I cut this pine forest landscape like a fucking Swizz Army Knife

Decided to rent a car and drive it north. Went to a gas station and picked up the smallest one. No studs on the tires. No cruise control. Rushed home in the freezing clear afternoon. Parked without paying and ran around. Bought a fleece. Bought some candy. 50cl Diet Coke. Five a clock and 450km in front of me. Through Stockholm’s heavy traffic. Trying to get north while setting up the GPS on my phone. Eating candy as if there was no tomorrow.

The radio talking about Libya and Tunisia. Trucks honking their horns. Me pointing fingers from my tiny car while driving past expensive BMW’s with maked-up women. I just got a new fleece baby. Shaking up the highway in 150km/h, can’t find the button for the beams. Have no time to stop. On the radio people discuss former Prime Miniter Olof Palme. Great at giving Sweden a voice on the international stage but less good in terms of actual policy achievements is the conclusion.

I blaze past the University city of Uppsala, the snow blowing around the car as I pass the open plains. Heading north on a deserted four lane highway, pushing the pedal to the metal, candy in my mouth. Audis and BMW’s in my rear view mirror, their aggressive headlights and timid middle age drivers look at my cheap rental Japanese ass. Still trying to find the correct switch for the beams.

I reach Gävle and turn off the high way, temperature -18. Blow past three trucks on the road towards Sandviken, dark forests, sparse traffic. I cut this pine forest landscape like a fucking Swizz Army Knife. A filled to the brim Skoda with a family in front of me. Me and my Yaris blow past them, listening to The National, the same destruction in our driving. Blowing snow into their legal speed limit turtle movements. Feeling joy. Me and my small rental car own this Swedish evening.

Down the hill towards Hofors, the giant wood processing plant paints the black sky yellow. A dozen chimneys shooting up pink and orange smoke. The illusion of the unpolluted Swedish woodlands. Clouds from nuclear bombs lingering in the air. Empty parking lots bathing in yellow lights, frost covering every inch of the nature. A quiet tractor clearing some snow next to the entrance to a large factory. The industrial heart land sitting quietly in the freezing evening.

By an empty bus stop four people wait for something under a yellow street light, fumes from their bodies and breaths slowly rising into the air. Interviews with journalists trying to get into Libya on the radio, horrified people talking about massacres in Arabic. Outside the eternal quietness of Dalarna. I put on my Iphod but First Aid Kit sings ‘we don’t know anything at all’ and I shut it off. I know everything in the forest. Me and my Toyota Yaris, my new fleece on the passenger seat, English bassets in my mouth and clear roads in front of me.

I approach Rättvik, the small city’s yellow and white lights curving around the snow covered lake Siljan. The area where the image of Sweden is produced; the hand painted Dalahästar and traditional Midsummer celebrations. Me and my Yaris don’t know nostalgia. I take over the empty roundabouts in town, never shifting down below forth gear. The city is empty, 9:30 in the evening, -22 degrees. The winter tires rip into the soft frost that sit on the quiet streets.

I motor up hills in a frenzy, passing a tourist bus and its heavy body. Me and my anemic engine blending into one. Past Falun and the German tourists who drive as if it’s a fucking Sunday afternoon. I got time to kill and not you. I drive five hours straight, try and make it to my destination without stopping. After 420km the tank points at empty, after passing five slow moving cars between Malung and Sälen I am forced to stop for gas. I shut the engine off at an empty gas station, stumble out of my small car, my right leg cramping after putting constant pressure on the accelerator. Dry -22 degrees evening air as I put gas into the car and take a leak in a pile of snow.

Five minutes later back on the road, up the long hill towards Sälen and after 5:30 hours I open the door to the winter cabin. My sister greets me with a smile, shaking her head while telling me I drove too fast. Me and my Yaris both shake our heads.

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2 thoughts on “I cut this pine forest landscape like a fucking Swizz Army Knife

  1. Pingback: The gloves « Memories Of The Future

  2. Pingback: Animal services adopt-a-thon | wa wa

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