You’re born. You learn how to walk. You start school. You fall in love. You get dumped. You get up again. You fall in love again. You get dumped again. You move on. You steal a chocolate bar. You get caught. You feel ashamed. You get tired of feeling ashamed. You escape. You become an exchange student. You get into trouble. You're sent home. You fall in love. You get dumped again. You get depressed. You start a band. You think you'll succeed. You get tired of not succeeding. You become an artist instead. You think you'll succeed. You get tired of not succeeding. You become an apprentice to a painter. You accidently inhale the fumes from some poisonous paint. You are rushed to hospital.
You meet a nurse. You fall in love. You get married. You train as an architect. You get tired of drawing houses. You buy a house instead. You have kids. You get divorced. You get back together. You tell yourself it's the right thing to do. You know it's wrong. You fight to survive. You get tired of fighting. You separate again. You think about what you want to be when you grow up. You realize that you are grown up. You go back to university. You become a journalist. You get a job at the local paper. You write an article about the chemical imbalance in the local river. You write an article about the chanterelle season, which is curiously early this year. You write a piece about the newbom hippo at the local zoo.
You get bored. You get an offer to become a copywriter at an advertising agency. You take it. You're asked to write an ad about the excellent shop PAPERCUT. You write the ad as if it's some kind of biography. You don't think. You forget that the purpose of the ad is to let people know that PAPERCUT has stuff they didn't even know existed. You go to KRUKMAKARGATAN 24-26. You discover a shop that sells the edgy interior design magazine Anthology, the exotic cookbook La Cuisine and the fascinating documentary The Radiant Child. You add a sentence that breaks the rhythm of the ad.
Hey ho, let's go.
It's like a symbol for the fact that this shop offers you something beyond the ordinary. A symbol for the fact that life can be a bit more fun. A bit more interesting. A bit more exciting. Because to be perfectly honest, life isn't always that great. And that's exactly why you need movies, literature and magazines that are just the way your life isn't.
You meet a nurse. You fall in love. You get married. You train as an architect. You get tired of drawing houses. You buy a house instead. You have kids. You get divorced. You get back together. You tell yourself it's the right thing to do. You know it's wrong. You fight to survive. You get tired of fighting. You separate again. You think about what you want to be when you grow up. You realize that you are grown up. You go back to university. You become a journalist. You get a job at the local paper. You write an article about the chemical imbalance in the local river. You write an article about the chanterelle season, which is curiously early this year. You write a piece about the newbom hippo at the local zoo.
You get bored. You get an offer to become a copywriter at an advertising agency. You take it. You're asked to write an ad about the excellent shop PAPERCUT. You write the ad as if it's some kind of biography. You don't think. You forget that the purpose of the ad is to let people know that PAPERCUT has stuff they didn't even know existed. You go to KRUKMAKARGATAN 24-26. You discover a shop that sells the edgy interior design magazine Anthology, the exotic cookbook La Cuisine and the fascinating documentary The Radiant Child. You add a sentence that breaks the rhythm of the ad.
Hey ho, let's go.
It's like a symbol for the fact that this shop offers you something beyond the ordinary. A symbol for the fact that life can be a bit more fun. A bit more interesting. A bit more exciting. Because to be perfectly honest, life isn't always that great. And that's exactly why you need movies, literature and magazines that are just the way your life isn't.