Adam Christensen

You don't treat me like you should

28 March22 April 2017

Opening: 27 March, 6pm

at OUTER SPACE

FuturDome, Via Giovanni Paisiello 6
20131 Milan

It was snowing as I landed back in Bergen. Cold wind. Warm tears on my red cheeks. Pick-up with a sign. Car filled with musical instruments. Musicians. A journalist. Event organizer. Booking agent. Jetlag. Hunger. Melancholia. I had forgotten my wig. I was taken to a huge costume shop. Two floors divided into section. Hair was in the basement. I bought a long blue wig. Mellow.
Last time I was in Bergen it rained every day. Genorious Reese was lying on the bed. T-shirt. Briefs. Phone in his hand. He tried hiding his erection. My clothes soaked from the booze run. I got undressed. Sneaked under the duck feathered duvet. Reese put his phone face down. Laid his head on my wet chest. I didn’t cuddle him this time. The erection wasn’t for me. We hadn’t kissed since we arrived. Two days left. His phone beeped. I got up. Went for a shower on my own. Combed the dust out of my wig. Pre-party in the air-b&b. I played George Michael on the record-player. Father Figure. The record skipped.
Till the end of….
Skip
Till the end of…
Skip
Till the end of…
I gave it a nudge with my bulky high heel.
tiiimme”
Experimental techno at the club. Tall bearded Norwegian man pulled me close. Daunting eyes. Soft. Our bodies swaying together to unpredictable beats. He was new in town. Philosophy student. 10 years in the wilderness. Casting steel in a remote factory. His spare time was spent on slay pulled by dogs. Reading by the fire. I pointed out my boyfriend across the room. Leaning against the wall. No eye contact. Busy texting. That night he told me it wasn’t working out between us anymore. I sat on the edge of the bed. Reese told me not to cry. His hand was like fire. Scolding the skin on my back. I got dressed. Walk around town. Parts I hadn’t been. It was raining. Cooling.
In the morning everyone had left. We were alone in the flat. Last day before the Ferry to Denmark. Clear skies. We went to the mountains. Take away coffees. Complicated route. I stopped to cry once in a while. We reached a lake. Sat by the water. A warm breeze. Tried to talk. Continued further up. Lay on cliffs. Watched our ferry entering the waters below. We took the easy walk down.
We dumped our luggage in our cabin with ocean view. I dressed up in a long dress. Heels. Sat in the royal chairs by the bar. Bingo. Live entertainment. Disco. A couple dancing to “walking on sunshine”. We went out on deck. Danish truck driver from my hometown. Heading towards Germany. The three of us shared a long fat doobie. He gave us some more in a little pouch to smuggle with us. Powerful stuff. It wasn’t the boat rocking no more. I swayed down the long corridors. Reese not following far behind. Every door looking the same. Numbers didn’t exist. Reese sorted us out. For the first time we kissed. Long nails scratching red tracks in the valley of bum cheeks. I stopped breathing. Passed out. Entangled. In the morning the Norwegian rocks had vanished. Flat Danish landscape in the near distance. I climbed on top of the morning glory that once belonged to me. Reese pretended to sleep. I came over his hairy chest. Didn’t bother making him cum. Packed my bag. Tipped our suitcases on to sandy beaches. Dug our hands into the cliffs of clay. Covered our naked bodies with it. Dried out in the sun. Flakey grey. Cold saltwater dip. Found my first ever piece of amber. Rolled a spliff in the grass dunes. A dead shrew lay hidden. Its teeth clinging on to a straw. Impossible to separate. Reese was stroking a caterpillar. Furry yellow with black. Resembling Reese’s black spiky mane. We climbed the spiral steps to the white lighthouse. Panorama. Below trenches forming a labyrinth. Leading to concrete bunkers. Dark isolate spaces. Graffiti. Rank piss. By the harbour we ate traditional Danish fish cakes. Served with homemade remoulade. Jumped on the train towards my mothers’ house. Journey interrupted halfway by the lady behind us. Her first train journey on her own since being released from a psychiatric hospital. Crisps, liquorish, medication. Flying in and out of her handbag. Through the air. On the floor. Constant flux of mood. Young Danish girls on their phones freaking out. In the end the police escorted the lady off the train with the promise to drive her to her destination. Arrival.
Our first night was spent at my sister’s new house. Recently separated. In the morning she dropped us off at number 23. The house I grew up in. My mums flung open the door. Tears in their eyes. They both squeezed Genorious Reese. My boyfriend. The pretender. They served freshly brewedcoffee. Weak. Cinnamon buns. While they prepared lunch Reese and I went for a walk. I took him to my old college. Vejen Gymnasium. Brick building in the shape of a capital H. Old graduation pictures on the wall. A 20 year old version of me. Huge smile. My old tutors arrived back from a guided tour about the industrialisation of Vejen. I didn’t get past them without being recognized. Funny weird me. How the future had shaped. Towards town I took him through the sports centre. The old badminton hall. The shooting range in the basement. The old boozer. The cinema. Now a clothes store. My grandparents pharmacy. Now a Thai restaurant. I used to run straight for the liquorice roots. Begging. We followed the blue arrows guiding the way to Vejen Kunstmuseum. My earliest memory of Denmark. Giant white marble sculpture. Man tied to a rock. My first love. My mums served open Danish sandwiches on rye bread. Another cup of coffee. A cigarette in the kitchen. Old pictures. Old stories.
Back in Bergen Oykong lee pushed through the cramped crowd. Dragging the cello acroos the marble floor. Scratch marks. Blue lights. Trumpets blowing through the open pores of my skin. Skeleton shivering. Blood boiling. I went back up the mountain. This time alone. A fag. Take away coffee. I reached the highest point of fløjen. Off track. Strong winds tearing the eyeballs from the sockets. Dry lips. Cracked. Tasted blood. I sat listening to the emptiness. Unzipped my jacket. Flapping. Wiped my cheeks. Dangling from my right ear, a small silver plane. I had given it to Genorious Reese. The one I know only as silent boy in the dragon t-shirt. I had reclaimed the jewellery in a heartbroken state of hysteria. Not to his knowledge. Down the mountain I explored the alternative route. Steep rocks. Climbing. Hanging. Clutching onto branches. Reaching a flat clearing. Path through moss. Illuminating green. A brown squirrel. Another cigarette. A manmade dam. Residential blocks. Costume shop. This time I purchased the red bob. Deadly. Powerful. Classic. Who’s gonna fuck with me now ey?