Michael Henrik Wynns skrivedagbok

[SVK]

God jul!

[Michaelhe]

The doors to the emergency ward are flung back open, a team of paramedics rush a bed through the entrance. There is murmuring everywhere, the nurses are confused. Something like this has never happened before. What should they do?

The bed moves down the corridor at great speed towards the operating room, and everywhere curious doctors and nurses pop out to see the celebrity. Heavy breathing, drips, extra bottles are brought in from cold storage, hard heels click and clatter against polished floors.

There on the operating table, finally, lay the notorious dr Mengele, ready for his bypass. Suddenly everyone turns, and falls quiet as the masked surgeon enters and preps. Then he lifts his hands, rubber gloves are strapped on and he approaches the unconscious psychopath holding a scalpel, its sterile steel glimmering in white light. As the sharp edge makes the first incision, small viscous drops of blood appear, and are quickly removed:

Drops of sweat are wiped from the forehead of the chief surgeon who suddenly whispers to the nurse:

“It is very important that you that you learn to that quickly, nurse, because at THIS hospital we provide only one type of treatment: the very best.”

Endret 21. januar av Michaelhe

[Michaelhe]

“When Ibsen’s Nora married Hitler”, a poem by Michael Henrik Wynn

There you are, you creep,
In polished boots and mighty uniform,
smiling while all those Jewish mothers weep
Well, let me tell you something:

I fiddle and nit in my lonely chair
while you worship dislikes.
Am I to believe that you do not even care
for the only creature to ever love you?

Well, Mein Fuhrer,
dismiss my dinner, if you dare!
What do I care if the front has fallen?
What does it mean to me that parliament is dissolved?

There will always be another invasion!
There will always be something else to gas!

Your Wolf’s Lair stinks of other women!
While armies march, OUR time is running out
because I don’t believe one word
of Himmler’s excuses! Not ONE word!

So this is it, Mein Fuhrer,
Our own Reichstag is burning,
and I am moving to Buenos Aires.
Forthwith!

“But, mein libeling….”

[Michaelhe]

 

[Michaelhe]

I re-recorded my first translation from Norwegian and added AI video. You can what a game changer Ai is. The audio track is, however, just myself.  

 

[Michaelhe]

An audiobook produced by historyradio.org. Michael Henrik Wynn reads "A Tale of the Sea" by Alexander Kielland (1849-1906), one of the most famous Norwegian realist writers of the nineteenth century.

he live stream of the Historyradio.org 24/7 literary net radio stream is available online at the website, or via phone apps.

[Michaelhe]

Jeg har gitt denne ut som ebok også: 

https://ebok.no/lydboker/ukategorisert/where-an-anchor-drops-alexander-kielland-9788785262233/

ISBN 9788785262233

 

Endret 28. mars av Michaelhe

[Michaelhe]

I have quite a lot of fun ridiculing conservatives. But in order to be fair, here i am ridiculing liberals like myself. This character I have even named after myself in order to make it clear. We all have flaws and weaknesses, and most of us know this very well. The jokes are-the way I see it- old. So it is a sort of aggregation of prejudices. The image is Ai generated. But I am the narrator. 

 

[Michaelhe]

Fair trial

A judge- after having seen several documentaries on inadequate reparations in the wake of the slave trade and the conquest of the New World -has ruled that several surviving pharmaceutical CEOs should be sentenced to weekly injections of thalidomide and DDT. He got the idea, he said, after “reading a book about a medieval arsonist who was subsequently burnt at the stake”. He has also suggested that drug pushers be administered heroine, that those who beat their wives should be regularly beaten themselves and that pedophiles be gang raped. “Only if we make the punishment fit the crime can fairness be achieved”, he told the press. “How can they complain? The charges were specified in the indictment, they had legal counsel, and no heroine was administered, nor any man gang raped, until AFTER a lengthy appeal process!!”

 

Endret 22. juni av Michaelhe

[Michaelhe]

A Minister’s Purlieu, a poem by Michael Henrik Wynn

“Alahu Ackbar! God knows I tried”,
wheels squeak, his meter dies and a driver sighs,
gliding slowly to a halt by the National Assembly.

But no rest for the weary, no food for the hungry.
Resurrect your engine, Muhammad!
“To the Airport, pronto!” “But Sir, my lunch….”

“What is a lunch compared to matters of state?
The Chancellor of the Exchequer has entered your taxi, brother!
I am your God, Muhammad. Step on it!”

So Muhammad, by the bidding of the almighty,
does his duty for his new country, valiantly braves rush hour,
and like Don Quixote fingers and yells for a noble cause.

But also- like Don Quixote- his hubris collapses
in a mist of exhaust, dead in lane number five,
a side effect of budgetary economies.

“I am very sorry, Sir, the meter is running,
but a humble driver cannot overcome
the will of the almighty.”

“Yes, yes”, says the suited politician with a smile:
“It will be expensive, so taxes must be raised, my friend”
“That is not funny, Sir! Not at all funny!”

Then God reprimanded Muhammad:
“You ungrateful! Who are you to question your betters!
Bow your head in shame, and beg forgiveness!”

“I am sorry, Sir, I forgot who you are,
you must forgive me for being presumptuous.”
“I forgive you, dear voter. It is not your fault, I know”

“Well, now that we are friends,
I will tell you the long story of my life”
And long it was- in genealogical detail.

So it fell upon the meekest of the meek,
to inform the powers that be
about the cooking of falafel- and great profit.

“Surely, mining in Burkina Faso cannot be what you say?”
“Yes, Sir, 2000% increase! Allah be blessed!
I sell neither camels nor bacon! I am a very honest man!”

The minister paid, and God reprimanded Muhammad:
“You have been presumptuous, you have been annoying
You must tell him you only want a modest tip.”

Now day followed day without distinction,
and the minister faded into memory.
Until a Government investment crash was proclaimed

Could it be so? Who was responsible?
There was no need to worry, a secretary was sacked.
And then another, and then the minister divorced.

But even great sacrifices did not please the almighty,
and a man with sunglasses and a trench coat entered,
and declared Muhammad an agent.

Then the man left, and God reprimanded Muhammad:
“You fool, a powerful man will have no heir,
And it is your fault, you are shunned forever!”

And so it was that Muhammad fled his home,
and slept on his cousin’s sofa.
And then for half a year imposed upon another ten.

Until one day, after long last,
the minister was chased from office by his own purlieu,
and the Mosaic commandments of red tape.

“Alahu Ackbar! God knows I tried”,
wheels squeak, his meter dies and a driver sighs,
gliding slowly to a halt by the National Assembly.

But no rest for the weary, no food for the hungry.
Resurrect your engine, Muhammad!
“To the Airport, pronto!” “But Sir, my lunch….”

“What is a lunch compared to matters of state?
The Minister of Defense has entered your taxi, brother!
I am your God, Muhammad. Step on it!”

So it fell upon the meekest of the meek,
to inform the powers that be
about peace in the Middle East and the nuclear deterrent.

Endret 15. august av Michaelhe