Oh silly a party that was....

Lin? We have to admit it. Her dad was the head of a populistic party in that still remote county of Sweden. Had it not been for Lin´s anarcistic point of view she might had just to let it all pass, until the election was over. But at the same time she figured out to go abroad. And now comes the silly mess about it all.

There was a war on. An ugly war in the former Jugoslavia. Lin refused almost to read the papers. About something so ugly as a war? It was not on her agenda. Until…

The engine of the ferry made such a noise from Gothenburg down to Harrich. She was heading for England, but later came to know it as Britain. Well. The engine?

It was like the roaring sound got into her sensitive and futuristic nerves and made her feel like her soul was a bleeding. The pain came from having been eating lots of sleeping pills. Pills that really ran down the lanes of the soul. And there: the side effect opened a kind of abyss inside of her, and that was the sole reason why she was heading for Britain, the crown of the Empire of course. Now, we have to be fair. Could someone have known she had been forced to take these pills? By whom?

But Sweden had no psychology it was said. But why should it?

Doesn´t all different cultures have their own reason to handle cultural issues? Well, then…

In the south of Sweden the student of Lin´s class refused talking to her. Well, you see: having a fascistic dad took a toll somehow. A toll not pointed directly to Lin, but having a meaning hard to figure out. But she could have, of course, adressed the people in Sweden in a more kind way. But her sleeping pills went all the way with her up to the spheres of Plato and Pluto. So her horoscope was getting the planets to make her face a karma, for whatever reason… Yes she was mean all way through, and persisted in it. The anger got her on her own course. She would have no single reason to change her spirit, as the gods told her she had opened her head chakra. Well, she had proof, right! And you have no proof to say there was no such thing as an opened chakra. Or do you?

The course of her life was on. She could feel the cameras of the sky spotting her. A spit in the universe that became her destiny´s route this silly autumn.

She ended up in a North Yorkshire. Mad bad and almost sad. She was a poet. The rest were getting to study the English language at that school for the reason of a career. Lin could not bother. She was slack in nerves, but her fists was knotting a threat to any enemy. Fists tight and firm, because her soul wanted to let loose. Was she not an anarchist, right?

She did behave. She did laught. She did say nasty things. And the audience, her so called audience among those grown up students, they saw the scenery in accordance with their own belief. As Lin saw her own stubborn beliefs. That´s it. No more than that.

At a language school – right? Policemen, teachers, biologists, researchers, journalist, lawyers and lots of important people getting access to a language they needed for work. Career - it was a word written on the whiteboard. Except for Lin, the mere poet. Poet and nothing else. Career meant nothing to her faith. Her stubborn faith. The right to roam the spheres...

Lin had no clue. She could try for years to come to wonder why she got involved in a debate that was more than a classroom back in Sweden could produce. A literary mind of hers saw the forest, but saw no trees. Odd to a Swede, as they are known to be higly individualistic. They look at the trees in an individualistic way, forgetting that it is building a forest. The same so with words. One word here and there. Loads of words piled up in a Germanistic way. So different from the language layers in Britain. And Lin persisted in a stubborn way. She went on speaking Swedish with the Swedish, saying that it was THE language from now on. Little could she imagine how highly the British had to use their forest, that is: the piled up wood from branch after branch. A proud and self aware people she had met. And Lin, yes, was yelling instead of having a proper debate.

Why so odd? Why so different Lin? No way to talk, hu?

No. Lin had, sad to say, a heritage from Polish and Sicilian people. That was it…

From beneath the pain and horror of her soul came that stubborn anger and madness. She had all the right to be, and just exist in that way. Her ego was her own blown up in the faces of others. But could it have been different?

Her culture was a battle. At other times a war, perhaps an ugly war.

In around the end of the 1600s Lin´s anscestors from Poland was hired by the Swedish king to fight against Denmark at the battle of Lund. Oh how queer…

Deep down our roots comes a destiny that is a sin of our heritage. Unto next and next generation the God of revenge shall come upon you. So do not stumble and fall before your enemy! But that was just about what Lin did.

We have to give the teachers of that remote North Yorkshire school some credits. Credits that belong to an imperialistic sphere of structures. But Lin?

As stubborn as a trunk she headed for her own route of discussion, not taking in what others said.

Such a queer country? In Sweden they were taught rhetoric by learning to discuss a silly roundabout… And now all roundabouts were gone. Off. Away with rhetoric. But somehow Lin had to rearrange the scene. She had to let the mind go on a new tour, around the roundabout. Where else could she go? This very hard traffic made her stubborn. Like Sweden was eating uinto her, with a style of its own. A Viking stubborn cruel and rude way. That paid for nothing. A battle just for the reason of a battle. A simple war to debate perhaps. But no!

The teacher told Lin in this and that way how to behave. She explained this and that how to sit, chew, discuss, turn to a person, or adressing someone, salute your enemy, handling the language, get to the core of grammar and this and that and the next. ”NO” Lin yelled that ugly word, but the teacher was more stubborn than that. Lin had the whole classroom against her. As a matter of fact the whole school was against her. Doctors and lawyers and retailers and just about mention the elite among them all. But Lin wanted no other turn then roaming around in a kind of Swedish roundabout. She did for sure hate to discuss that silly war in Jugoslavia. Or why Mankind turned the wrong way. The only negative thing about Lin was her no, no, no. Don´t want to learn anything from them. We have to admit it. Lin was a trunk. Sullen and sad. Mad and very bad.

But in a war there are two sides about it. Well, even more.

As the war of former Jugoslavia spinned and spinned onto every student in that idiotic classroom Lin had in mind that – she could not turn back. Oh me oh my, am I to change the course of time? Oh me, am I standing here, said Lin, with skull in my hand, adressing this high born country like hell and nothing. It was like Lin had come there with a gun powder plot. A plot? Very well. If that is how they like it. She was to blow up, well perhaps not the parliament, but then again.

The teacher softly explained. The Normans were French who came to establish the first parliament. They spoke French. Very well then. So Lin had a way to be Viking then? Yeah, how sure about that winter days caught the glitter of the sun. How sure that a Viking mother yelled and had other ways to bring up her children. And that sort of way had dragged Lin down to the core of her own heart. As stubborn as her Viking mother was, the same order and manner and style came out of Lin. But how many more ways to explain that a yelling tone got no credit in Britain? So, she was yes, as stubborn as a trunk.

And finally when the autumn was over, now heading towards Christmas, Lin noticed that she had lost something in that battle. But she had also lost her heart. A big piece of her should for ever roam the moors, in search for a lost battle, because of stupidity. And sometimes the destiny takes another turn still. Being stubborn wins no credit in that very moment of the debate. But later, much later, when the Swedish roundabout was on a tour over and over again, Lin could hear it vividly and strong. A tone. A music of the British language that had crept silently and sipp and Victorian into her mind and soul. And we all know it. It might be the language of a lost Empire. But lost in Sweden is just being alone. And being alone is not always lost all over the place.

Something deep dark down in under the skin comes the next battle. War to us all. If you are stubborn you might loose. But then again: why not in the end of it all?