same effect, and does it so effectively, and with such a well delivered punchline at the end that I stripped the audio, and made it into an audio drama, so that it would become more clear.

I upload it under a creative commons license for everyone to use without attribution to Historyradio.org but you must attribute the original source. Also, I cut two didactic sentences at the end, which I took to be public information movie jargon.

[Michaelhe]

 

[Michaelhe]

“A Ghost Story”, by Michael Henrik Wynn
Flames flickered and spat in the night. You could see them from the road, and you also heard the laughter of the old men seated on stools around the fire. Above them the great starry sky stretched out, and the evening was chill and their breaths visible as they spoke. It was a comfort then that two of them had beer, and the third – the most hardened and eldest of the lot – had a small flask with stronger drink, which he cordially, on occasion, offered to the others.
“Have you heard that dear Jenny saw the ghost of John?” said old Peter, his animated wrinkles appeared deeper in the shifting light, as he placed a log in the fire.
“You’re kidding!” said Frank. “She has finally gone nuts?”
“I am not sure about that.”
“How did John die, I thought it was nothing, natural causes”
“Well, it may appear normal to you, and perhaps it was. But I can tell you that even what is normal is, in reality, not.” He looked at Edward and Frank, and furrowed his brows.
“What are you jabbing about? He was on his way to do something in the city, there was nothing unusual. You are full of crap”
Old Peter sighed, rubbed his hands and began:
“I talked to John that day, he was making Christmas dinner, but had forgotten to buy stuffing. And he was very worried.”
“So what” said Edward.
“And his sons were coming, and he had forgotten to ask them to bring his fishing rod. That rod was the dearest thing that John had. It was given to him by his own father, who never got time to teach him how to fish properly. But John kept on to that rod thinking it was all he had left when his father died, and that one day he was going to take his own sons fishing with it and teach them how to use it properly. But they had just placed it in the attic. And now, John had finally decided that this Christmas he would teach them all the things that his own father never had time to teach him. And he was going to ask them to bring it. Yet he forgot”.
“We all knew he was in poor health, what does this have to do with anything?”
“I am getting to that. These things put a strain on your mind, you see. Jenny had just got back from her sister's the week he died, and she said he was going through the drawer looking for something, but she never found out what it was. But he searched and searched, and opened an emptied several closets, and placed the clothing on the table before checking in every pocket. Then he discovered an old book, and realized that it had not been returned to the library, and that there might be charges unless he returned it by Friday.
“I think you need to get to the point very soon,” said Edward and offered Peter a beer, which he accepted without hesitation.
“John had just hired a workman when he died, and this expense he had planned to deduct in his tax return, as it was linked to his small business. But in order to do that he needed to ask for receipts, which he hadn’t done. So he ran over to their office that evening in the rain. Of course, he was so agitated that he didn’t bring either a plastic bag, an umbrella or a rain coat, and when he was back his receipts had been drenched and the water had made all the numbers illegible, and since it was a weekend he was planning to get it done next week. But of course, he was dead by then.
He had also begun on a new project in the garden. There was a wall he wanted to remove, as the brickwork was crumbling, and there was moss growing, which he said attracted insects and needed to be removed. This he was going to start the following month, after he and Jenny had returned from their cruise”
“They were going on a cruise? Jenny never mentioned this?”
“Yes, they had invested a fortune in those tickets. But Jenny has been so devastated by John’s funeral that she never cared about the financial loss from those non-refundable tickets. She was in no mood to go anywhere on her own. None of the children could go. And I don’t think Jenny thought much about this.”
“I thought you were going to tell us some ghost story?”
“Yes, the week-end John died there was a strange and mysterious fog. It had drifted down from the mountains, and then just settled. Jenny said she had never seen him as agitated as he was that Saturday, and he was going over taxes and books, and was muttering numbers. Then suddenly, he looked up from his desk as if he had remembered something, put on his coat and left. Jenny saw him melting into the fog from the upstairs window. He was extremely distraught”.
“He didn’t kill himself? Are you saying he died of a heart attack?
“Not really, he returned an hour later, and then they went to bed as usual.
“So he died in his sleep, peacefully?”
“No, he woke next morning, brushed his teeth and began pouring water into the tub. Jenny said she was going to join him, and when he turned to pick up a coin that he had dropped on the floor, he stepped on a bar of soap, and somehow he then hit his head on the marble sink, and Jenny found him unconscious when she arrived.”
“So he died from an accident?”
“Accident yes, but it was not the fall that killed him.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jenny called the ambulance and he was rushed to the hospital, they concluded that while he had bad concussion, he was OK to leave after they had checked him out.”
“Why are you telling us all this?”
“I am getting to that. As they were leaving the hospital, they crossed the road to the parking lot and then Jenny looks at him and says she has forgotten her purse. John then he says he would get it, turns and steps into the road..and that is when the bus hit him. He died instantly.”
“Where does this ghost enter into to this drivel?” said Frank.
“It was last Friday, just after the funeral. The moon was clear and full that evening and the air was absolutely still. Jenny had seated herself in a rocking chair by the window, and cried. She had looked at old photos, and her mind was overwhelmed by memories of those years that they had spent together. And she remembered what a kind man he had been, and how he had never yelled at her or even raised his voice. And the great compassion with which he had treated everyone in his life. Then she had climbed the stairs to their bedroom, walked over to the bed. Then she heard a noise, which distracted her for a moment. Suddenly, she felt someone nearby, a hand on her shoulder and she turned. She said he looked just as he had always looked. She was so happy she teared up.
“But what did he want? Did he say anything?”
“He had returned, he said, to remind her to pay the gas bill.”
“The gas bill!” Edward laughed. He glanced at Frank, who was smiling. “You mean to tell us that he returned from the grave because he forgot to pay his bills?”
“Edward,” old Peter said and sipped from his flask, “that is why all ghosts return to the land of the living.”

