Creative Writing Spring Step this way to Creative Cordon Bleu

Creative Writing — Spring 2006 1 2 Step this way to Creative Cordon Bleu 3 ~Menu~ ENNI KOKKONEN — A BITTER APERITIF DRINK MONOLOGUE TWO VOICES TRANSFORMING 7 8 10 12 ENNI MÄKINEN — DEEP FRIED THERAPY WITH SWEET & SOUR SAUCE 13 MONOLOGUE TWO VOICES WHEN I AM OLD 14 16 18 HENRI RAHIKAINEN – PANIC PANCAKES MONOLOGUE PIECE FOR TWO VOICES A DAY IN DREAMLAND 19 20 22 24 JANI KOHONEN — THE NUTTY FRUITY WORD SALAD MONOLOGUE PARABLE A PIECE FOR TWO VOICES SYLLABICS 25 26 28 29 30 JENNI KARVINEN — SOUP À LA JENNI BITTER-SWEET OLD AGE QUESTIONS 31 32 33 JERE KOIVUMÄKI — LASAGNA OF LATERAL THINKING WHEN I AM OLD PARABLE TWO VOICES 35 36 37 38 4 MARIA MARTTALA —SOULFUL SANDWICH PARABLE TWO VOICES WHEN I’M OLD 39 40 41 43 MIKA TOIVAKKA — THE HOT CARTRIDGE-STEW WITH WHITE WINE MONOLOGUE TWO VOICES 44 45 47 MINNA SALONEN — PARFAIT DE MIÑA COLADA DIAMONDY INTERVIEW 49 50 52 NIKLAS LEPPÄNEN — ORANGE COUNTY COOKING 15 MINUTES RAP LYRICS 54 55 57 PAULIINA MYLLYNTAUS — EXPERIMENT PIE HALF-TIME MONOLOGUE 59 60 62 PEKKA HURSKAINEN — MEATBALLS OF MAYHEM SYLLABIC POEM WHEN I AM OLD THE TWO BROTHERS AND THE MAGPIES MONOLOGUE 64 65 66 67 68 VILLE ANTTILA — FRUSAGNA WITH BALDY WEIRDNESS IT RUINS THE DAY THE BALD GUY 70 71 73 5 6 E n n i K o kko n e n — A B i tte r A pe r i ti f D r i n k ½ glass ½ glass frustration high self-criticism Use long glass and fill it with crushed words. If you wish, you could decorate the drink with a dash of poetry or something alike. Serve with humble mind. A Bitter Aperitif Drink 7 Monologue My mom always taught me a lot of things. My mom used to say that I shouldn’t spread my legs to every other man I meet. When I grow old she meant. Now I’m pretty old. I am 25. I’ve never spread my legs to any man I’ve met. She also said that a good man brings me flowers and takes me to dinner in a fancy restaurant. I like men. I like it when they smile at me and say that I am a pretty bird. I am pretty, I’ve seen it in the mirror and mom also said that I am. She said it already when I was a girl. Back then she also said that I was going to drive men crazy with my fair hair and big round eyes. She told me not to flutter my lashes in that manner, but I just couldn’t help it. I don’t notice it when I flutter my lashes, they do it all themselves, the lashes I mean. Mom also wanted me to get a job. I so far haven’t had a real job. I only tidy up different places. Of course I tidy up my own apartment, which is very pretty, the apartment I mean. Quite often I tidy up at the city library, very early in the morning before people get in to read the books and the newspapers and the magazines. Some times I tidy up at a grocery store. That I don’t like as much as I like tidying up the city library. It is a lot messier in the store and it is a longer way away from my home, that grocery store. And one more reason I don’t like tidying up the grocery store is that I have to do it in the evening after all the customers have left. After tidying up the store I’m too tired to meet the men I like. I have to meet them in the evenings I haven’t been tidying up the store. But tidying up is easy so I like it. I know sometimes they laugh at me, the men I like. I’m not sure what they mean when they tell me they’d like to taste a piece of me. I don’t mind them laughing at me because they still are so friendly. I’ve told almost all of them what my mom has taught me, about my legs and flowers and dinners. And of other things too, I can’t always remember all the things I’ve told them. And then my lashes flutter. And they smile at me and tell me that I am pretty and that they need me. I’m not that sure what they need me for, but I guess that is quite all right because I like being with them. Only one of them ever took me into a nice restaurant where I got to choose whatever I liked to eat and cake for dessert too. 8 Enni Kokkonen It isn’t so long ago, maybe a month or so, that evening when this man took me to that nice restaurant, but I can’t remember his name anymore. Anyway, he took me to his home after we had eaten all the food we could think of. In the restaurant I drank milk. At his home he offered me wine but I didn’t like the taste so I didn’t finish my glass. He drank at least two or maybe three glasses of it. Maybe he liked the taste, but I for sure didn’t. Then he got undressed and kissed me straight on my lips. I’ve been kissed before, so that was all right. Lots of men have kissed me. I like kissing men, it tickles funnily. But I was a little embarrassed because I’d never before seen a man naked. His willy looked kind of funny. It was as if he had some kind of a little pinkish and furless animal under his bellybutton. I wondered then how the little animal didn’t drop away because it didn’t have anything to hold on to his tummy with. Of course I knew it wasn’t any kind of an animal, it was his willy. I just couldn’t help the thought. Then rather quickly he just kissed me all over me and did things to me and it tickled funnily, like when kissing, but a little more. The tickling was bigger and I couldn’t help laughing. Then, before I could notice, I too was naked. And something really strange happened. I’m not exactly sure what he did but I liked it. It didn’t last for too long but I liked it a lot. After he had stopped and got off of me, I asked him what it was that he did to me. He called me honey and said what he did is called love-making. I’ve been wondering why my mom told me not to spread my legs to every other man I meet. Wouldn’t it look rather stupid, if I stopped walking in front of men I meet at the streets, or in the library or in the shops, and instead of standing, or going away, just waved my legs around in front of them? I still haven’t ever done that, though. My mom would be proud of me, I’m sure. But that lovemaking, that I’ve done so many times since the first time after the fancy restaurant. That much I like this love-making. A Bitter Aperitif Drink 9 Two Voices Wife: Is it always impossible for you to Man: Oh, please, don’t you Wife: inform me if you’re coming late? Man: start again! I’ve heard it Wife: I’ve told you Man: more than thousand times. Wife: It’s just that, surely Man: You’re worrying for nothing. Wife: You must understand that Man: I need my Wife: I can’t plan anything when you Man: Never mind. Have you eaten? What’s Wife: Are you saying I’m fat? Man: You’re all right, when are you going to Wife: won’t tell me what you’re up to. Man: believe me? God I’m hungry and Wife: And when are you going to fix that Man: would like to Wife: radiator, it is damn freezing here. I‘m not going to Man: just once see you shut your mouth and let me Wife: live like this whole winter. Man: tell you what, tell you what Wife: I won’t listen any of that, for supper? 10 Enni Kokkonen Man: I’ve been thinking. Wife: your explanations are getting Man: It’s just that the Christmas break Wife: weaker and weaker year by year. Man: is coming and I thought that Wife: You are not listening to me at all! Man: Come on! Who are you to say? Wife: Don’t you turn this Man: I was just going to Wife: all upside-down, you’re as Man: tell you that Wife: bad as I am in this. Worse. Man: I’ve booked tickets for a Wife: No football games anymore with your boozing friends, you’re not Man: flight to Rome for Christmas. Wife: going. A Bitter Aperitif Drink 11 Transforming At the pier. Ice scraping. Eye contact would kill us. I want you yet I can’t. 12 Enni Kokkonen E n n i M ä ki n e n — D e e p F r i e d T he r a py w i th S w e e t & S o u r S au c e 2 pounds 1 ¼ cups 3 cups 2 tablespoons 3 cups 2 ¾ cups 1 ½ pounds 1 litre heart ache anxiety or frustration imagination unfulfilled dreams memories (or other experiences) sentimentality music (preferably sung by deep male voice) coca cola or coffee Preparations before cooking: 1) make sure you are totally alone and unreachable 2) make sure you start preferably at night fall or at least after dark 3) you should use white paper and a sharp pencil for the cooking, so make sure you have those Preheat the imagination by putting the right amount of music in the background. Then put the heart ache into a blank paper and slowly add the anxiety (frustration can be used as well). Stir carefully. Take few sips from the coca cola (or coffee) to keep your mind sharp for the cooking. Slowly add the imagination and memories. Stir just enough to mix the ingredients. Be careful not to stir too much because the ingredients have a habit of turning into a dangerous combination or just losing their effect. Add the sentimentality and taste. Finally, sprinkle the dish with unfulfilled dreams. Let the ready dish stew preferably till next morning. Finish the dish and when necessary, add some more imagination. Serve the dish to a select few. Deep Fried Therapy with Sweet & Sour Sauce 13 Monologue Someone is coming again. I hope it is not the same mean lady who was here a while ago. They are not all bad but she really annoys me, a hint of coldness in her voice and her unfeminine strength. She is not too pretty either. I wonder if she is married, probably not. At least no respectful man would be desperate enough to marry her. She is not even middle class, does not care about any important things. So what would there be to talk about with a man anyway? I have never seen a ring in her finger but I guess it is like that these days. You can never know for sure. And I would not ask. I do not know her even though she barges in almost every day; she is not very sociable. She just comes in, does her thing and leaves me alone and I like it that way. But still she could show me some respect! She treats me as if I was below her, as if I were someone else. The way she looks at me, it is unacceptable. As if she felt sorry for me. What is there to feel sorry about? With her around I would give anything for some privacy and a glass of fine Hennessy, but that is all gone now. No, she was not at my door this time. It was her. From the