The Blue Pill.

[BIAD]

This may have happened to you, a moment when you look around and wonder what the hell has happened
to the system you've always accepted as normal.

Today's news reports will always twist an actual account for reasons that are many and in these worrying days
of cynical, biased reporting for the sake of ratings, we can sometimes see that an overall general view is lost
in the narcissistic drafts of Journalists trying to carry a narrative.
Like it, agree with it or not, it's just life.

But when a crime is reported and for various legal reasons the formation of an informative article is muzzled,
is it still fair to a reader to offer such a story as below...? Ignoring the almost 'Once upon a time'-style at the
beginning of the article, it seems that reporting the death of a Swedish Journalist strangely manifests into a
semi-advertisement of a art event.

Maybe it's just me and I don't see how a killing, a dismemberment of a human in a submarine and a attempt
to dispose of the parts, connects to naked people dancing around for the sake of 'creative artistry'
Again, has the world changed?!!

From The Guardian:

A Copenhagen killing: the story behind the submarine murder.

'A bearded Icelander in a boiler suit starts pounding the exposed strings of the disembowelled piano in front of him,
and the space below deck begins pulsating with distorted, echoing rhythms.

To transform the sound, the man’s plucking and palming is being run through a laptop, an iPad and other electronics
by Andreas Wetterberg, a member of Illutron, a floating art collective moored off the Copenhagen peninsula of Refshaleøen.

But the piano is just the beginning. “Things are only going to get crazier now that we can play around with rocket engines and
all that stuff,” he says of the experimental music scene on this former bridge-laying barge. “There’s a group of us doing stuff
with old pulsejet engines – it’s basically a very primitive jet engine –but imagine it being used as a musical instrument:
it has a tone to it which is really wild.”

It was a similar fusion of art and industrial technology that enthused Peter Madsen – the rocket maker suspected of murdering
Swedish journalist Kim Wall – when he moved his workspace to this same barge a decade ago.

Madsen built a cannon on board which he set up in Copenhagen’s City Hall Square, encouraging people to let him destroy
possessions like MP3 players and phones by shooting them into a concrete wall. His home-built submarines Kraka and Nautilus
were used in a spectacular Submarine Ballet, where dancers performed half-submerged in the middle of Copenhagen harbour.
Nautilus itself was launched in 2008 with an all-night party on this same cramped lower deck.

But with prosecutor Jakob Buch-Jepsen set to charge the 46-year-old with the murder of 30-year-old Kim Wall, it’s an association
most want to forget. “It makes me really sad, because this fantastic, creative environment is going to be forever connected with this,”
says an artist who shared a rusty hangar with Madsen on Refshaleøen, the former shipyard where Illutron is now based, back in 2005.
“Not all people are into killing other people just because they’re alternative.”

He’s been meeting others who were close to Madsen a decade ago to try to make sense of it. “It’s like you have a small village and
the fool in the village did something that can never be forgiven. It’s been really hard for all of us, although obviously not as hard as for
Kim’s family.”

Wall, whose work had featured in the Guardian, New York Times and Time magazine, joined Madsen on board Nautilus on the evening
of 10 August. Her boyfriend raised the alarm early the next day when she failed to return home.

Madsen initially claimed to have dropped her off on a quay near Illutron, but later admitted that he had dumped her body in the sea,
saying she had died in an accident on board.


Kim Wall.

Her torso, with its head, arms and legs sawn off, was found two weeks later washed up on a beach on nearby Amager island.
There were 15 stab wounds on the body, 14 of which were around the genital area.
In the weeks running up to the Illutron event, police had found her head and legs and a saw in bags weighed down with metal,
and said they had discovered videos of women being decapitated on Madsen’s computer. They’ve since found her two arms.

Despite this grim backdrop, the atmosphere on board Illutron at the Pulseworks sound art event is positive. Enthusiasts descend
on the artists to ask questions about microphones and looping algorithms. Others seem to be there simply for a few beers with
like-minded people.
There are people in their early 20s, others in their late 50s; some fashionable in an arty, alternative way, others very much not so.