[Michaelhe]

 

Many of the early westerners who traveled in Asia were both great story tellers as well as folklorists. One of these was Lafcadio Hearn (1850-1904). In this segment, I use an AI voice and some sound effects to bring you his absolutely fantastic retelling of an ancient Chinese legend: “The Soul of the Great Bell”. The story is a little over the top, and I had great fun building on this.  
Historyradio.org is a free educational net radio stream available 24/7 online and in phone apps.

 

 

[Michaelhe]

About the - hopefully temporary - trade war with the US

Since I am so incredibly attractive and virile, most people do not realize that I am not a young man. That means that I had some experience in life, for good or bad, which may have taught me lessons that may be beneficial or rubbish.
In the early days of the internet, while i was unemployed, I began a small search engine project indexing various educational audio and video by means of a rebuilt phpdig script. Of course, back then the files were not at youtube, but in real media format etc in the websites.
That meant that I had to provide the CPU power to run the indexing script and the storage for data huge MYSQL database, which i couldn't afford. I hired an indian programmer online for basically nothing, and in the end it looked OK, but was both slow, required a lot of time consuming manual editing and tiresome. So I dropped it to become a movie blogger.
Fast forward to our present day. I saw the farewell adress by Biden, and I thought what he is saying is actually very true. All the It companies are centralized in California. Now, while California is a mythical and probably a nice place, there are some of us who think that there should be more than one brand of corn flakes in the world. This is a matter of principle. So in my mind I sketched out a small search interface, which today can be built in JavaScript and html, and rely on third party services. This is my project now. It is a search interface in which i combine the European alternatives to the large American companies. You can see that both in terms of functionality and content there isn't much that Europe does not have. The reason is that the content is not owned by google, it is owned by the consumer and the large museums and libraries. Google is a content organizer in a sense.

https://search-europe.org

When you click this you will be redirected to a temporary site, where I have the interface, while some name server issues are sorted out. I think people might be comforted to know this now that there some sort of trade war with the US. Note: this is made for a desktop, it is not mobile ready yet, even if you can access it on a phone. I haven't tested it on phones. So, it may look worse. I will fix that when the functionality is set. 

Endret 28. februar av Michaelhe

[Michaelhe]

 

[Michaelhe]

The Reward, a fairytale by Michael Henrik Wynn

There once lived a brave knight in the land of make-belief. His powers were unequaled, and after many a bloody battle he was crowned king of his people to much pomp and circumstance. He then married a virgin of dazzling beauty, and fathered three sons, each more handsome than the other. But his first born was always his favorite. So it happened that a great dragon flew over a neighboring mountain, and made a nest overlooking the fertile fields below. And every time the moon was full the beast took to his wings, and flew over the harvest setting it alight with breaths of fire. And so began a life long-struggle for the new king that wrinkled his face and furrowed his brows.