doorway she calls my name, cheerfully. She smiles her usual smile, which always makes me happy. She has the strangest effect on me. Like this weekend when she did not come, I found myself missing her company. She is the nicest person I have ever met; she understands me and knows the same people. She is so easy to talk to. Now she has brought my favourite juice and a box of chocolates with liqueur filling, the way she always does. I do not like eating that much nowadays, there is no point, but those chocolates really are worth the trouble. She comes closer and pours the juice in a glass for me. She touches my hand gently; she knows I am not fond of physical expressions of affection. She knows me well, even things I do not remember ever telling her. Sometimes I wonder if she is something in my imagination. She does resemble someone I once cared about. She has his eyes. That cannot be real, can it? But those kinds of things have happened, I have heard, lonely people having imaginary friends. I am not lonely or anything, I just cannot let anyone too close. Years ago I did, it was different back then. He was my superior, I respected him. He saved hundreds of lives, even the ones 14 Enni Mäkinen that were not meant to be saved, including mine. He had a great heart, one that I still miss. Somehow the new friend of mine carries his heart inside her. Perhaps that is why she seems so familiar. Suddenly she takes a picture from her purse and shows it to me: two girls on their graduation day. The girls have visited me quite often these days but I sure cannot remember their names. They are her daughters, I do not know what they have to do with me. I cannot keep track of the current events anyway, somehow my memory blocks them out. I do not go to town anymore, so actually I do not need to know what is going on. Besides, from what the TV tells me, the world is not as interesting as it used to be. Luckily I have her to silently remind me of the times that made a difference. She opens my curtains and brings me in front of the window. For a while she is silent. I wonder if everything is all right with her. “Tomorrow is the big day. The girls will come too. Everything will be fine.” She tries to sound confident but I am sure I heard a quiver in her voice. I did not say it out loud, but she was not the only one who was scared. Deep Fried Therapy with Sweet & Sour Sauce 15 Two Voices There she is, more beautiful than ever, her eyes shining, she looks at me so carefully I try to find answers, what have I done to deserve him, there is nothing special about me. But there is. She does not see herself like I do, like I will, for the rest of our lives. He does not know, does not understand. What can I do? to make it all better, to make her feel safe, to comfort her, that is my part. Come here he says, smiling. 16 Enni Mäkinen Something is not right, she is far away. A shadow, hollow. I hold him, so tight. I want him closer. Crying she watches me. Please tell me, what is wrong, how can I help, make the pain go away? he whispers. I stand in silence, there are no words. I love her, she knows that. But why does she hide? behind my tears I look him in the eye. I am so sorry. Deep Fried Therapy with Sweet & Sour Sauce 17 When I am Old When I am old I shall not regret. Regret hiding my heart from everyone or leaving emotions undiscovered. Regret marrying the wrong kind of man or being there for him when he was there for someone else. Regret having children to whom I am only air or being left alone with them. Regret never questioning my decisions or having faith in the wrong kind of people. Regret not being brave enough or not letting life to guide me. Regret searching for answers or not noticing they were already there. No mistakes, no wrong steps. Absolute wisdom, a perfect life - an illusion. 18 Enni Mäkinen H e n r i R a hi ka i n e n – P a n i c P a n c a ke s The next three dishes on offer are an acquired taste, but under the right circumstances each one delivers at least something. The pancakes come in 3 different flavours: Monologue Piece for Two Voices A Day in Dreamland To make the batter, you will need: — 1 assignment (per serving) — 1 to 6 days worth of procrastination — 1 Bottle of Lemonade — 1 carbon-based entity Place assignment in carbon-based entity. Add procrastination and marinade in lemonade for a number of days (preferably in front of computer). The following complex procedures are used to alter the time-space continuum around the batter to create the three variations: Monologue: Get one mirror, stare at until pale blue. Twist mind for tangy flavour. Piece for Two Voices: Hold batter for approximately three days in contempt. Before anyone gets a taste, destroy the concoction in a fit of rage and offer something else. A Day in Dreamland: Carefully sift in 20 years worth of computer game fandom. For an extra dimension of flavour, complement with violently upbeat piano track and singing. Finally, approximately 6 hours before serving, bake in 36.7°C in one intensive fruitless session of improvised writing followed by sudden inspiration. Panic Pancakes 19 Monologue What’s wrong with some people, I’ll never grasp. Even if I could after some ponderous pondering, it’d probably just end up hurting my brain and distracting me from today’s main event. The facilities should nowadays be labelled for people that consider their fellow citizens, or for those who obviously don’t give a hoot. It can’t be that hard at least approximately aiming your crotch in the right direction. Right, enough idle banter, the meeting will end up an even worse mess than the first stall I tried to enter if I don’t calm down. Easy does it. Duty calls. Damned eyes slightly bloodshot again, everything’s a bit blurry too. If they get any worse they’ll just prompt those looks again. I hate people rubbernecking past me. “What’s your affliction”, they ask with their eyes. I don’t want to look at them, give myself away. I do not need nor long for your sympathies. What makes you think you’re in any way qualified to give me advice on anything? You’re one of them for all I know, you are, aren’t you. You’re the ones running the red lights, you’re the people who bite your nails and spit the clippings all over the room, you own those fucking little shitstain dogs who won’t shut the hell up. Not me. Don’t you step up to me saying, “You look like you need help”. Want to help? Put your thick kids on a leash and train them to stay out of other people’s way before someone walks all over them. You’re the ones who think that smearing a bathroom mirror with soap is a wonderful idea. I’m not the one who’s pending for a cattle prod to the eye for being a total inconsiderate jackass. There’s no soap left. There’s no soap. I like the fact that nobody can see inside me. Unless I want them to. What I carry within can rarely be found in what I say; “Yes sir, right away sir, no sir, here’s your coffee sir.” I let my eyes do the talking if I feel like it. “Do you feel lucky, punk?” “The bathroom was fresh out of soap”, “Contract syphilis, sir.” The things that burn me, no matter how small, you can read it in there if you try a little, go ahead, give it a go. Can you find yourself in there? Not anymore? Good for you. I already have enough people to feed upon. Crack a smile now, there we go, flash some teeth — perfect. An impeccable veil of decorum comes in handy these days when you’re not supposed to be yourself anymore. I think she likes what 20 Henri Rahikainen she sees in me. I might actually have a go at her. All set, time waits for no man and I wouldn’t like to give a tardy image of myself, I have a sense of responsibility and a job I’m holding to, doing my part, not giving anyone a hard time. I guess that’s why I’m up here talking to myself and you’re wheezing in that little pool of yours. Damn. I can still see the red on me. It’ll fade away soon enough again. Won’t it? Panic Pancakes 21 Piece for Two Voices Oh, those years! It was the prevalently, ah, serendipitous attitude, I had adopted during those years that kept me from advancing in life. Beer, TV, bars and boobs. Empty years after graduating, unemployment, savings burned. Regarding myself as an exceptionally effervescent and somewhat gifted personality, as evident from experience in streetfights, random women, underground fame and infamy… a man of the people, adored by many, as not many people take their Tequila through the nose, I grew too focused on myself, disregarding the question: “What could I do for the world?” Captain, the bullshit-o-meter just went off the scale! Who writes this drivel!? The time was actually well used, it served as a valuable lesson as I discovered within myself in addition to that bullet in my abdomen, a knack, if you will, for this area of the industry, which, I had cultivated myself for, for a good part of the last decade, as I worked with several kinds of different people. Tweaking facial muscles to correlate with definition “smile”. Maintain eye contact! Don’t twitch, don’t look to the right! The post of the regional personnel manager in your highly regarded establishment seemed to fit like a glove as I measured myself against the chart of requirements you had so kindly provided! Maybe that’s overdoing it. Shields up, Mr. Zulu! References? Of course, sir. System failure. Dealers, hustlers, junkies. 