Madsen’s parents split when he was six. He went to live with his 69-year-old innkeeper father – who Madsen would later compare
to the commander of a Nazi concentration camp for the cruelty he had inflicted on his half-brothers. But his father encouraged his
son’s obsessions with rockets, submarines and balloons, even building him a workshop at their home in a small village 100km
west of Copenhagen.

By the time he was 15, Madsen was devoted to his projects to the exclusion of all else, with little in the way of a social life, and after
he turned 18, no time to complete his engineering studies or get a normal job.
When he came to Refshaleøen in around 2004, aged 33, to finish building his second submarine, Kraka, it transformed him.

“Our circle and social life exploded, and all the off-the-wall people who were here completely opened my eyes,” Claus Nørregaard,
who worked with Madsen on Kraka, tells journalist Thomas Djursing in the book Rocket Madsen: Denmark’s DIY Astronaut.

Half Machine, a dance collective based in Freetown Christiania, the giant squat which borders the peninsula, bought an industrial
barge at scrap prices in 2007, and Madsen moved his workshop onboard. “The parties were filled with robots and strange buttons
you could push which made things happen,” Nørregaard remembers.

“Everywhere there were flashing lights, floating platforms with fires and DJs on. People ran around naked, stood on their heads or
crawled around the tower. It was all about being as strange as possible.”

Half Machine was from its beginnings about technology. Inspired by the Burning Man festival and contemporary circus, and with
“meltage man and machine” as its underlying theme, its first event in Christiania in 2003 featured things like a “human robot”,
where the audience could pull levers to move the arms and legs of a suspended dancer.

But the people behind it were dancers, artists and musicians, so anyone, like Madsen, who could actually weld, was welcome.

Refshaleøen is now at the point where artists are starting to get priced out by design studios and computer games companies.
Noma, voted the world’s best restaurant four times, is set to reopen on its fringes in February. Its former head chef, Matt Orlando,
opened his own restaurant here, Amass, in 2013. The enormously successful food market Copenhagen Street Food plans to
move here.

But at the time Madsen arrived it was deserted. The pension funds which had bought the land when the shipyard went bankrupt
in 1996 delayed building apartments, judging that there were too many competing harbourside developments.
And they struggled to rent out the empty workshops, hangars and shipbuilding halls. Madsen moved into a rusty hangar beside
a windswept expanse of flat concrete slabs.

“It was a creative environment where there was space for being different and doing unusual things,” says the artist who shared
space with Madsen. “Peter obviously lived in the hangar, which I didn’t mind.”

Although it was only a 20-minute cycle ride from central Copenhagen, Refshaleøen was a world apart, with views across the Sound,
the straits separating the city from Sweden, and to three offshore forts. Other artists and musicians rented out buildings on the island
as studios, and a small alternative community lived in brick buildings among the deserted offices, workshops and rusty perimeter
fences, giving the island the feel of a post-apocalyptic village with half-crazed inhabitants welding strange machines out of scrap.

Madsen, in his early 30s, became involved in group sex and alternative swingers’ events, a preference which is likely to feature
prominently in his upcoming trial.

“He enjoyed talking about it, so we all knew that he was promiscuous, but we all thought it was in a respectful way,” the artist says.
“He was a sadist. He would call himself a sadist.”

The submarines Madsen had built had already made him a well-known figure in Copenhagen. But when he teamed up with Kristian
von Bengtson, an architect who had done work for Nasa, to work on an amateur attempt to send a manned rocket into space,
he became a celebrity. The launch of Copenhagen Suborbitals’ HEAT-1X rocket in 2011 was covered by newspapers and television
stations across the world...'

There's a lot more in the article, but it seems to lean on the idea that struggling art outweighs the tragedy of Ms. Kim Wall.
But it seems that the Journalist is aligning these two subjects for some strange reason. This isn't news of course, it's ruminating
in a manner that once again, reveals the guileful arrogance of the bathetic.

Or maybe it's all just a filler!

In my humble opinion, this guy -Vee, hit's the nail firmly on the head!