And when the dragon finally lay slain, his favorite son and wife had been counted among its victims, and he mourned for twenty days.
After that time the son next in line took pity upon his father, and through acts of kindness rekindled the old king's will to live. And then they prepared a new harvest together, and they stood on the mountain, in the nest of the slain dragon, and saw the fields gold and silver. And the king then was overcome by gratitude, and he turned to his new heir and said:
“Son, I am sorry to tell you this, but my days on this earth are about to end. I feel the sure signs in my bones, and a reading of the zodiac has confirmed my suspicion. Before the new fields are planted, I too will be food for worms.”
The new heir then said:
“But my father, you know that I have loved you with all my heart. I would not like you to die thinking otherwise”
“I know that, and that is why we are here. I have come here to tell you that I award you this whole mountain, and I want you to build here the grandest palace that any king has ever had. And you have deserved more than any person I have ever known, for your heart is purer than gold”.
“What about my younger brother? Should he not get something.”
“I have spoken to your brother, and he appreciates what you have done for me, and we both agree that no one on earth deserves such a residence more than you. He was in fact very enthusiastic, and suggested several new towers and draw bridges made of the sturdiest woods from far off places. The wheels are in motion, my son, the wheels are in motion.”
The new heir to the throne was then humbled by the great gift bestowed upon him. And while he did think that helping one’s own father was worthy of praise, he was uncomfortable with the extravagance. He then consulted his younger brother.

The youngest brother then greeted him with open arms, embraced him and said he would break stones from his own quarry at half price for the construction, and that he could hire a work force from among his men, at reduced cost. Since this was the case, the castle could be even more lavish. And he would then make their dying father the proudest of living men.

The construction took only seven months, it was a race against time, for their father grew weaker week by week. The younger brother assisted in any way he could, and the new heir, seeing that the tired monarch was approaching the end, spared no effort or expense. And indeed, before the old man drew his last breath, he did see the greatest palace ever built, and the king and his heir stood side by side and watched the fields from a height previously unknown to any mortal.

Then the old king was blessed by the gods, and died peacefully in his sleep. And the whole nation mourned the passing of the great knight that once had killed a mighty dragon. And after the mourning period was over, the youngest son, having grown rich beyond belief from the construction, gathered the huge army that lay waiting across the border, and conquered the impoverished nation, and placed his dead brother’s head on a pole. And never has a younger man moved into a grander castle -and deserved it more.

[Michaelhe]

“We don’t want commies in our yard”

In spite of what all those fancy Ivy League English professors from the Delta and Mobile keep telling you, the constitution does not mention any T-shirts in its Amendments about “bare arms”. Those who wrote our second most sacred book were visionaries, not unlike the apostles, and they knew what was coming, and therefore they empowered us in our great struggle against Woke and Big Tech. They wrote laws stating nobody can enter my trailer and tell me how to treat my wife, my children, my dog or any other creature that respects me enough to treat me as their master. I can tell you that we in the family Johnson have commanded respect in our neighborhood since the first merchantmen sailed for Africa. We survived the great dyke invasion of the 1970s. There is not a farmer hereabouts who does not lower their gaze when we enter the Church, regardless of any relationship they or their ancestors might have had to our local property registry. My grandfather told me that during the fifties no commies dared settle here, whether they had foreskin or not. I am not just writing this to tell you that we as a community need our guns to maintain a flawless tradition of law and order. I am telling you that if those guns are taken from you, Washington will start to TAX you. And it will all be so THEY can buy guns, huge battle ships, aircraft-carriers that cost billions, if not trillions, to develop. So in Washington those fancy limousine riding vultures want the money you earned through the sweat of your household- in order to buy a lot of fancy nuclear rockets that nobody needs!! I am telling you that the US military is the greatest commie project ever perpetrated on an upstanding citizen. And we all know that it is not needed because nobody has seen any disrespectful poof or commie in these parts in centuries.