22 Henri Rahikainen And a job at McDonalds I held for three weeks at age 16. No, no, sir, it’s… It’s that the CV was accidentally maimed by the idiot flapping his lips at you. young intern at the copy shop, if you want something done right, do it yourself, I always say! I’m tugging on my ear. Might as well fold. Why of course you’ll be getting to me later, thank you, sir. I’ll leave the references where they’re due ASAP. On the floor of my room. Panic Pancakes 23 A Day in Dreamland Original Song “Super Mario 2 Overworld Theme” composed by Koji Kondo Let us press start, let us dive to a dreamland Let the controller sink its edges to your hand I’m not to judge but if you fall to dismay, we can pretty much say that you’re gay Fall from the skies, to share your righteous justice to the evil bad guys — find the courage within — The Phantos try to kill you, in the caves you reach through the pots — get ready to grab that key and — Run, jump, shout and swear Shoot shuttles to skies, a pair of cherries levitating in mid-air — it’s all a bit Freudian — Mouser’s wearing sunshades, Shyguys shuffling into their deaths They have no regrets Yay I found a coin I feel a mental orgasm shake me as I writhe on the floor, rejoicing, I think I’ll just gamble all the cash I found and lose it all while crying how the world is not fair It makes much sense, that doors appear from bottles you pull from the ground, — elementary — Stars that dress as ninjas, you will kill them all with the beet — violent incidents and — Lethal vegetable You must survive, to beat the game and analyse the secrets within — until it drives you mad — The settings are so far-fetched you theorize their inspirations are rooted in drug use My hands are growing weary it’s hard work twiddling your opposable thumbs all the day, yes I say, my brainwaves display a weird pattern as the game has me inebriated, captivated, satiated Now the pace drops, as we have reached the conclusion, My fingers grew callus, and they bleed with profusion This was fun to lyricize, but now a bunch of Fryguys close the show as they attack my eyes 24 Henri Rahikainen J a n i K o ho n e n — T he N u tty F r u i ty W o r d S a l a d Take one fresh fruit of personal experience and chop it to little pieces, arrange in different order, change the names and places, spice it up with a hint of imagination and the surreal –go nuts in tiny pieces to add color. Let simmer for a day or two. Insert a moderate amount of pure hardcore genius, then dilute it with some action adventure and human relations soup. Some special words of warning before mixing the words together: some adverbs have naturally occurring enzymes that break down the salad’s structure, meaning that it will never get solid. Best when consumed at a rapid pace in one go. The Nutty Fruity Word Salad 25 Monologue The little old lady wakes me up at seven every morning. I haven't a thing against her beliefs but headphones were invented fifty years ago, for God's sake. I won't have to think too hard about her next Christmas gift. Oh well, might just as well do something. Fresh air will keep me sober for a few hours. After that it will become too difficult to concentrate. I have a list of things to do in my head but it’s all so fragmented. The morning paper and breakfast take me an hour. Every time I try to tell her I just can’t find the words. And she always shows her sweet side just then. By the time I get out it’s ten thirty. Sunshine warms my face and I inhale deeply. All my friends keep telling me I’m so lucky to have her. In a way I’m starting to realise that myself but I don’t know what she’s fallen in love with. Maybe we should just get to know each other better. Everything moves in slow motion, my thoughts at least. Slept only two hours, I think. Having no sleep has the same effect as being drunk. I drag myself along the semi-crowded Blecker Street. I run into this guy we know and he tries to strike up conversation but I think I only say ‘yeah’. Night is the only time that I can be creative. Days go by just thinking of nothing. 26 Jani Kohonen At four thirty I get back inside. I can still feel her smell. It’s like she never left. I hang my jacket in the closet and she still doesn’t say nothing. She’s so cold but her bug-eyed stare never fails to move something inside me. Oh come on, you know I didn’t mean it. Okay, be that way. Flipping through the channels in the sofa’s softness until the fifty-seven channels with nothing on turn even me off. I wonder if I’m the only guy who keeps waking up horny. It’s like the magic of sex dreams doesn’t wear off until some minutes and then you’re all set anyway. Come on, honey. Let’s get these jackets out of your way. Talk to me. Okay, so I’m sorry I cut you up, honey. Oh come on, you’re Christian anyway, you went to Heaven! Oh my God. Let me have this dance, Jennie. Oh my God. Can I touch you? As I ease my way inside her, the morning sermon roars through the walls again. Hell is knocking on my door. The Nutty Fruity Word Salad 27 Parable On a rainy midnight, a beggar is practising his trade down a lonely alley. A suit comes up to him and says ‘sing to me, and I’ll give you a dime’. The beggar gives his best effort and in his broken-up old man’s voice, sings bits of AC/DC’s Highway To Hell, as he remembers them. The young blue-eyed businessman kneels down and says ‘oh come on, you really feel that way?’ ‘It’s been a hard life. I never had it too great. Only Faith has kept me going. That and the memories. Once I…’ The pair strikes up a conversation, comparing childhood memories, which schools they went to, how their family was. Indeed they are two very different men. ‘You know what’, the young man says after a while. ‘I’d like to hear you sing that song again’. The beggar thinks he’s in for a real payday with his new friend and starts: I’m on a highway to... The young man bursts into hilarious laughter right into his face, genuinely amused. And then he just goes away, laughing almost uncontrollably. 28 Jani Kohonen A Piece for Two Voices ‘Where are we heading’, she asks. ‘Lakeville’, he replies innocently and keeps his eyes on the wheel. ‘Okay…’, she pauses and sighs: ‘I knew that’. Is this some kind of a woman thing, he wonders. Why is she looking at me like that. She never looks at me like that in school. The sign says Lakeville 10. At the intersection he takes a quick look in all directions and takes the next left. For a short while they don’t speak. Perhaps it’s the June sunshine and the unpaved road with all the green growth reaching up to the motorcars. Let them do the talking, they might think. Jack’s never been that talkative anyway, not even with his classmates. ‘Jack’, she places her small hand on his thigh. ‘Aaah!’, the car swerves nearly off the road, one wheel momentarily in the ditch as his muscles supertense instantly. ‘What are you doing!’, he screams half-angrily. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’, she replies with fright in her eyes. After that they don’t speak for another few miles. After the last right turn the road becomes paved again. Is he fucking stupid, she thinks, or is he just avoiding me. Jesusfuck, what more can I do! Hasn’t he ever had a girlfriend? Doesn’t he notice how I look at him at class? Lakeville 1. ‘Stop!’, she yells suddenly. He pulls over and glances at her. ‘Where are the two of us heading? Please, I just have to know.’ ‘We’ll be alright’, he says and smiles from ear to ear. The Nutty Fruity Word Salad 29 Syllabics Tanka When this pattern ends You have lost fifteen seconds All because of me Lost because meaningful art’s Beyond your comprehension 2 times 6-4-5-4 (without rhymes) when God comes to visit give the dude juice or go up in flames the choice is yours that boy’s got more power than yo mama and papa combined do it brother 30 Jani Kohonen J e n n i K a r vi n e n — S o u p à l a J e n n i A flavour of inspiration Dozens of ideas A shake of humour A hand full of tasty words Mouth-watering smooth phrases A fly or two to make the soup not too perfect 1. Add all the ideas you got into the pan. Try to accentuate the most delicious ones. 2. Let the soup boil for a while. Add a fresh approach and a shake of humour. 3. Select the word-ingredients carefully to awake and keep the person eating the soup interested in the taste. 4. Give the soup enough time to brew up to reach a perfect harmony. 5. If the soup is not tasty enough, you can spice it up afterwards to make it even more delicious. 6. Don’t eat with your eyes, but with your senses. 7. If you happen to find a fly in the soup, don’t let it disturb you in enjoying the dish. 8. If you burn the soup, just start over. In the end it will pay off. Enjoy the soup and don’t burn your tongue! Soup à la Jenni 31 Bitter-sweet Old Age When I am old I want to spice up my life, and not just a little. I shall have big plans, huge ideas, extreme hobbies. In the end I want to be able to say: been there - done that. When you come to a certain point in life, time just stops. You don’t celebrate your birthday anymore, or at least the number of the candles on top of your diabetic-cake remains year after year the same, 50. In my cake that would make 35. I want to get crazy. I shall recycle all my money, lose and win in the lottery. I will have my daily portion of social life playing bingo. I want to see the world riding my Harley I have borrowed from my son, and turn heads of men half my age. Old farts can drive too, you know. I want to learn how to step dance and go bungee-jumping, if that is the last thing I do. If I survive the jump, first then I would be ready for an old people’s home. At this point I have started to lose against the battle of life. In my new home I might share a room with a bitter, really old woman, and be relieved I stayed this sweet and agile. I’ll have to listen to toothless men flirting with nurses and telling dirty jokes. But I will still choose a rocking chair instead of a wheelchair, the stairs instead of an elevator and a spoon instead of a straw. 