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Thor Carlskov  Journalist | Copenhagen | Denmark | Streets | Landscapes | Ghosts | Storytelling

Back alley worker having a smoke in the last light of the day, thoughts interrupted by tourist taking pictures

South view dusk at midday from the colonnade of Saint Isaac’s Cathedral

Back in the USSR 🎸 Peter and Paul Fortress on the icy banks of the Neva

High noon at 55° north.

Meanwhile an army of crows descended on a big old tree nearby, screaming hoarsely and making one hell of a ruckus, dozens and dozens of them. A group of magpies joined in the cacophony with their harsh raspy machine gun chatter. It sounded like something out of Dante’s Inferno. The reason for the commotion was flapping about on the top branch of a rowan bush: a crow had gotten one leg tangled in the cotton string of a small tin lantern. It might have been eating the wax of a candle in the tin box when something spooked it into making the fatal mistake of being caught in a noose. In the mighty autumnal canopy of the old beech tree a hundred mortified brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts and elders and unrelated shopkeepers and teachers and scribblers and fiddlers and adulterers and nest plunderers had balcony seats to the desperate scenes playing out as the panic stricken crow flapped about fighting for its freedom, and, as it were, for its life. The group of magpies was even closer, hopping about excitedly in another rowan bush just a few feet away from the unlucky crow, apparently waiting for their arch enemy to die a terrible death and turn into a thanksgiving feast. Or maybe they were just enjoying a big meal of schadenfreude; maybe they had gotten the idea of eating the candle first, and then the damned curious thieving crow had come by and had driven them off. The crow was hanging upside down by now, exhausted from minutes of desperate flight attempts. There it hung for a while, black beak down, thinking about the prospect of either tearing off its own foot or being eaten by magpies. The winter had not even begun yet, and how long would those cold months get for a one-legged crow? The magpies drew close, sensing the end was near. Some of the crows in the beech tree rose against the sky and flew away. They could not stomach the thriller unfolding. But then, with one final frantic upheaval of feathers and wings and desperate screaming, the entangled crow broke loose and took off like a bat out of hell across the cemetery and over the wall, a tin lantern dangling like a giant piece of jewelry from one of its feet. And all the spectators fell silent.

Spot the heron

There is no such thing as directions, said the fisherman

Been admiring this statue for 20 years without knowing who she was (nor who the artist was). Time and corrosion has delt her a wonky eye, which gives her a quite peculiar look upon closer inspection. A search on heritage sites reveal that Thyra Ingeborg Viola Schmiegelow was born 1870 (one site claims 1873) the daughter of a jewish merchant and an Icelandic mother, who was an actress at The Royal Danish Theatre. 1893 she married the later CEO of East Asiatic Company (ØK), Christian Schmiegelow, and had four sons. She passed in the autumn of 1905, apparently right after giving birth to a daughter, who was named in her honor. ‘Sepulchral monument to Mrs. Schmiegelow’ by controversial artist Rudolph Tegner.

Indian summer in Copenhagen

Looking at a map of the USA the other day I zoomed in on Antelope Island in Great Salt Lake in Utah, where the mighty buffalo roam free, although ‘free’ might be a bit of a stretch in this day and age. A herd of bison in a salt lake? But of course. Then today I enjoyed a documentary about the 1990 unearthing of the most complete Tyrannosaurus Rex fossil on record, the one named Sue which is on display at The Field Museum in Chicago. The skeleton was found and dug out by a team of paleontologists on a ranch in the Cheyenne River Indian Reservation in South Dakota, bought from the rancher for 5000 dollars, but subsequently confiscated in a raid by a large force of FBI agents and troops from The National Guard. One of the paleontologists was handed a two year jail sentence after a crazy vindictive legal battle over the ownership of Sue’s bones. The mineralization of her remains had turned her into government real estate of sorts. Had the guy been convicted on all charges he could have gone to jail for 353 years, something like that. But of course. Sue was 28 years old when she died, possibly after a fight, about 67 million years ago. During her lifetime she suffered a damaged shoulder blade, a dislocated jaw, a broken eye socket, three cracked rips, a torn tendon in one of her tiny arms, arthritis in the tail and a nasty parasite attack to the face, besides gout (but of course, too much red meat). Rough times. Anyway ... I miss driving across the USA and wonder away through deserts and plains, mountains, swamps, villages, looking at the different forms of life and landscape and the American way of life. Maybe next year, or the year after that. One night out of the rain you arrive at a neon city mirrored in a swelling river, like Memphis, Tennessee, and treat yourself to a steak dinner, and you sit there wondering what this street corner might have looked like 150 years ago. 2016 photo by my traveling buddy Thomas Johansson. #storytelling #memphis #tennessee #cityscape #landscapelovers #sombrescapes #pr0ject_uno #moody_tones
#soulful_moments #everything_imaginable #the_gallery_of_magi #neon #trex #hooters

Somehow I doubt that modern racing cars will one day in 50 or 60 years seem as pleasing to the eye as these old timers that raced around Copenhagen this weekend.

Heat Wave

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