Copenhagen's own private Log Lady

Go out! Do more stuff! Write more haiku poetry! Buy flip-flops it that makes you happy at least. Look at art until you go cross-eyed! Find the tallest chair in your house, put it in your living room, and jump down from it. Let your life take a crazy turn.

As for me, when I need to celebrate life I drink coffee at Copenhagen’s Log Lady. That’s my chair to jump down from (occasionally there is an actual chair, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves). Ok, so this is Log Lady: remember Twin Peaks? Remember the log lady? She was pretty cool, but no Audrey Horne, but that’s an entirely new subject right there. Well, the amazing coffee shop had Angelo Badalamenti in the speakers, forest wallpaper, red velvet drapes, an owl to stare at you and coffee. I’m not sure about the cherry pie, but everything else is pretty much spot on. It is, as my beloved Miss Horne would say, “just dreamy”. Also, remember in the first season when Agent Cooper said that you should give yourself a tiny gift each day? Well, if you happen to be in Copenhagen now in the near or far future, this is that gift.


Oh, and the ladies behind the counter look like they used to live at the Double R or something. They look like friendly disciples of Killer Bob. That’s what I’m talking about.

Wrote a poem about it today (yes, I feel that strongly about it). Gave it to one of the amazing chicklets who work there. Goes like this:

The obscure beauty of the drapes
entangles me into some vast oblivion
of former lives
The steam of music, the invisibility of
time that passes effortlessly
condemns the former heartbeats
Always proving shades of despair
that injects them straight into the vein

The vein, the vein

It was always the vein
forcing the art
Trespassing the lifeless borders
of precious nightmares
Thank you godless dreams
who reminded me that
we all need at least one gift a day
It could be the gift of a dreamy sway
or, as always, a landscape of the macabre
of analysis and gruesome decomposition
of handshakes and breath

Breath, breath

It’s always the breath
that put words to a halt
until all you have to do
is breathe despite zombie towns
and the knowledge
that waterfalls and one-eyed jacks
log ladies and girls named Audrey
is just a lie