32 Jenni Karvinen Questions A woman was reading a magazine: “Is there something bad about eating chocolate secretly in a closet even if you are on a strict diet? But what if you come across a man, sweet as chocolate and you have difficulties keeping your hands off him? The only thing keeping you from him is the fact that you are already married.” Question number one: ”Are you hungry for chocolate at the moment?” “Yes, that would make 10 points” she thought. She could taste the chocolate flavour in her mouth. Question number two: “Do you consider yourself as a good partner?” “I can’t tell, that’s another 7 points” she added. She counted quickly, sixty-seven points altogether. It was time for her to prepare the dinner for her husband, the man who brought all the money into the household. He was always working late and travelling a lot, while she was filling in personality tests in woman magazines. She took out the cook book “The way to a man’s heart” she had gotten from him for Christmas and turned to the recipe of how to prepare a cutlet. He was probably not hungry anyway. It was getting late. When she heard the car she was ready to open the front door. “How was your day?” she asked. “Same” he answered. She took his coat and hurried into the kitchen to take the dinner out of the oven. He usually sat on the couch and waited to be called to the table. But not this time. He was ready to have a quarrel. “What is this?” he said. “What?” she asked puzzled. She looked at him. He was holding in his hand the magazine she had left open on the living room table. “This question about having an affair or wanting to have one and answering yes?” She didn’t say anything, though she thought, “I am a woman and I too have needs.” She rethought the answer. “Yes stands for thinking of having one. But you must know what I am talking about?” “ No, I don’t”. This was already the longest conversation they had had for a very long time. Soup à la Jenni 33 “Look at question seven here” she said. She pointed to another magazine. “Question number seven: Have you found any items or perfumes that don’t belong to your partner?” Now he knew she knew. “I don’t know what to say” was all he was able to say. They ate, but said nothing during the entire evening. That night she took the magazine from the living room table with her to bed and browsed in it. She had not yet answered the remaining question: “Do you love your partner no matter what he has done?” 34 Jenni Karvinen J e r e K o i vu m ä ki — L a sa g n a o f L a te r a l T hi n ki n g Okay, the first thing you need is a comfortable chair you can sit on. Then you can put some music on, preferably instrumental so that you can concentrate on your writing better. And now, and this is absolutely vital, you NEED to have food on your desk! You may also need to sip some water every once in a while. It helps you to keep your brain cells working efficiently. In addition to these physical things, you must be a little stressed; a great source of motivation and creativity (which at least works for me.) And to sum up: 1 comfortable chair + plus 2 background music + plus 3 food and water + plus 4 stress = GREAT RESULT! Please comply with all the rules presented above and you are ready to write a good piece of creative writing! In case something should go wrong, you can also go out and take a looooooong walk to refresh your mind. Lasagna of Lateral Thinking 35 When I Am Old When I am old, I will do the things I enjoy the most. I want to wake up early in the morning and wear my casual clothes. I want to wander in the backyard without neighbours noticing me. I want to work in my garden and admire my green and fresh plants. When I am old, I will have my loved ones near me. I want to see my friends. I want my children and grandchildren to visit me. I want to be near my wife. When I am old, I will do the things I dislike. I want to do house chores. I want to be woken up by the noise from outside. I want to argue with my wife. When I am old, I will die peacefully. I want to have my relatives near me. I want my wife to hold my hand. I want to fall asleep peacefully. 36 Jere Koivumäki Parable A selfish, rich, stingy old man was walking along the street to see a doctor. His health had got bad and he was now in serious need of medicinal substances. Suddenly a young, desperate boy grabbed his hand. Young boy: ”Please, give me a few pounds. My mother is sick and she needs medicine”. Old man: “That’s none of my business” The man went on. Soon a girl emerged who needed money to buy her father pills. Again, the old man turned his back on the request. Finally he reached the house where the doctor had seen everything from the window. ”Why didn’t you help those poor little kids? People say you are the richest man in this town” the doctor asked. ”I didn’t know them”, the old man replied. The doctor looked at him for a moment and said: ”I don’t know you either” and shut the door on him. Lasagna of Lateral Thinking 37 Two Voices I ask him to hurry up. We’re already late. Why do we have to go through this every single morning? These mornings are starting to become nightmares. I’m coming, he shouts, as usual. I don’t know what is going on in his mind. He comes and complains, look at me mother. I don’t wanna wear these. He is dressed just the way a boy should be. I’m so proud of him. Other kids will laugh at me. At least they can choose their own clothes. We need to go now, she says. Once again, the nightmare begins. 38 Jere Koivumäki M a r i a M a r tta l a — S o u l fu l S a n dw i c h Take two big slices of bread of life (dark or white). Add between them: both fresh and dried experiences, perceptions and thoughts (note: describe them carefully) words that you suit your taste a little bit of imagination to spice it up. - Eat with thought and time. Simple and tasteful  easily prepared! Soulful Sandwich 39 Parable Two men were walking past a garden. It was early spring and the garden looked deserted; only three crocuses had appeared on the surface of the earth. One of them had already come into flower. The men saw its beauty: the white colour was a sign of a new awakening. The other two crocuses were still in bud. The first of the men went to the smaller of the buds and watered it with the last drops of spring water he had carried in his drinking vessel. But the other man could not resist the beauty he knew the bud held inside. He tried to force it open, but every of its petals dropped and its stem broke. When the men passed the garden later in the spring, the smallest bud that had been watered with clear spring water had become a strong, blossoming crocus, but where the other bud had stood the ground looked empty and dead. 40 Maria Marttala Two Voices I sense nothing but your presence. Not the darkness that is setting in. Not the sounds of the night around us that are growing louder  the birds, the wind. Not the scent of August, of the summer that has passed. When you’re there beside me it feels as if the world is a good place to live, even in the middle of all this growing up. When you’re here I stop being restless. Why do I always forget how pretty you are? When did I learn to love you as you are, to love every expression on your face? I couldn’t live without these conversations or without you challenging my thoughts. You look at me like you were searching for something. I can’t see it in your eyes: it doesn’t exist, did it ever? And to make it worse, you go on and on about her: Soulful Sandwich 41 “Well, she’s beautiful and smart. The first one in years I don’t have any need to run away from.” Did you run away from me? The hours go by too fast. Don’t say it yet… “It’s late, should we go to sleep?” There is a time to every purpose under heaven… A time to cry for dreams that will never come true. A time to grieve over the life I’ll never share with you. “Good night. You’re the best.” So this is as far as we’ll ever get. Is there something autumnal in the air?  And the birds sound lonely in the lightless forest: “To every thing there is a season…” 42 Maria Marttala When I’m Old When I am old everything irrelevant disappears. How I have lived my life, what I believe is still to come becomes clear. Soulful Sandwich 43 M i ka T o i va kka — T he H o t C a r tr i dg e - S te w w i th W hi te W i n e First you have to have a lot of frustration concerning everything, so that you are able to cook this dish. Don’t even bother to try if you’re satisfied in any way. • • • 1 liter of gunpowder 2 kilograms of brass Copper for the bullets When you have all this you should be able to move on to the second face and the actual cooking. • • • • 2 dl of paranoia and/or other mental issues Mix the gunpowder and the paranoia and you should have a very explosive mixture… Wait about one hour – you might build up a little bit of irritation, don’t worry that’s normal. Take the wine while waiting and open it. Take a little sip to make sure it’s worth drinking. Then leave it open for 30 minutes or so, that’s not important. Take a pot and fill it with water, one liter is fine. Add the spices to the water: o One spoon of salt o Garlic as much as you like o Two green chili peppers – smash them o Other peppers if you want to o One onion – chop it the way you like Boil the water and then add the gunpowder mixture, the spices and the cartridges and bullets. By this time you might have a twisted grin on your face – don’t worry that’s more than fine! Let it be until it’s about to blow up Serve with wine Of course you should have invited your girlfriend! • • • • • • • A final word – don’t tell this recipe to anyone, it’s for your own good. 44 Mika Toivakka Monologue People don’t usually know what to do when they are scared or confused; they have to be given options to choose from. I enjoy getting the pleasure to help someone in those situations, most of all in those cases when they choose from the options I have provided. I just like to do my job because I’m good at it. My family, my wife, our daughter, and I live in New York. We lead a life that is common in those parts of the city; an American dream as one could say. Our daughter goes to private school and why shouldn’t she. Why wouldn’t I give her all that I have already? She deserves nothing less. And my wife, oh, she’s a real piece of work! She has always been a model, and still is though as a mother and a good one too. Modeling means a lot to her and that’s how I met her years ago. She is a senior partner in a modeling company and she definitely enjoys it. I don’t want to bring my work and my family to the same room at the same time, because I don’t