Rev. James “Wiz” Johnson

[Michaelhe]

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Personal_and_business_legal_affairs_of_Donald_Trump

I'm going to tell you a very strange thing. There is something about Trump that I admire, but in order to emphasize that it is not related to his person or his policies, I am going to include a man from the opposite political spectrum, but of whom I am not that familiar. What does President Trump and President Lula have in common? They have both been convicted in courts of serious crimes, but they have still continued their career. On wikipedia you can read that Trump in his lifetime has had 4000 legal cases against him, but because there was insufficient evidence in a majority of the cases, the state could not prevent or hinder the course of his career. And in ALL the 4000 cases, he knew the specifics of the charges against him, and in all 4000 cases he had legal representation. A 300 page book published by a consortium of ivy league psychiatrists did not shift the burden of proof against him, even if it alleged that he had the worst possible personality disorder known to man. And in none of the cases were his family a target for harassment or violence. And once a document had been issued by the state, whether it spoke against or for him, there was no need to verify its validity. And the state issued no specific laws targeted at him as a person. But as i said, this also -to a much lesser degree- also applies to Lula. I must admit that in terms of policy i am probably more on lula's side. But look at the facts i mentioned concerning trump, and it is quite astonishing. .

Endret 14. mai av Michaelhe

[Michaelhe]

A new feature that I have just introduced especially for those of you from Africa, a second stream for my radio station Historyradio.org, the same content but in a much lower bandwidth. The new stream in 26 kb/s and the other in the normal player above a standard 128. Click the gray area below the old player on the website. What I read in the news these days makes me think that you are forgotten in a way. So here is something you may use, if you wish. This will be very useful for anyone with a poor internet connection, whether on a mobile phone or in Africa. I cannot guarantee that you will enjoy the content, but it is not high brow, and aimed at younger learners. I also plan to introduce more classic fiction from Africa, I just need to find it first. I am also planning to to replace some of the war related content, as there is plenty of that in the news these days.  If you experience any technical issues, let me know.

[Michaelhe]

Here is a new children's story I wrote:

 

[Michaelhe]

 

[Michaelhe]

"The Ugly Duckling", a short story by Michael Henrik Wynn

Even those who later in life became famous are born in obscurity. Some are also born in quite remote parts, and their journey to a great metropolis is sometimes accidental. Other times it is the result of hard and persistent efforts to break shackles and chains.

There was a little town in the remote parts of Norway in which there lived two friends. They went to school together, grew up in the same street and even dated the same girl at one point.
Yet, one of them in particular was very unpopular and often bullied for his braces. He was bullied for every imaginable trifle. And there are three episodes in particular that scarred him for life, and which he later described in great detail to his friend in his letters.

The first occurred when he was about ten. They had been playing in the hillside with sleds, rushing down at tremendous speed, sometimes becoming both a nuance and a danger to traffic. But what child can withstand that feeling of wind in your hair, that roller coaster as the sled hits snow and leaps through the air, and then lands in pile of snow nearby. And then of course good friends laugh, and shout:
“One more time!”
And the two friends ran for the hilltop. Yet, then suddenly, a furious man steps in front of them, his face red with rage. Then he grabs the future celebrity and slaps him across the face, and says:
“Listen you little shit. Are you aware that almost caused a traffic accident? Are you aware that you could kill yourself doing this stunt? You are nothing but worthless piece of spoilt manure, and if your God damn alcoholic failure of a father will not intervene, then certainly I will!”
Whereupon the huge frame of the man towers over the terrified child, raising his huge fist and shaking it in front of him while his teeth gnashes and his mouth drools.
And so the child takes his sled and with teary eyes flees for the woods, where he sits sobbing for an hour before stumbling home to his bed under the starry and frosty night sky.

The second was related to girls, and to that very first time, which is always so awkward and so embarrassingly short. The girl was his own age, and fat. And to facilitate access she had placed herself under the Samantha Fox poster on the bed, with quite a cute smile that almost hid her own braces. And then, just as Stock Aitken and Waterman and “I should be so lucky” started on the FM radio, he approached with the wild pants and horny roars of a tiger. Twenty seconds later it was over, and for a week she did nothing but mock him at school. Everyone made jokes about how quickly he performed his home work, how fast he entered the classroom and how he always seemed to be in a hurry. It was the most humiliating failure since national soccer team declared that they had winning potential.

