For the Åländers, Viking Line is what Mayflower was for the oppressed English pilgrims. On the 6th of december every year, when the shops are closed and when there are visible Finnish flags, 99 % of the population on Åland flee to Stockholm. Entrepreneurship, business, trade - and some depraved ships. That's the shit here.
Shell - favourable prizes for fuel and diesel. The Åländers disagree. Gösta witnessess the traces of the true opinions of the Åland people. The Åländer's constitutional right to drive his fucking car, two blocks. Gösta watches the Åland heart burst, the Åland fist hit. The Åland spirit is set free. It's set free!
Gösta recalls the days of high school angst; Camus & The Cure & anomie in general. Gösta spent the afternoons at the blue, fluffy library, hunched up with a book. Gösta did not care much about learning, but he thought he did. There was nothing else to do. Gösta wishes he'd spent his youth on healthier things. Boozing, like the rest.
Gösta puts on his best suit, brings along his monocle and heads for the dance floor of Arkipelag, a waterhole for middle-aged Ålänaders who think they are young and Åländers who act like they are 59 even though they are 25. Gösta needs a drink. Gösta needs ten drinks. There's no drink that can adapt the mind to a place like this. But there are many ways to dull the mind, the ears and the heart. Gösta visits the night club and, listening to a cover band playing Ska vi älska, så ska vi älska till Buddy Holly, Gösta gets a small taste of what life on Guántanamo bay might be like. The difference is that Gösta, a brave anthropologist, chose to be here. Gösta wonders what Westermarck would have done. Gösta contemplates the relativity of morals. Gösta questions his own.
On the way home from Arkipelag, the streets are empty. Gösta & research assistant eat hot dogs at Rökka (the new Rökka). Gösta eats two. Gösta wonders whether life should be this way. He plays with a cat before hitting the sack. The research assistant's cat. Gösta goes to sleep and has a dream about you. You ask something about bars and Gösta bends forward close-close to whisper all he knows in your ear. In the elevator of his house, which is not really his house, Gösta howls a song by Blind Willie Johnson. "I know his blood can make me whole."
Gösta looks at the bright lights. If there's a car, there's a driver. Or a ghost. Gösta's head spins with bad dreams and Viking Line liquor. Gösta's mind is soothed by poorly written political prose about hegemony and the global power of the US.
Culture & congress house of Mariehamn. There will be doors that lead nowhere. There will be music that is stone. There will be no blood. The building will be painted pink and it will be decorated with flags.
Gösta sniggers at the crazy word "självstyrelsegården", the "parliament". That's a building that looks like it was built in DDR. Åländers nurse nationalism of a sort that is hard to pin down. It's unclear whether all the fuss is about money, or sheer, you know, need for collectivity.
Gösta packs his bag with Det Åländska folkets historia, band 1-5, and sits down in central Mariehamn to show off the depths of his knowledge and the benevolence of his attitude. Gösta weeps in front of Julius Sundblom, the liberator, the founding father of the autonomous people of Åland (which has, of course, existed as long as time itself, as the world itself). "Erected by the Åland people" ("rest av Ålands folk") is written on the plinth of the statue.
North Korea has portraits of Kim Jong il, Åland launches slogans of its own: "time is money!" The favorite expression among the Åländers is: "de lönar sig..." or "de lönar sig inga..." ("it's worthwhile") Gösta eats cake and leaves town.
Gösta recalls the days of high school angst; Camus & The Cure & anomie in general. Gösta spent the afternoons at the blue, fluffy library, hunched up with a book. Gösta did not care much about learning, but he thought he did. There was nothing else to do. Gösta wishes he'd spent his youth on healthier things. Boozing, like the rest.Gösta puts on his best suit, brings along his monocle and heads for the dance floor of Arkipelag, a waterhole for middle-aged Ålänaders who think they are young and Åländers who act like they are 59 even though they are 25. Gösta needs a drink. Gösta needs ten drinks. There's no drink that can adapt the mind to a place like this. But there are many ways to dull the mind, the ears and the heart. Gösta visits the night club and, listening to a cover band playing Ska vi älska, så ska vi älska till Buddy Holly, Gösta gets a small taste of what life on Guántanamo bay might be like. The difference is that Gösta, a brave anthropologist, chose to be here. Gösta wonders what Westermarck would have done. Gösta contemplates the relativity of morals. Gösta questions his own.On the way home from Arkipelag, the streets are empty. Gösta & research assistant eat hot dogs at Rökka (the new Rökka). Gösta eats two. Gösta wonders whether life should be this way. He plays with a cat before hitting the sack. The research assistant's cat. Gösta goes to sleep and has a dream about you. You ask something about bars and Gösta bends forward close-close to whisper all he knows in your ear. In the elevator of his house, which is not really his house, Gösta howls a song by Blind Willie Johnson. "I know his blood can make me whole."
Gösta looks at the bright lights. If there's a car, there's a driver. Or a ghost. Gösta's head spins with bad dreams and Viking Line liquor. Gösta's mind is soothed by poorly written political prose about hegemony and the global power of the US.
Culture & congress house of Mariehamn. There will be doors that lead nowhere. There will be music that is stone. There will be no blood. The building will be painted pink and it will be decorated with flags.
Gösta sniggers at the crazy word "självstyrelsegården", the "parliament". That's a building that looks like it was built in DDR. Åländers nurse nationalism of a sort that is hard to pin down. It's unclear whether all the fuss is about money, or sheer, you know, need for collectivity.
Gösta packs his bag with Det Åländska folkets historia, band 1-5, and sits down in central Mariehamn to show off the depths of his knowledge and the benevolence of his attitude. Gösta weeps in front of Julius Sundblom, the liberator, the founding father of the autonomous people of Åland (which has, of course, existed as long as time itself, as the world itself). "Erected by the Åland people" ("rest av Ålands folk") is written on the plinth of the statue.
North Korea has portraits of Kim Jong il, Åland launches slogans of its own: "time is money!" The favorite expression among the Åländers is: "de lönar sig..." or "de lönar sig inga..." ("it's worthwhile") Gösta eats cake and leaves town.
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