want to spoil the time I spend with them by questions concerning my work. I have always thought so and that’s my motto – keep your work and family separate. It is frustrating to think about one part of my life when enjoying the other one. When I’m working I don’t think about my family or my own things. It just has to be that way otherwise both would suffer. You see, I’m a businessman and I do business with people that need a way or many ways to get out of the situation they are in, or are afraid to get into one. I’m a provider of options that doesn’t take sides in any way and that’s the reason why I am able to do the job. I enjoy it… it’s the job that I have always wanted. More importantly it has a lot of comforts and advantages. I usually work five days a week, of which I’m four abroad. China, Japan, South Africa, Cuba, you name it and I’ve done business there. So, a lot of my time at work is spent on traveling. I get to see the world, but that’s not the most thrilling thing. Money is one of the things I do this. If I didn’t get a lot of money of this job I wouldn’t probably do it – then I wouldn’t be able to give my daughter as much as I do now. Still the job is a unique one and the excitement of it keeps me motivated. The Hot Cartridge-Stew with White Wine 45 I’m the head of my company and the people that I work with are my clients. Yes, that’s right, I own my enterprise and I’m the employer and the sole employee. I get to wear expensive suits, which I enjoy because they give an expression of power and respect. I built up my business from nothing and look at me now. The wealth I own rises up to hundreds of millions in dollars. I’m quite proud of myself when I look back. Every amateur starting a business is humble and is satisfied with every new client. At the back of their minds they have motive, to get rich, famous and respected – so did I and I made it happen, though I’m not very well known to ordinary folk. My wife and I have a lot of friends and acquaintances that we meet quite regularly. They always ask how’s the business doing, and I laugh a little and reply that it’s doing fine. They don’t know what I do in my work. The women always look at me with curiosity in their eyes, trying to get a hint out of me, to get me to reveal my professional secrets, but I always smile back at them and they give up their staring probably feeling bad about it. I don’t know for sure but I think they would go pretty far to find out what I do. My wife and me usually don’t stick together in a party, for instance, and that’s when the jackals do their detective work. They always find my wife and ask her about my job. For goodness sake people! There isn’t just much more to tell about my work than that it is none of your business, but mine. My wife always tells them that I’m in the exports and imports, and that is mostly the truth. In the streets I see my products in the covers and headlines of tabloids and broadsheets quite regularly. One could ask, “How can you do it?” and there isn’t a simple answer, frankly speaking. I don’t have enemies, because everyone is on my side. I tell myself that I am not responsible for the massacres and bloodsheds around the world, I just offer people a choice – to defend themselves. 46 Mika Toivakka Two Voices He: The doorbell gives a ring, she’s here. Is everything ok? – the place, perfume, teeth… oh, here goes. We have to talk. I promised to myself last night before going to bed that we would. Now the thought of it takes every possible way to let me of the hook. I open the door and there she is. What was I thinking? It’ll come back. She: Hello! Nice to see you! I’ve waited for this since we last parted. You smell wonderful, and look good too! If only you were mine, and I yours The awkwardness would disappear. (…We have to talk…) He: Well, thank you! You’re beautiful as always, And your fragrance is divine – you took the words out of my mouth! Ha ha! The words have thorns and won’t come out. How is she so calm? This should be our big night! Being friends is suffocating me – us Us, I certainly hope so… She: I brought some wine To ease the atmosphere – and our words And a movie. I hope you haven’t seen it before…? Oh, he’s seen it all right, but he’s a gentleman A gentleman reveals nothing. He: Oh, damn! I’ve seen that one three times. You got lucky, I haven’t seen that before. She smiles; I think my cover is transparent. The Hot Cartridge-Stew with White Wine 47 She: Still, the wine is good. Red wine. I can’t wait to get a sip of the wine. Should we open this right away? He: You must be psychic! I laugh naturally – is the wine working already? The cork comes out in one piece. Glasses, clean ones thank heavens! Wake up! You have to control the situation – Get a grip! She: The aromas of the wine fill my nostrils. A sip makes me want more. Makes me want him - more than ever. He: I hope this wine makes her talk. Do want some more? Your glass is almost empty. At this pace I don’t have to do the talking. She: Yes, please. 48 Mika Toivakka M i n n a S a l o n e n — P a r fa i t de M i ñ a C o l a da Take one skinny punk-ass b*tch marinated in a good few glasses of brandy and coke Hurl around the World and back slowly adding all sorts of unconventional conventionalists Let sit in front of a speaker until you can see signs of eternal Tinnitus and make sure that the tunes have been fully absorbed Finish up with tons of hairspray to ensure maximum volume Garnish with skulls and crossbones and a pool cue. Parfait de Miña Colada 49 Diamondy These days I mostly spend my allowance on buying props for my solo act as the Brooding Poet in the Corner Booth. It seems that lately there have been new girls flooding the scene, perky little butterflies with their bleached bangs down to their eyes and 3-feet-long Holly Golightly – cigarette holders. They get weepy against my shoulder, snotty testimonies about Absinth and their boyfriend snogging some pretty-boy at the bar. Sex can really rip you off your roots, so I’ve been going without for years. I don’t want no stains on my dreams. Such a poor cast of players, nice teeth but no substance. This joint is packed with them pseudo-realistic portrayals of boys in bands, sporting shabby second-hand suits and eager looks on their faces. It’s them who draw the girls in, so that they come swarming across the frontroom every Friday like gangrene. It’s a whole generation gone to waste, escapism is out of fashion and subtlety has suddenly become the new turn-on. Lord knows , these chicklets could use some advice on how to really work their T&A. You have to know your assets to be a true artist. Mind you, they’ll always remain virgins. Travelling with a plan and matching set of luggage, telling everyone they’re gonna go far though that’s just where they came from. Slumming it for a suitable time, absorbing the counter-culture chic, then off they go to pursue their studies in literature or theatre. Take up drinking coffee and learn to cross their legs in a lady-like manner. Stay skinny and wide-eyed. This place is losing its glamour. Last week they found some faggot turning blue in the toilet stall. And I think the bartender keeps short-changing me. Afterparties are hard to find nowadays, and I don’t like amateurs groping around my record collection. Last time some punk stole all my pictures of Gaye Advert, for what unhygienic purpose, I can easily imagine. Since then I have started taking polaroids of everyone at the door so I can track them down in case of an emergency. They leave a cemetary of failures in my ashtray and half-finished beer bottles in the kitchen sink. “I’ll have another Carling, darling”. By dawn I’m coughing up the ghost of my cool. The odours, the shrieks and the bass are still hanging heavy in the lounge. Life has that way of leaving you lying there, bruised but wanting more. 50 Minna Salonen So I eat time, waste it and dare to enjoy. Well, even the Bible says that all good prophets get stoned. Reality is for suckers who can’t cope with dope. I dye my roots every two weeks and I still get asked for an ID at the liquor store. So you can just kiss my lovely lifestyle, baby. Parfait de Miña Colada 51 Interview - Ask me a question. Ask me something difficult. - What is there to discuss? - An artist has to always be prepared to back up his work, to present some theory. Art is just bullshit, but you have to have your bullshit together. The work itself is not at all important, it’s the idea behind it. - According to Oscar Wilde an artist is the creator of beautiful things. - He also says that all art is quite useless. The beauty is not in the finished product, it’s in the process, or the purpose, or the idea and inspiration. That’s what distinguishes real art from fucking Ikea. - Do you think that art is supposed to stimulate our intelligence rather than our senses? - I have a friend, a true artist, if you will, and the way he works is that before he makes a piece of art he writes an essay on it. He writes this ten-page academic analysis of the imagined piece of work and then proceeds to make a painting or a sculpture to match his essay. He’s got his concept nailed. - Who is art for though? The artist or the audience? - Art made for the viewer is all over the place nowadays: MTV, radio, you name it. It’s cheap and disposable, there’s no passion in it and that makes it easy and approachable for the mass-product-fed Generation Y. - People are getting more and more ignorant as we speak. - We are conditioned to process the surrounding world in tiny 30 second pieces. Our attention-span is trained to understand only advertisement and music videos. Flashing lights and noise. - Traditional art and literature are old-fashioned and boring. - The average teenager finds it impossible to concentrate on still inanimate objects. - But maybe art is changing. Taking new forms, something previously unheard of. 52 Minna Salonen - I think that nowadays they try to market a lot of pure shite as art. Blinking fucking fluorescent