Just saying

"In God we trust, all others we monitor."

Alene mot verdens storebror på Aftenposten.no

Stå opp for Snowden! på Amnesty.no

Where once was home

We've come through an ocean of green and only just emerged from a tangle of vegetation that was way over our heads. Ramona has already made it trough the backdoor and now I'm standing just outside the front door, which is not really there anymore. I stand there for a moment, assessing my target, but then I tentatively try the floor inside with one foot. This causes the equivalent of a small earthquake. A table by the wall quivers, a quiet warning. Not wanting to see what the rest of my force can do in this particular spot, I ease myself onto a spot further away. Coming away from the door, the floor is better.

I immediately get the feeling that this place is inhabited, but this is just the last desperate attempts of my so called «better judgment» to turn me around. Clearly, no one lives here. This home is abandoned. The newspaper on the living room table was printed some time in the sixties. The door to the room holds a clear indication of forced entry. This can be gathered from the very local, but non the less profound destruction where the lock used to be. Do you force or do you find your way? We've waited for time and nature to open the barriers of humanity, and now we are here to visit the left overs and investigate. Some visit the neatly polished gravestones of people, we visit fading parts of civilization. Visit them on their deathbeds so to speak. I personally like to investigate their illnesses, see where the floor fails first and the likes. It is also interesting to see what is left behind when people withdraw. And what is done by those who come after, like us. We play nice, but not all do.

Right next to the newspaper there is a book. It's open, waiting to be read, but neglected indefinitely. The windows all around are shattered and gone. Still, the book has seen no drift it appears. No waterdamages has been eating away at it. No nothing. It shows the beging of a chapter: “Lazarus, come forth”. Lazarus is a biblical character it turnes out. Raised from the dead by Jesus. At this point in time, I'd rather the dead did not come forth.

A few broken tones break the tense silence and sets the mood . Ramona is trying her hand at the piano in the room. It's seems only half awake, only half remembering it's own workings, or it wants a say in the melody played. Because of all the ebonies and ivories, only a selection seems to have sounds that go with them. Some sound when prompted, others stay dead silent. In the middle of the floor the is a suitecase, open and ready to be filled with all the surrounding clutter. The floorboard are a little soft, but not too soft.

Upstairs is mostly empty. Not much furniture, but the floor is carpeted by newspapers and the likes.