The third occurred just as he started his career as a soccer player. He thirsted for revenge. The bastards were not going to beat him down. He was going to show them all that he could succeed in front of those great stadium crowds. He worked tirelessly all week, every week, and neglected all those things that others picked up along their way. He did not want to be mired down by commitments. An escape was in the works, and it demanded tremendous and persistent effort. So, he jogged, he lifted weights, he ate all those things that the magazines recommended. And he studied Karl-Heinz Rummenigge and Maradonna.
But then he was forced to take a part time job in a clothing store. For some reason he was not placed in the shop front, but in the ware house. Once every hour, the shop clerk would enter and commend him on how well he had collected trash. And the neatness with which he had cleaned the toilet. But, he insisted, he had “very long way to go” before he became as skilled as himself in those noble tasks. When he had started cleaning the toilets 30 years ago, he had been even clumsier than he was. So he had nothing to worry about about. Nothing at all. It takes time to learn mopping and scrubbing. It was not done in a flash. But if he really put his mind to it, he might -in due course- also rise to become a clerk in such a fine shop as this.

These catastrophes placed such a mark on the future celebrity that he worked even harder at his sport. He was going to make it. They were not going to hold him back, to strangle his will to live. And by a miracle, or rather by the aid of a sympathetic coach with an eye for the driven and dedicated, he did end up in a better league and finally he even rose to the National League.

As he left his childhood friend, they embraced and vowed to keep in touch and to call once in a while. Which they did, though not as often as he had promised because looking back was painful for him. Even though he loved his friend, he did not want to be reminded of the sadness, of never ending loneliness and his own alcoholic father. But he forced himself to write occasional letters, in spite of his hectic and exhausting schedule.
And then he was blessed with a family and two gorgeous children, and life could not be better. And one day, he reached the finals of the League, and at the most crucial moment he made the deciding goal, a perfect ball in the top right corner. The crowds roared as he lifted the trophy and he was front page news.

It was then - when the cheering had subsided - that his mind turned to his old friend. And for some mysterious reason he felt a longing to return to see the place where he was born, the road in which he had played and the house in which his late father had neglected him. Because now he was somebody!
And he had allies, they played in his living room, and she lay next to him every night.

And so it was that the great soccer hero announced his return to his place of birth.

The train whistled, and slowly wound its way through the narrow valley. And then the village appeared before him in the distance, and he recognized all those places that he had banished to memory. And when the train with a hiss and a jerk drew into the station, he saw his childhood friend waiting and waiving. And he ran across the platform and gave him a good hug.

“You know, John. I felt so bad leaving you. It was as if I had deserted you in this godforsaken place. But I had no choice, this village was not healthy for me. You may hate for saying this..?”
“No, that is quite OK. I managed somehow. While you were gone, I watched all your soccer matches”
“Not all of them, surely?”
“Every single one!”
“Well, if you say so” he said and smiled. “Where will I be staying. Where do you live now?”
“A little secluded unfortunately”
“I can’t wait to see it, do you have a car?”
“Yes”

And so the two friends laughed, and then they drove his remote but quite large villa.
“Before we enter, I must tell you that I reread every letter you sent me, and I noticed the three events that you say drove you from town. And decided that I cannot afford to lose you again. So I did something about it.”
“You did?”
“Yes, it is a surprise.”
They slowly climbed the wooden stairs, entered the large dark hall way, and then his host said:
“Behind this door, you will find that I have solved all your problems. So you will never have to leave again.”
Then the oak door to the living room squeaked open, the light was turned on and in the center of the room three corpses dangled from the ceiling.

“These are the people who ruined your life, my dear friend. I swore that I would never let them drive you from me again. So I did something about it. Just like you did.

But where are you...but you have fainted…?”

[Michaelhe]

Annoying old crime novels

In these old crime novels from 1900-1920, Raffles or Arsene Lupin leaves this monogrammed glove in the safe of the old fat aristocratic woman with a mink coat, and then the detective walks around the ball looking for the person with a false moustache. In stead of trying to find out who did it.
And then in some books, the villain sets up this huge alibi PRIOR to the crime, and then expects that it will not be noticed. I wrote this text once called "Live on radio" in which I tried to make fun of this plot device. You will find it in this diary.

[Michaelhe]

Problemer med min bolig i Danmark

For tre måender siden ble min husleie satt ned, deretter økte alle min utgifter med flere tusen kroner ved vannregningen eksploderte. Det kan være relatert til noe teknisk, men dersom det ikke er det må jo noen gå inn i boligen i mitt fravær og sette på vannet?
Det er jo påfallende at leien sank og SÅ ekploderte utgiftene. Naboene her i Danmark er kan gjøre nesten hva som helst. Det er nokså spesielt.

 

 

Endret 27. oktober av Michaelhe