tubes and such. Copying stuff that was done like a hundred years ago, stuff that no one remembers, and claiming to have founded a new art form. - Everything’s been done already. - The trick is to combine the old material into new kinds of combinations. But you have to achieve a trade-mark look, or a sound. Something instantly recognisable as your product. The Ramones did it. The Jesus and Mary Chain did it. Pop art. Vivienne Westwood. Electronic skinhead-punk. - And in order to do that you have to know your history. - I mean, how can you write poetry without having ever read any poems? That’s ridiculous. It’s the same with music. It’s the same with life, in fact - how could you be a full human being without knowing anything about our history, culture, psychology? You get these shit-hot young fucking mystics with their stupid spiked up designer-mullets calling themselves artists. Artists my ass, they wouldn’t know a piece of post-modernism if it pissed on them. - Poseurs. - The human brain is real good at fooling itself. H&M has made alternative desirable – wearing black eye-liner is a sure way to score in any bar. Ten years ago you would have got beaten up for looking like a fag. - REAL freaks are disappearing? - These are the most conservative times since the sixties. People live in denial, they want to believe that they have freedom of speech and choice and so on. But our choices are very much given to us. The society silences the real weirdoes by presenting them with a thousand clones. Fashion, baby. - What do you wear? - I cut the labels off of my Armani suits. - An anti-tribute to the designer-culture. - I make a statement. Parfait de Miña Colada 53 N i kl a s L e ppä n e n — O r a n g e C o u n ty C o o ki n g Pigeons Little pigeons Apples Green apples Sweat Tears Neck pain Lots of staring at blank screen Sugar Coca-Cola Coca-Cola Pepsi That’s my plan! Just put them in a bowl. Mix them up and toss in the oven. 5 hours. Temperature between 200°C and 250°C. Something will come up. Whatever! 54 Niklas Leppänen 15 Minutes I heard a long and two short whistles. The panic and desperation started to grow. I breathed in, what felt like, cold air and turned towards the locker room. The bright October sun was shining straight to my eyes. The smell of sweat that came from the other players hit my nose. I could also smell the rotten grass because the pitch was warming up. Several angry and sarcastic comments were yelled from the crowd. “You lazy bastards”, I heard, only I didn’t know who was yelling, “You think you should do something now, huh?” What was worse, they were all right. We were being rubbish. I knew we were. 1-0 behind at half time in a match we had to win. I felt so guilty. We were betraying everybody. It was the longest walk I’d ever had to the locker room. I couldn’t look at anybody and only stared at the green and muddy ground. I was dreading the locker room right now, yet I knew I had to go there. I was deep inside my own misery but abruptly woken up by the clicking sound of my studs hitting the concrete floor, which indicated the locker room was near. The guilt was growing stronger and stronger. The guilt of being lazy, of betraying the supporters, of knowing we were too good to go down but had put ourselves in this situation only because of our own stupidity. We hadn’t worked enough during the season. Too many times we gave up because things weren’t going in our way. But now, there was no escape, no next match to be played. We needed three points from this match. With these thoughts, I walked inside. The brightness of sun was gone when I crossed the threshold; the long corridor ahead was lit by murk lamps. I turned left to our locker room and sat down to my seat. The faces of the other guys told me they were as desperate as I was. Our coach came in. He kicked the trash can all the way to the other side of the room. Pieces of thrash flew everywhere. “Who wants to quit now? Tell me!”, he shouted, “if you wanna quit you can fuck off right now!” Nobody spoke. It was more silent than in a funeral. The coach continued to speak, but in more encouraging tone. “Look guys, I know we’ve had a terrible season. I’ve done things wrong and so have you. We can all take a long look at the mirror when this is over, but right now we need to act as team. We need Orange County Cooking 55 to trust each other and believe we can get ourselves out of this.” Well, that’s true, I thought and began to listen further. The coach was walking and looking at us one by one. “We have 45 minutes to fix this”, he started, his tone was getting stronger and more confident all the time, “our pride is at stake here. Do you wanna be referred to as losers who relegated? Do you wanna be laughed at? People are gonna make jokes about us if we lose this. But it’s not over! It’s not fucking over.” I could see the guys were believing this. Their faces, as well as mine, looked concentrated and determined. For the first time of the season the atmosphere was what is was supposed to be. The adrenaline was flowing in my veins, the liniment was smelling, it was feeling like a football match that I had dreamed to play in. Hope was suddenly all I had. The panic and despair, knowing we had to win, the fear of embarrassment, everything was giving me strength now instead of weakening me. I don’t know how it happened but it did. I could see everybody was feeling the same. I heard the coach’s final words. He yelled on the top of his voice. “Now, let’s get out there to do what we have to do! Come on lads! Come on!” He clapped his hands together and we all got caught up in that moment. We all clapped our hands, screamed wildly, patted each other, looked each other in the eyes and knew we were not going to screw up anymore. We were confident, we had found our passion. The buzzer gave the sound. I took a sip of water from a bottle, looked outside from the window to the now beautiful sunshine, and for the first time of the season I was actually enjoying football. I walked towards the locker room door, got a pat on the shoulder by the coach and saw the bright sun at the end of the corridor leading to the pitch. I walked outside with the clicking noise that came from my studs, breathed the cold air, smelled the atmosphere of a football match, heard the crowd and started running towards the pitch. 56 Niklas Leppänen Rap Lyrics Saying: “You can fool some of the people all the time, And all of the people some of the time, But you cannot fool all of the people all of the time” Yeah… you feeling me? Just listen, man… check this out… Rapping: The U.S. government lies It’s proven, it’s the truth this time 9/11, was a genocide And more of Americans should wanna know why ‘coz so many of them deserved to die, by their government A strong statement, I know, but it is the truth Loose Change is on the internet, you better watch it too Don’t be shook, son, don’t be scared to look Get aware of the actions Bush government took Terrorists were made to take the blame The real villain’s the president of United States To them killing people is some sick twisted way To better their own positions, to get more fame They weren’t happy, they needed a change You can ask Rumsfeld he wrote it in his paper, it can be read today You fucking monsters, you wanted to war and oil Your answer was to create terror to your own soil Afghanistan, Bin-Laden and valuable gas Dead people and body bags You can’t put a prize on human life Before I die, I’d like to kick your sorry ass, good-bye You fuckers, when you die it will be my turn to laugh You’ll go to hell, and it’s even worse than Afghanistan Chorus: I wanna see revenge on U.S. government I’m here to defend the rights of American citizens The guilty ones are in the White House, I just wonder When are they gonna be buried, 6-feet-under Orange County Cooking 57 2nd verse Planes are crashing, towers collapsing Mysteries rising, explanations lacking I’m here ‘coz Americans need some backing If the Boeing crashed on Pentagon Then were the fuck have the six ton engines gone Official explanation; they vaporized All that steel gone within few seconds of time Do you believe that, do you think there’s nothing wrong Then tell me this, why was there not any marks on the lawn Back to twin towers I wanna nail the cowards, have to go on They collapsed by explosions, they were blown up by bombs You can see that, just look close enough They say the fire was hot enough to burn four black box But a passport survives, only covered with dust Phone calls from the plane How come they got 12 made With a 0.008 success rate And when you call your mom, do you use your whole name I know, it’s insane The whole thing was a fake Planes were empty, that’s how the game was played Watch the document, look things up Soon you realize that you got fucked Government murdered Americans, it’s true, what you gonna do What you gonna do Chorus: I wanna see revenge on U.S. government I’m here to defend the rights of American citizens The guilty ones are in the White House, I just wonder When are they gonna be buried, 6-feet-under 58 Niklas Leppänen P a u l i i n a M y l l y n ta u s — E x pe r i m e n t P i e This dish turns out best when prepared at night-time or rather late in the evening. Some planning of the task should be made before the actual event, so that the preparing goes smoothly. However, there is no guarantee that the dish succeeds, so be prepared for surprises! There is also no need to rigidly follow the recipe; your own experiments are recommended. 