Tinet is a cartoonist, illustrator, letterer, graphic designer, editor, translator and pig-keeper.



Other parts of Tinet's internet presence are, for instance:

The main website



Another blog



The Blog of Swine



Chirayliq



and some photos on Flickr



   

<< October 2005 >>
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Favourite entries

Photography:
¤ Mum and Ainur were visiting
¤ Sunny Saturday
¤ Cheap thrills
¤ Labour Day
¤ Definitely no Sergei Elmgren III
¤ Mum was here
¤ Nordens ark
¤ Cool weather today
¤ Piggies in my bed
¤ Black & white
¤ Two collages
¤ Bankhar mä!
¤ Lilac skies
¤ Kickass industrial sites
¤ Mayday
¤ Views from Pankow and a backyard
¤ Kugelblitz & cuddly 'street art'
¤ Shameless exploitation of workers and communists
¤ Berlin, Berlin
¤ Cuteness
¤ More Berlin
¤ Ouch, my feet ...
¤ Frosty collage
¤ Another fine old house hits the dust
¤ Horror and pigeons
¤ The smooth sides of houses
¤ Streets of Lund 2006
¤ Hungry for Hills
¤ Skärhamn
¤ Foggy sun
¤ Furry puppies
¤ Snow and a sleeping little baby
¤ Around the railway tracks in Lund
¤ The moon
¤ Lund in October
¤ The steaming sea
¤ Misc. scenes from Orust
¤ Territorial disputes
¤ Road Trippin'
¤ Sergei's tail
¤ Yellow
¤ The sleepy kingdom of Princess Mitsu
¤ A house, graffiti and a rook
¤ Green
¤ Feather canyons everywhere
¤ Sky and earth
¤ Misc. perspectives on Orust
¤ Mushrooms
¤ Fauna
¤ Flora
¤ A window
¤ Green landscapes
¤ My babies
¤ Dead house
¤ Dead elk
¤ Views on our home
¤ Pictures from a spontaneous cycling tour
¤ A parking lot in Malmö
¤ Twilight sky
¤ A once nice house
¤ Serpieri, the flying pig
¤ Yukata madness
¤ Rundown allotment garden
¤ Bristly!
¤ Furry!
¤ Home
¤ Dead animals
¤ Ängavallens gård
¤ Gothenburg
¤ One of the 2-3 pictures that actually came out perfect
¤ Where animals travel to their death
¤ Winter in Kävlinge
¤ Orient and Occident - blurry concepts!
¤ My baby is such a tease
¤ Eggs are interesting
¤ Here's the wuffie!
¤ The Carpathians
¤ Anti-kitsch
¤ Sunset over Kävlinge
¤ My cuddlymunchkins
¤ Streets of Lund
¤ Food

Dreams:
¤ Elephant digging up old bones + a burglary
¤ MSU in my subconscious
¤ Bad puppy
¤ The mansion
¤ A dream of menstruation in Sin City
¤ My dreams are so nice sometimes (aka Russian Policewoman)
¤ Desperately trying to reach MGU
¤ Blood, devastation, death, war and horror dream #6
¤ Family life
¤ Dreams, bloody dreams
¤ I need a sword
¤ Tony Blair & Lenin haunt me

Stuff:
¤ My thoughts on the presidential elections in France
¤ Just google it! - Nana version
¤ Meat has it all
¤ The amazing world of Swedish copyright laws
¤ Anna Politkovskaya
¤ It's about time we all get out and vote for love!
¤ Bilal's Nikopol vs. Moore's Promethea: Being possessed by gods and forced to have sex in comics
¤ Tinet's kitchen of pain
¤ The hymen is an evil MYTH!!!

¤ Gouache
¤ Pigasso paintings
¤ The Light comes from the Right
¤ Some kind of Valentine
¤ 2006 - a card and a snow Mitsu
¤ Serilda
¤ Standing on eggshells
¤ Mmm ... surströmming
¤ Rudolfo from the rapeseed fields
¤ The freedom to not choose
¤ Red China Comics
¤ Till alla svenskjävlar som inte klarar av att sätta komma i ert eget språk
¤ The Kostroma Elk farm
¤ The boob diaries part 4 - conclusion
¤ The boob diaries part 3
¤ The boob diaries part 2
¤ Breast cancer can be fun
¤ Why can't I wear a skirt and still be one of the guys?
¤ Garlic update #2
¤ Garlic update
¤ EU garlic is no good against vampires.
¤ I want to learn Maltese!
¤ Dirty men in the public library
¤ The marvels of life #4637
¤ My new life as a one-armed bandit
¤ Severiina exposed
¤ Severiina - a tale of an obsession
¤ On drawing techniques
¤ TschöRmen
¤ I might be going insane.
¤ 15 reasons




Some favourite blogs:

artifex
Baci dalla provincia
Кладовка
Saunahoney
Yellow Peril







Nyt on yö.
Minä kuljen yksin
tyhjiä katuja.
En tiedä, mihin olen menossa,
hyvä kun tiedän mistä
olen tulossa,
ja ruumiissani
soi tuhat kaunista ja
voimakasta sävelmää,
minun koko menneisyyteni,
ja silmissäni loistavat
tuhannen ihmisen silmät,
silmien takana tuntemattomuus,
tätä naista ei tunne kukaan,
se ei ole vielä täysin syntynytkään,
ei kukaan tiedä
mitä se on tulevaisuudessa.


