Lin blew her lies...

Lin blew her lies…

You talkin´ ´to me, hu?

At that point Lin came up with an assumption, that British people were mighty high up. She, Lin that is, had no single clue at first of how to get rid of it. Rid off it, the problem itself?

That Aristocratic lady, Mrs Willfear, was a nobility of seldom seen stardom. In Lin´s Sweden the hight and mighty came closer to being more pragmatic than lofty. So she had to face the issue in another turn of the screw. Heck it!

Of course Picasso had it written down: ”Art is a lie that force you to see reality...”

So now we have to tap into the lies to get to the several British conclusions.

Lin sat in that humid and hot, not to mention it, the very British classroom up somewhere, far from Denver, further off from Pennsylvania Road, but pretty close to the moors of Yorkshire.

Oh, you must boast about having been mad in this remote place, where everyone comes and everyone goes. Lin started making up stories about this and that and her and him.

At a point in the plot the hat bowed its head down to the gutter, and that is a mise an etyme, or how is the figure of a word would you suggest?

Lin was no scholar, and was no material for the high court. She was only Upper Middle Class in Sweden and now she faked class. She faked it so well in that Scarborough place that a cloak made of no seam came to be hung around her white shoulders. Is that a fake?

Lin had to pretend being a Working Class. It began with something that could have turned out to be a debate, cause Lin had read all the reviews in the evening papers that had showed how the wet stone sharpen the knifes, the very tool in a hot debate. But hot is closer to Britain than to Sweden. Anyhow. Pretending no-rule-for-men meant that she had to stand out for no reason at all…

We have simply to express the Swedishness. There is an unwritten law in Sweden: ”Don´t believe too much about yourself...”

Have you ever been abroad you might understand. It is that in a foreign place the very near and dear land of yours come so close it could tip you in just about any abyss on any map. So Britain compared to Sweden had to join in several seldom seas...Viking you know!

Sitting there as Working Class meant that Mrs Willfrear, the one, had to point out things in all and each direction. Lin took the bait at the top of it, swallowed and got fat in a brilliant second of now time at all. Big lie, isn´t it?

She had no job, or had a stupid kind of job. And she was a kind of a pink rose. That is having been raped it got her to the worst nightmare of all: Love was a joke to a bloke in town!

And Mrs Willfear had a vision about being the high ranked when it came to poetrie. She blew the nose when teaching how to behave and how to sit and how to shake hands. And it was all and everything with this high dame that was a curse. The nobility in Britain is highest ´mong seven different Continents, which is a tale as tales go. She was amused and used to faking with her passion. She had for a reason or two been married to a cultivated man. And now her shame was hidden off the course on the road to Mandalay. Off in a remotest place, where the game of Colonialism had started. Which meant in the end that all stories about it all had to be shaped in seven different angles, with squares and with round-abouts and with different tale-tellings that combined the figure three in one. A lie within a lie within another form. Screw my ball-of-the-eye, she yelled, this Lin. My whitest eye-balls. Funny to be spoken like that. Fun of a pun.

Working-Class Lin had to get hooked on the discussions, saying null and nothing. Her idiom was bought and sold off the coast in Stockholm. Her hips no more. Her tits could never more be. But a lie on the top of the glass-mountain was a rare fable in a history of Swedish people.

So. Her dad was a man selling clothes. Nothing else.

Now, apart from Lin, our conclusion of the moral is – see? Mrs Willfear had lies down her DNA. It was dioxyribonacid-whatever! At that school, in that very classroom she taught manners of how to overcome each and any prejudice. So she had to sell lies everyday at that very place.

See? Going around in the streets of your mind every day, every week, every godamn minute bring about lies to every occupied person out there. So Lin picked up Mrs Willfears tools, as Lin, being born in Sweden, having Polish and Sicilian ancestry, she ? She was prone to learn an idiom and an idioticism, right in the face of the mighty High-borners.

Every day at that spot Mrs Willfear gave room for ideas to every student. Her feminine touch had to lie, because that stiff upper lip was related to castles and mansions that no other country could boast and brag about. Every day a feminine lie, hiding behind the persona of a Scorpio.

Where was the point in teaching Lin that – oh, how very much Working-Class you are little silly girl! She taught Lin how to behave, how to dress, how to talk in a proper manner. She taught with the signum of a dear lie. Her tales run wild thinking about letting out people with a Cambridge exam afterwards. So Lin stole that paper of an exam.

The rest was haunting her down the British lane, because she had to lie about being a someone without any moral. See, the moral was a hardcore value up in Sweden. But values in Britain was their biggest lie. Or all those lies going in an export trade from harbour to port, from port to harbour. What could Mrs Willfear learn in the end of the tale? In her very own fable?

Suddenly all pieces fell together in a fable, more so cut in an American mode, up the Pennsylvania road.

The day the British people came to know that Shakespear had a spear of a lie, they had to begin to adress the blacks with no more than truth. A stiff upper lip among the nobility was a game, a joke, a choke in the gutter of it all.

Sad, bad and mad sat Lin up in a lonely Sweden pondering about how to roam the seven seas, chasing after her one and only enemy.

No, Lin should ever never again talkin´ shit about her Viking mum. It would have dragged out her brain, for sure. But somewhere deep inside she felt a cruel wish. To let Mrs Willfear´s lies being told in an English, let us call it British, mode. Tell it with no hooked feeling. Telling it in a distance that a lie comes after you. As Sweden says: ”What is hidden in snow comes up in thaw...”

If you think low about someone without the correct manner or the correct speech, then all of a sudden comes the next year when all snow turn into April´s bitter flakes. And Mrs Willfear had to face her own culture this time.

It is no lie that weather and wind is a hard fact today, better understood in Russia, America and Sweden. Burning forests came about in the wake of the Colonialism. And Colonialism had to sell lies on the market to godamn everyone.

But sometimes when there is a sad sunshine in Lin´s eyes and high on the sky, she come to think about being Working-Class. It was a cruel game, but it held a sceptre in its hand. It was no lie at all that her mother came from them. Pooor, but never starving. Her lie had turn out to become a treasure. To having learnt British gave her backbone a way to sit, in a lofty manner. And her stiff upper lip lost its way to address the people.

But back in Yorkshire there was an attic with a madness. From a famour novel, one can tell. With a famous novel that taught you should never keep madness hidden on the attic.

Mrs Willfear´s lies had turned into a moral of the plot. Her lie was a poem, an object on the Literary market. It was a poem about Lin, a lie about everything Lin had said and done.

And the poem sold and become so famous that a Viking bay came up to the high level of a Viking crew. A Fantastic poem about a girl.

And one day the world will figure out who it was addressing. A poem about a poet in her own right. Lin is, yes, writing her own stories. In British of course.

The conclusion: Never tell lies in a British mode just to teach a language to the low girls!!!

The lowest one who learnt British lies in a queer mode could beat out the words in a manner of a Swedish style. And high up there is just sun up to us all. We need some stormy weather. We need a man to turn the history back in order of our Earth´s Nature. Perhaps with honesty this time. Or rather we might need a Black Vice-President who adress facts and figures – in English!

One might wonder if the President of the Unites States bring back facts – with an English language? This might be no lie this time...