1 medium size brain 1 tablespoon inspiration 1 cup disconnected thoughts that run like wild horses 2 cups life experience 3 biggish dreams ½ tablespoon requirements 3 tablespoons profound pondering Shake the brain to get all creatively nutritious ingredients flowing. Scoop all tasty ideas in a bowl. Mix with all the rest of the ingredients fiercely to create an even substance. Let leaven while popping out for a fag or a visit to the fridge. Bake as long as is required, making sure the pie isn’t raw inside. The risk of baking too much is minimum. Let cool slightly before serving. Experiment Pie 59 Half-time I heard the whistles, one long and two short ones. I was leaning on the railing, holding my head between my hands. I didn’t need this. I really didn’t need this. I raised my eyes and watched the boys as they dragged their feet along the pitch towards the locker room. Looking at them hurt. Or was it rather my head that had been pulsating all through the match, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t want the boys to see me, so I took a few steps back to keep behind the crowd. Comments pounced behind me, near enough for me to get a few sparks on my back. ´You lazy bastards!’ ‘You think you should do something, huh?’ I saw how every comment made the heads of the boys descend a bit more, until it became uncertain whether they would find to the locker room at all. I followed the guys inside, but kept a good distance. The strengthening smell of sweat indicated that a team of football players had just walked through that long corridor, but the dead silence was like a stigma of defeat, which was so strong that it almost prevailed over the stench. Too soon I reached the door of the locker room. Instead of going in I froze and leant against the wall. ‘You gotta do this, Johnny’, I said to myself. ‘You gotta make ‘em feel like you’re still in the game. Those kids are in a hell of a situation and if they don’t get your full support, they’re gonna go down with a crash.’ I knew I was the key element in this situation, the only one who could blow some life into those poor old bastards who had played like a ward of blind pensioners all season. I knew it was partly my fault. Not that I hadn’t done my job, No, I had been a good coach all along, no one could deny that. The only problem was that my coaching had been like factory work. There was no heart in the job, no feeling since the news. Sure it had been hard to acknowledge to myself for the first time that I didn’t give a shit what happened to the team. These guys had once been so important to me. But the enthusiasm that I had once felt towards them had gone for good. All that was left now was emptiness. But I couldn’t let them notice. I owed that to them. I tried to psych myself up into feeling angry, enraged, incredulous, anything that a coach should feel in this situation. I started replaying in my mind the things I would say in the locker room. I decided to kick something on my entrance, to shake them up. I would have to be really 60 Pauliina Myllyntaus convincing, but I wasn’t sure whether even that would make a difference. After all, it was 1-0 at halftime, and the boys seemed to be playing worse than ever. The silence that still continued in the locker room meant that they were already preparing themselves for giving up, going down, and being relegated. I clenched my hands into fists and silently hammered the wall behind me. This was it . I felt the veins in my temples fill with blood. Staring at a piece of garbage on the floor I got ready for the show of a lifetime. ‘Shout at them like never before’ I thought. ‘Wake ‘em up from that despair they’ve got themselves into.’ To be honest, I didn’t have a clue what I would say to them. But what the hell. I had managed to impose myself into a moderate state of rage. That should get me somewhere. I opened my coat in order to somehow give a more threatening or credible impression. Then I went in, kicking the garbage bin to the far end of the room. Experiment Pie 61 Monologue How irritatingly strange the people of this world are. I can never stop wondering about them. With their stupid walking habits, tones of voice, obsessions, their endless quirks. They make this world crazier by the day, and especially my own private world. And why do they all bother to look different? It disturbs me. To me they are all equally uninteresting and meaningless anyway. There’s no use for me to recognize the saleswoman of the grocery shop; I never speak to her anyway. No Mrs. I-don’t-know-your-name-and-I-don’t-give-a-damn, I still don’t think it’s a lovely weather outside, so don’t you bother asking. I curse the day that the old store was closed. I managed to train the staff not to acknowledge me. Those new people still haven’t got the hang of it. I’d order my groceries home but I hate it when the doorbell rings. I could almost forgive them their down right stupidity. But what is absolutely unacceptable is when they try to constrict my life. Like the time I was raising the fence in the backyard. Those bloody neighbours of mine started whining about it, saying it overshadowed their yard. Well, I was doing them a favour. They let their kids run around shirtless all summer, screaming and shouting. They should’ve thanked me for protecting them against skin cancer. Instead they threatened to call the police. Which is what the idiots did. The police came while I was hammering the last nails. I took pains to ignore the officers, but when they started shaking my ladder, I was forced to look down. They said I needed a permit for raising the fence above standard level. I told them I didn’t have a permit because I was working on my own backyard, and when I didn’t promise to take down what I had just built, they confiscated my ladder and hammer and warned me that if I caused any more disturbance to my neighbours they would come and take away the rest of my fence. And all I had wanted was to keep away from everyone! That’s just what they are like: irrational, nosey and selfish. Humph – people. I do my best to avoid them, and yet they are everywhere. I’ve never got used to them, nor have I ever wanted to, or ever will. Even as a child I disliked them, whatever age they were. I used to become distressed whenever I was impelled to be in their company. The children at school were always so restless and impatient. That’s why I did so poorly at school. I couldn’t concentrate in the middle of that colourful 62 Pauliina Myllyntaus crowd of brats. Often I would just stare at them, my head filled with the noise and hassle they produced. Then, when I had had too much of it, I would cover my ears with my hands and close my eyes. Sometimes it got so bad I had to run out of the classroom. The mere reminiscence of those days causes anxiety. They call me unemployed. What a word. They don’t realize how hard work it is to write operas. Especially when you can’t stop. You’d think you’d get used to composing ceaselessly for – forty or 72 hours, or more, but actually I’ve noticed that it gets harder with age. Sometimes when I’m lying awake for the third night in a row, with music filling my brain and notes jumping before my eyes, I almost wish I were spared from this agony. Yet I know that without it I wouldn’t be worth even what I am now. It’s during these nights that I can’t help myself from cracking. Occasionally – occasionally I even cry. It’s my second night now and I feel it coming again, this feeling of insecurity, of doubt. Tunes accompanied by questions that I manage to suppress while in a normal state of mind. Why am I here? What is my music for? Why am I the way I am? At times like these I find relief in watching the starlit sky. That’s why I tend to climb on the roof at night. In a way I can understand it when people call me a nutter. At least it means I get to keep the whole sky to myself. It’s a bewildering feeling, lying up here in perfect solitude. I play my own compositions in my head. The violins, flutes, percussions, double basses, all sounds create a divine combination, so close and so loud I always fear that the neighbours call the police again. I could never listen to the music in reality in such richness and volume. It would probably cause irreparable damage to my brain. But I’m satisfied with this music hall in my head. And this way I get to keep my creations solely to myself and myself alone, without anyone else criticizing or judging them. I need none of those ignorant fools nosing into my works, they are my property. After all, they could never appreciate my compositions like they could never appreciate me. I’ve got used to it – though it does get harder with age. Experiment Pie 63 P e kka H u r ska i n e n — M e a tb a l l s o f M a y he m Ingredients for my creative fulfilment: Large amounts of hanging around in bars, Lots and lots of stocktaking, Pinch of a young man’s crises, and Immense degrees of creativity. 64 Pekka Hurskainen Syllabic Poem Her limber back - my stretching cougar! Her hair like vine hanging down the slopes, her tilted head leaning on a fist - like fjords and dells. And her ideas sailing away. And the plump fullness peaking under her open spot – wow! Invite, seduce, please take me, want me! - she is perfect. Meatballs of Mayhem 65 When I am Old When I am old, I’ll be a white-headed mountain, everyone around me wanting to reach my summit. The climb has been exhausting, and the sunset covered with clouds. I’m just waiting for the stars to come up. That is I am old. 66 Pekka Hurskainen The Two Brothers and the Magpies There were once two brothers who had inherited two fields, one for each. They were also given the same amount of money to cover the expenses. Generations before them, the fathers of their fathers, and the fathers before them, had warned their sons of the magpies, the evil-doers that would annually eat most of the crop. One of the brothers spent all his life, most of his money and his limited resources on anti-magpie activities such as scarecrows and shotguns. The other lived his life normally, doing his work like any other farmer, still taking care of the field which was his only income. He did not spend fortunes on magpie prevention like his brother did, and he had realized that even picking up one single stone was a big enough deterrent for the magpies. Both of them got almost as many pounds of grain every autumn. “My brother,” his brother once asked him,” why dost thou not take action in preventing these