- Mirka Lattunen



Necuvintele

El a întins spre mine o frunză ca o mână cu degete.
Eu am întins spre el o mână ca o frunză cu dinţi.
El a întins spre mine o ramură ca un braţ.
Eu am întins spre el braţul ca o ramură.
El schi-a înclinat spre mine trunchiul
ca un umăr.
Eu mi-am înclinat spre el umărul
ca un trunchi noduros.
Auzeam cum se încetineşte sângele meu suind ca seva.
Eu am trecut prin el.
El a trecut prin mine.
Eu am rămas un pom singur.
El
un om singur

- Nichita Stănescu



Kunst ist nicht ein Spiegel, den man der Wirklichkeit vorhält, sondern ein Hammer, mit dem man sie gestaltet.

- Karl Marx



The Hermit’s Song

A hiding tuft, a green-barked yew tree
Is my roof,
While nearby a great oak tree keeps me
Tempest-proof.

I can pick my fruit from an apple
Like an Inn,
Or can fill my fist where hazels
Shut me in.

A clear well beside me offers
Best of drink,
And there glows a bed of cresses
Near its brink.

Pigs and Goats, the friendliest neighbours,
Nestle near,
Wild swine come, or broods of badgers,
Grazing deer.

All the gentry of the county
Come to call!
And the foxes come behind them,
Best of all.

To what meals the woods invite me
All about!
There are water, herbs and cresses,
Salmon, trout.

A clutch of eggs, sweet mast and honey
Are my meat,
Heathberries and Whortleberries
For a sweet.

All that one could ask for comfort
Round me grows,
There are hips and haws and strawberries,
Nuts and sloes.

And when summer spreads its mantle
What a sight!
Marjoram and leeks and pignuts,
Juicy, bright.

Dainty redbreasts briskly forage
Every bush
Round and round my hut there flutter
Shallow, thrush.

Bees and beetles, music-makers,
Croon and strum;
Geese pass over, duck in autumn,
Dark streams hum.

Angry wren, officious linnet
And black-cap,
All industrious, and the woodpecker’s
Sturdy tap.

From the sea the gulls and herons
Flutter in,
While in upland heather rises
The grey hen.

In the year’s most brilliant weather
Heifers low
Through green fields, not driven nor beaten,
Tranquil, slow.

In wreathed boughs the wind is whispering,
Skies are blue,
Swans call, river water falling
Is calling too.

- Unknown old Irish poet








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Tuesday, October 18, 2005
The mansion

I'm right now reading "The Good Terrorist" by Doris Lessing, where a bunch of wannabe revolutionaries squat a big old dilapidating house, and the main character works hard to make the house fit for living in. Some elements of that book seem to have snuck into my dream last night.

I was riding on the bus, and a woman dressed like a Finnish Gypsy sat down next to me. She didn't have any ticket, but I helped her avoid getting a fine when the controller came (I don't remember how, but it was in any case successful). The woman was happy, and started to talk with me. We had a lot of things in common, and we got along quite well, beyond the superficial level. When I mentioned that I was looking for a place to stay, and was getting pretty desperate, she invited me to come stay with her family in the big uninhabited mansion they were about to settle in. They had already arranged all formalities with the municipalities and were in their full right to live there - the only possible problem was that the house wasn't in the best of shapes.

I agreed, and came along to look at the place. It was a very old house that had been a quite amazing building once. On the entrance floor, there were two kitchens in pretty good shape, a gigantic dining hall with amazing ornaments in the roof, a room with the entire walls covered with yellow mosaic tiles, and three bedrooms with deep blue walls with two adjacent bathrooms.

I was subconsciously looking for a room for myself, and these bedrooms were so close to each other that I assumed they would be much better suited for members of the woman's large and noisy family. So, I climbed the broad stairs with their soft chestnut wood railings to the second floor.

It was in slightly worse condition - there was a big hole in the floor in the middle of the big hallway, and, well, for some reason the hallway was full of hay, like a hay loft (?!). But there were a couple of rooms that were in quite good shape. What's more, they seemed to be somehow built of parts from ships (this must have been inspired by the Moomin house built by Tuulikki Pietilä, Pentti Eistola and Tove Jansson). It was quite clear to me that it had to be one of these rooms.

Before I could decide which one, I spotted a very old woman through a hole in a wall. I went to her to introduce myself, and she was overjoyed that someone was finally moving in. She had been the house-keeper for the people who lived there before, and didn't have any place to go when they moved out and fired her, so she stayed in the house. She was chattering on happily and wanted to convince me to let her be my housekeeper, when the woman who was the actual new owner came in. The old woman took one look at her Gypsy clothes and her swarthy children running around, and she was suddenly ice cold. My new friend was quite used to this kind of stuff happening, and acted like she didn't mind much, while I tried my best to make the old woman soften up and see the people behind the appearance. Still, the old woman wasn't sure whether she still wanted to be our house-keeper, but we assured that she would of course get to stay in the house, like she always had.

Then, one of the children almost fell into the big hole in the floor, and we were barely able to rescue him. After he had calmed down, we had some dinner, and while I was helping my new friend wash the dishes afterwards, she started to complain about this everlasting discrimination she was facing, and how she saw no way out of it. I said I thought the old house-keeper would warm up by and by, and that everything would be all right, but my thoughts were already drifting towards the rooms on the second floor again - I still hadn't chosen which one would be my room ...

Then I woke up.

Posted at 9:27 am by turukhtan

 

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