omnipresent Gösta

Gösta sits at the library, reading Marx. We are all slaves of labor, thinks Gösta, and gets up to get another cup of Joe. Black as a moonless night.

Gösta calms his nerves with a night of "seniors' bingo".

Gösta deserts the fumes and noise of the city ("Babylon!" as one of G's mates would have it) for a pastoral weekend of cookies & boat trips.

This is the origins of Gösta.

Gösta looks at the materialization of the repressed desires expressed in the 70's notion of 'gillestuga' ('rumpus room'). Gösta does not have a spotless record. Look at that sunset, bastard! Shall we make a fire? What kind?

Gösta + Cat check out the birds outside. Don't mistake her for a sweet lil' kittie. This is a killer with big intentions. Beware.

Gösta gazes at the drifting clouds and thinks about nothing. Gösta is not in a hurry.

Gösta has found his Graceland. Brooklyn lager, "Tennessee Waltz" and cosy leather couches. The sun is shining into the windows and the small venue is all light and silence. The barman is involved in a quiet conversation about PA systems with a silver haired gentleman. The beer melts in Gösta's mouth.

This is another day, another pub, another idyllic place. Gösta is introduced to Sture Alléns Dansorkester. Gösta is thrilled. Then there's Johnny Cash in the sound system.

The police officer tells the demonstants, the few that showed up, sarcastically: "And remember to be calm. Don't get run over by a car. You have to form lines" He talks like a kindergarten teacher. Gösta craves for riots, Gösta wants to disturb the public peace, but Gösta lacks moral energy. Gösta ponders on "demonstrations are for old ladies". Gösta doesn't know. Gösta is confused.

These are sweet nights. Gösta never sleeps, Gösta never rests. Gösta considers Jon Bon Jovi to be a dexterous poet who has truly dissected the depths of the human soul. "You'll sleep when you're dead."

This is an even sweeter night. Gösta is the last person on earth. Gösta is waiting for the zombies to dig their teeth into his flesh.

But no zombies show up that night. Gösta finally meets them, at the grill, among the birds. One of the zombies starts a brawl. "You call yourself patriots" she hollers "but you don't even know the borders of Finland. You know nothing about Karjala." Her smiling boyfriend, dressed in a tuxedo, attempts to drag her away. She persists. Another zombie starts singing "Oolannin sota" in an angelic voice, perfectly pitched. But his singing is interrupted when a guy stands up on the steps of the grill, professing his hatred for muslims. He tries to imitate Arabic. Guttural sounds. Then there's another lecture. "Give it a rest", a pacifying voice. "You bloody idiot, you don't understand anything!" A while later, he is silently chowing his fries, but the birds won't leave him alone. He is waving his arms like a windmill.