servants of the devil himself from eating your crop, as I do?” To this the other replied,” Well, the thing is that these magpies, believe it or not, scare a good many other threats away from my field, such as crows, which are the worst of God’s creation; these magpies also eat the carcasses from my yard. Besides, they can be scared away by just one single stone.” He continued,” worry not so greatly about inevitable concerns, for there are a great deal of them for every one, even without worrying. Act not before your worries, nor after, but only when they are at hand.” Meatballs of Mayhem 67 Monologue When I go to a bar, now that I think about it, I’ll never find a woman with whom I could actually spend a silent moment without a slight sense of awkwardness. Oh no, I’m lost in the mess of uncertainties, nights filled with disappointments after another. People there don’t seem to have any other point than to express their state of horniness, something that confuses them along with the paralyzing effect of all the liquor in their heads that turns them into cocky show-offs who, at the end of the day, don’t seem to be that sure of themselves anymore. Definitely, I’ll come back next week. Dancing to music I’d never even listen to otherwise; making promises to those I really care about, and bailing out from them; listening to people, yet not hearing a word, and pursuing close contact with those whom I don’t actually even want to be a friend with. And all the people with their wishes and demands are driving me insane. Who do they think they are? Connoisseurs? And I hate myself for not being able to respond to their not-so-constructive criticism in a similar tactless manner. Still I’m always the last to leave. Even the girl at the counter leaves earlier; she’s a real goddess with those full lips, divine breasts and that perfect ass of hers. I still can’t remember her name, now can I! I’m sure she knows mine, and I could swear that she once told me I was cute. She isn’t like the rest of the bunch. She isn’t, you know, awkward in a way that it would bother. It seems, though, that she’s the only one whose night isn’t dependent on my choices. I sure wish it wasn’t so. She keeps me coming to this hellhole every night. These vultures are tearing me apart. Customer is always right – what a load of bull! I would rather have hot needles stinging my testicles than listen to Bon Jovi all night, let alone with enthusiasm. - Play Living on a Prayer! They often suggest with determination in their voices. If I don’t play, it’s my ass on the line in terms of me getting sacked for not doing what I’ve been told by the customer. I wouldn’t, alternatively, want to get beaten up by the Vocational School graduate either, who would turn out to be the boyfriend of the 18-year-old Bon Jovi enthusiast. I’m a grown man, for crying out 68 Pekka Hurskainen loud! I should be able to play my own songs, I’m the expert! Cries out the 14-year-old kid inside me; kid who once thought all this was awesome. Sure I prefer playing music in a bar to changing diapers, paying mortgages and mowing the lawn of my house in the suburbs. Sure I’m better off this way, aren’t I? The vanity that’s radiating from everything that has anything to do with bars is, however, starting to get to me. Yet everyone else around me seem to be enjoying themselves. I sure wish she didn’t notice that. Meatballs of Mayhem 69 V i l l e A n tti l a — F r u sa g n a w i th B a l dy W e i r dn e ss Ingredients for the Frusagna (“It Ruins the Day”): 1 A hint of Some A whole 2 cups of Lots of Humor to taste Memory (preferably not your own) Empathy Sentimentality Frustration Antipathy Sarcasm Take a memory, then grind it to better suit your own purposes. You need empathy and sentimentality to make a sappy stew for the lasagna. Leave the stew in your fridge for a couple of weeks so it begins to rot and produce the frustration. Use this frustration together with antipathy and sarcasm to make the layers of the lasagna. Twist some humor on top of it, bake it in 200 degrees, and you get a tasty dish of Frusagna. Ingredients for the Baldy Weirdness (“The Bald Guy”): 1 Scalp 3 cups of Sweat A bag of Weird aromas Weeks of Sleeplessness A few Surreal images Reality Oil Mix the scalp, sweat and aromas and mould into a figure of a man. Spice it up bit by bit during the weeks of sleeplessness with vague memories and surreal images, always in a hurry. Make a dough of the reality and use it as a coating for the man-figure. Deep fry in oil and serve immediately. 70 Ville Anttila It Ruins the Day Dammit. I was so prepared to enjoy this day to the fullest that I even bought a hammock. I’ve always wanted a hammock! Why did she have to ruin my day like that? We’re not even related! She’s my wife’s sister, not mine. I just wish she could’ve dropped dead some other day. Today was going to be perfect. I shouldn’t have answered that call. There was something ominously irritating in the way it rang, but seeing that it was my wife I couldn’t just ignore it. I was mostly quiet while she broke the news, but I think she was too focused on what she was saying to notice my lack of participation to the conversation. She gave me all the details of what had happened in a loud voice, continuously clearing her throat to seem like she was fine, but I could hear she had been crying from the snot she had to prevent from running down her nose. I really hoped she wouldn’t break down over the phone, I just don’t have the skills to deal with situations like that—the situation was awkward enough without any hysterical crying, and fortunately for me it remained that way. The downside was that she was composed enough to ask me to tell our daughter what had happened, and I wasn’t composed enough to decline. My mind wandered as I dragged myself up the stairs in the direction of her room. I thought about the hammock, the person that was now a corpse, and informing my daughter that the corpse was her aunt. I didn’t think I would have a problem telling her about it, my problem was with the extra stuff I was expected to do, like comforting, hugging and passing hankies. That’s why I recounted the incident as impassively as I could to my teenage daughter. She took the news kind of like I did – quietly – with the exception of the required “what”, “when” and “how” questions. I could see that she was completely blown away but still she put on a brave face. It made me feel proud of her, knowing that she didn’t need to go all clingy on me. I had raised a survivor. Frusagna with Baldy Weirdness 71 When it seemed there was nothing left to say I left her room and headed for the hammock, which was still in its sealed plastic bag. I carefully unwrapped it like it was Christmas, then picked the trees in my backyard and tied the ropes of the hammock to them as tightly as I could. Finally I cautiously sat on it, testing if it would hold my weight, then stretched myself and let my body be taken with the carefree swing of the hammock. But I couldn’t enjoy the moment. I knew my daughter was crying. 72 Ville Anttila The Bald Guy There was this bald guy I kept running into every time I was on my way to work. He was always blushing and gushing sweat when he approached me, but never managed to say anything – he just grinned, probably thinking he’s smiling. The thick skin on his face made furrows that align with the shape of his ears. It didn’t really bother me to see him day after day, I got used to him standing next to the butcher’s. I kind of felt sorry for him, but he always seemed to be in a good mood, which in a way made me happy too. A couple of weeks back I wanted to show my appreciation by returning his grin with a big smile when I walked past him. It seemed to have an effect on him: his eyes got wider and the grin twisted his face even more than usual. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to get the guy excited… After our exchange of smiles he started to make these coughing sounds every time he saw me. I don’t know if he was sick or chuckling with pleasure. I actually considered changing my route, but I didn’t, ‘cause it would have been silly to let this man affect my life so much. And it was the shortest route anyway. Days went by, but there was still no change in the man. And worse, I couldn’t seem to get him out of my head; I kept seeing that face of his all the time. That is why one day last week I passed him with a quickened pace without giving him a glance. It felt rude even though we’ve never even talked to each other, so I did feel the urge to take a peek behind me when I was a good deal further away. My heart jumped. He was standing on his spot, looking straight at me, grinning, but I could tell even from there that this time it wasn’t a smile. I haven’t seen him on that spot again, since that day, yet sometimes I feel like I see him all the time – in the grocery store, on a crowded street or in a bus that drives by. Glimpses. One night I woke up to a coughing sound and I had to put on the lights to make sure no one was there. There was none, but I felt disappointed. It’s like I’ve lost something, something important, but I can’t explain why it’s important. In my dream I had a conversation with the bald guy. We laughed and cried together, but in the morning I forgot what we talked about. Frusagna with Baldy Weirdness 73 I once again pass the butcher’s and the place I used to see him, but now, I think I’ll turn back. Maybe he was sick? Maybe he’s just late… I enter the butcher’s and ask the owner if he remembers seeing the bald guy. He claims to be really bad at remembering faces and says there’s lots of strange folk in the neighbourhood he doesn’t really pay attention to. Well, maybe I’ll just wait for him then, he’s bound to show up eventually. Screw my job, I’ll just park right here until I see him, or someone who knows him. God, it’s hot out here. Why is that guy staring at me? No one looks familiar. Guess I’ll just have to try and smile… 74 Ville Anttila THE END 75