AND THE SUN RISES AGAIN OVER STOCKHOLM
Thursday 27th of June, 12:00, Stureby 59°16’38.0″N 18°03’28.6″E
The timely skullcrushing by what I imagine is my antinihilist conscience, as welcome as it is deserved, as I reach for some Treo/Aspirin (whatever) over at that table that should be right beside my bed, far away. I hit my teeth on the rim as I greedily gulp one week old water from my moms finest crystal glass. I think. A beam of light manages to fight it’s way through the blinds. A battle I right now wouldn’t fight for all the money in the world. It hits the glass and the light that remains in this reflection hits my retina, sharp. I’m down (and out).
17:18, Carmen 59°18’54.4″N 18°04’34.1″E
“I’m done with my master thesis in two months, I have no idea what I’m gonna do after that though”. Observing Sara as she aimlessly peels of the label of her Karhu, beer of the week, of infinity, while Björn replies with his non answers. “My mom thinks I should change to physics next year. Bigger chance to get a job, more pay, but I don’t know, could be fun, but who knows what you should do?”. “My dad changed from mechatronics to physics his second year, says it was much more fun. He’s at Ericsson now”. Sara finishes off the last piece of the label still bearing any resemblance to paper, rolls it between thumbs, puts in mouth, spits in my lap.“Did anyone watch Dexter last night?”. “Yeah, it’s so good”. “Yeah”. I pick up my Karhu and put it against my lips. Before I indulge I see the reflection of Sara in Björn’s eyes, and then back again, Björn in Sara’s. For a moment I think I see my mom. I didn’t.
20:22, Dovas 59°20’08.2″N 18°01’58.1″E
The refraction of some guys flowery shirt through my Falcon is beautiful. Staring for too long, at least I think so, it’s hard to keep track of time when they talk. Five people. Odd names. Living together. In a house. Cynically loving everything. “Went to Fotografiska yesterday, wasn’t as good as last time I think”. “Which one was it last time?”. “I don’t remember the name”. “Liebowitz?”. “Maybe”. Someone rolls a cigarette, asks if someone want’s to join outside, no one wants to. They just went. The cigarette slowly leaves the table, floats off towards the door, outside towards a slow cremation. “Anna started working Acne last week”. “Productions?”. “No, the store”. “Which one?”. “I don’t know. I think she can get me a job there though”. “But you said last time you were gonna apply to that writer school in London, that one Sara’s mom went to?”. “Yeah I know, but i thought i could always wait a year. No stress. Nice to work there you know? And I’m still not sure about journalism”. “Okey”. Outside the window the fag falls to the ground. One second of peace. Then flattened and squished by Our Legacy. The conversation gets lost in some kind of smoke. Future. Past. Politics. Right. Left. Up. Down.
02:13, HTL 59°20’03.6″N 18°03’32.7″E
Someone just stumbled and fell into some of the people I’m here with. Trying to apologize in some strange Donnie Darko way. They leave swiftly and people get on with their conversation. “So then I had to work all night and couldn’t get up to get to the sample sale”. “Yeah, but that’s standard these days. I have no free time these days”. “I know”. “Luckily work is fun still”. “I don’t know, I think I’m getting tired of this industry”. “No your not, you love it”. “Yeah, maybe”. Heads are turning like Kodak Carousels, projecting themselves in each others faces. No one is safe here. Still you are among your friends. Someone drops a glass of chardonnay. But there is no sound. Above people are sleeping in their rooms. In one someone is coming. “I really liked your last article!”. A guy I know comes up to me and starts to talk about work. “My dad’s company is looking for a copywriter. You should call him”. I’m just about to answer. They turn around. Saw someone else they knew. Starts to talk with them now. I’m alone again. As I was.
04:22, Somewhere ?”N ?”E
Water is hitting the docs beneath two pairs of dangling legs. Converse and Nikes. The first ray of light finds it way towards the window of a post modern office building. Ricochets off back into the water. Finally hits her retina. And then mine. Silence. I see my mom again. And the sun rises again, over Stockholm.
Text by Gwyneth.
Poet at Too Young, record label and art project