Date: The first of May-weekend. The national let's all be heavily drunk and violently cheerful-weekend.
Location: Somewhere in the countryside, where the streets and shops are empty. No restaurants nearby for hungry visitors.
Mum takes us to the petrol station.
The building is huge like a Silja Line ferry, the floating shopping-centre, crossing the sea to Sweden. This is a stationary ferry.
Only thing referring to cars is a museum vehicle standing inside a giant glass box.
Far away, in the middle of the muddy field, someone sells old cars.
The interior is full of flashy lights and misleading signs. Noisy combination of Muzak and karaoke in the smoky and non-smoky air. Shelves bend under cheap cosmetics, glossy magazines, handmade clothes, fatty snacks and wooden souvenirs.
Small boys bang coins into the noisy machines.
Bigger boys dressed in leather waistcoats, dance brotherly together.
Lonely hearts sup beer. Families, dressed in their best clothes, eat quietly.
101 ways to make a steak with pineapple. Funny looks are given when I offer four fishburgers, which arrive fast and odd-tasty. Mums old friend seems to be a part-time waitress.
Suddenly I realize I have taken the dog with us. It stares at me and begs irritatingly.
Me: Shoo there, sit down!
The family with solemn faces stop chewing. They stare at me with their icy blue eyes, mouths open.
I stare at the dog which is actually a stuffed wolf.
I look around. One stuffed, small bear guards the toilets.
A head of a deer hangs above the pizza-oven.
One sad black grouse sits under the plastic tree.
A girl with a tangled, elf-like hair isn't stuffed. She stands near our table in her boyish outfit and nude-coloured high-heels.
J: I'm 5.
The elf-girl doesn't say anything.
J: I'm 10.
The elf-girl looks at him.
J: Look, I can count. [counts 19+5 and 18+7]
The elf-girl looks at him bit longer.
J: I can almost do headstands.
The elf-girl: I'm Silja.
J sticks his hand into the wolf's mouth.
J: [whispers] Somebody just said behind my head that I love her.
Oh, I'm in love too. Especially with my new vintage bike. Countryside-camping here we come!
About posthumanism - I’m reading Katherine Hayles’s How We Became Posthuman (which Blogger turns into *“Postman”*, which is nice, and sexist), and came across this on Twitter a...
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