Men of Lapland don’t long for the South. The old fellas have been Southern than Rovaniemi during the lappish war for the last time the. Boys join the army or get married. The courtship lasts for a week – what a bag of video-tapes and dried meat is enough for. At the backyard of block-houses one can’t hunt for ptarmigan. The lands and the reindeers are undoubtedly taken by the older brothers, the younger ones become unemployed construction workers and remain to saunter on the table-lands. If the cylinder breaks in the snowmobile it’s time go South to find some seasonal job. The clouds are low over the Rovaniemi railway station. Car doors are shut, the soldiers look deep in the the girls eyes. The man from Lapland tumbles on the hallway of the sleeping car, looking for his compartment, huffing and gasping, makes way through the herds of ski-tourists, like a soldier in the ditch. Around midnight, the train crosses the lands of Miminka. The Lappish man rolls around on the verge of sleeping and being awake. Whenever opens his eyes, he sees a wooden cottage in the dark with a weird board above the door. The evening is heavy, squeezes his throat, lies upon his chest depressingly. Around dawn he cruises along the train corridors, from one end to another. Smokes a hand-rolled cigarette in the smoking compartment while gazing at the dirty floor. The stuffy air of the train burns his eyes. It would be 8 hours back to Rovaniemi, 7 more left ahead. Around 6 in the morning he starts to feel the burnt smoky odor of the south; the metallic stink of gasoline fumes. Worn-out faces and desperate looks are all around in the sunlit dining car. The cashier-girl is just like if she had been crying all night. Passing by concrete buildings, roadworks, junk piles of metal and orderly row-houses of the suburbs: Hyvinkä’s, Kerava’s and Tikkurla’s pass by. The spring lands look naked and dirty. The Helsinki railway station is noisy and bustling. The sun shines through the shallow clouds, wind brings sand. The air is chilly, risks abladder infection for college students on café house terraces. The man, who spent his life reindeer-herding on rock-ridges of Lapland, sportbag on his shoulders; turns down to the metro-tunnel.
Men of Karjala (Eastern-Finland)
In Finland, western heritage is dominant in the language, but Eastern heritage is dominant in the genes, since men of Karjala have fucked around the whole country. These well-built macho men has always had a reputation for folding birch-skin easily and dance awfully. Women aren’t deceived by this. As Karjala men’s companions they have learnt how dark and deep pleasure can be. The Karjala man is a hundred kilograms of stiff flesh. If seen raging and gasping in firelight, surely reminds the devil. Has two kids from his wife and twenty from others. Does not use a straw for the liquor either. His wife is nearly as strong as him, in the neighborhood she is the one who removes the stuck lids of jars, and grabs his husband’s drinking buddies at their pants and flings them over the fence. The couple’s debates are rigid and clumsy. Two stiff people beat each other, while the kids cling on their legs. They set free themselves by kicking the walls or the door posts. The Karjala boy escapes from home as soon as possible. He weighs fifty-eight kilos, but acquires the hardest jobs at constructions. If realizes having become an expert in some field, moves on to the next, instinctively. Picks a black beauty for wife – bullshit that a Finnish man can’t get Spanish woman. The boy gets homesick around forty - it would be great to meet mom and punch daddy in the face. A young, lean housekeeper lady cooks in the parlor. Mom has moved to the church village. The damn good-looking dad hums the Karjala heili and strokes his daughter-in-law’s silky dark hair. The boy shuts the doors but doesn’t dare to go against him. The spanish, exposed to dad, sighs and clenches her fists from pleasure.
The seasonal worker
ReplyDeleteMen of Lapland don’t long for the South. The old fellas have been Southern than Rovaniemi during the lappish war for the last time the. Boys join the army or get married. The courtship lasts for a week – what a bag of video-tapes and dried meat is enough for. At the backyard of block-houses one can’t hunt for ptarmigan.
The lands and the reindeers are undoubtedly taken by the older brothers, the younger ones become unemployed construction workers and remain to saunter on the table-lands. If the cylinder breaks in the snowmobile it’s time go South to find some seasonal job.
The clouds are low over the Rovaniemi railway station. Car doors are shut, the soldiers look deep in the the girls eyes. The man from Lapland tumbles on the hallway of the sleeping car, looking for his compartment, huffing and gasping, makes way through the herds of ski-tourists, like a soldier in the ditch.
Around midnight, the train crosses the lands of Miminka. The Lappish man rolls around on the verge of sleeping and being awake. Whenever opens his eyes, he sees a wooden cottage in the dark with a weird board above the door. The evening is heavy, squeezes his throat, lies upon his chest depressingly.
Around dawn he cruises along the train corridors, from one end to another. Smokes a hand-rolled cigarette in the smoking compartment while gazing at the dirty floor. The stuffy air of the train burns his eyes. It would be 8 hours back to Rovaniemi, 7 more left ahead.
Around 6 in the morning he starts to feel the burnt smoky odor of the south; the metallic stink of gasoline fumes. Worn-out faces and desperate looks are all around in the sunlit dining car. The cashier-girl is just like if she had been crying all night. Passing by concrete buildings, roadworks, junk piles of metal and orderly row-houses of the suburbs: Hyvinkä’s, Kerava’s and Tikkurla’s pass by. The spring lands look naked and dirty.
The Helsinki railway station is noisy and bustling. The sun shines through the shallow clouds, wind brings sand. The air is chilly, risks abladder infection for college students on café house terraces. The man, who spent his life reindeer-herding on rock-ridges of Lapland, sportbag on his shoulders; turns down to the metro-tunnel.
Men of Karjala (Eastern-Finland)
In Finland, western heritage is dominant in the language, but Eastern heritage is dominant in the genes, since men of Karjala have fucked around the whole country. These well-built macho men has always had a reputation for folding birch-skin easily and dance awfully. Women aren’t deceived by this. As Karjala men’s companions they have learnt how dark and deep pleasure can be.
The Karjala man is a hundred kilograms of stiff flesh. If seen raging and gasping in firelight, surely reminds the devil. Has two kids from his wife and twenty from others. Does not use a straw for the liquor either.
His wife is nearly as strong as him, in the neighborhood she is the one who removes the stuck lids of jars, and grabs his husband’s drinking buddies at their pants and flings them over the fence. The couple’s debates are rigid and clumsy. Two stiff people beat each other, while the kids cling on their legs. They set free themselves by kicking the walls or the door posts.
The Karjala boy escapes from home as soon as possible. He weighs fifty-eight kilos, but acquires the hardest jobs at constructions. If realizes having become an expert in some field, moves on to the next, instinctively. Picks a black beauty for wife – bullshit that a Finnish man can’t get Spanish woman.
The boy gets homesick around forty - it would be great to meet mom and punch daddy in the face. A young, lean housekeeper lady cooks in the parlor. Mom has moved to the church village. The damn good-looking dad hums the Karjala heili and strokes his daughter-in-law’s silky dark hair. The boy shuts the doors but doesn’t dare to go against him. The spanish, exposed to dad, sighs and clenches her fists from pleasure.