When I started at gymnas all the first years were assembled one morning on the stage at Gimle Hall, I no longer remember the occasion, but one of the teachers, a notorious nudist from Kristiansand who was said to have painted his house wearing no more than a tie, was generally scruffy, dressed in a provincial bohemian manner and had curly, unkempt, white hair, anyway he read us a poem, walking along the rows on the stage proclaiming and, to general laughter, suddenly singing the praises of the upright erection. … I didn't laugh. I think my jaw fell when I heard that. With mouth agape and eyes vacant I sat there as the insight slowly sank in. All erect dicks are bent. Or, if not all, then at least enough of them to be eulogised in a poem.

karl ove knausgaard, Karl Ove Knausgaard - A Dea…, loc. 260