October 27th, 2018
I’m writing you one last time Annika Norlin
It was nice to see you that morning at the station
I’m sure you were a warrior in a previous incarnation

Me, I must’ve been a rabbit or an ostrich
Or a pile of trembling leaves sown together with cross stitch
My anxiety has been holding me hostage
I’ve developed this problem with a really tough itch

I went to the clinic to get a prescription
Cried a little in front of the physician
Ointments and sedatives and antibiotics
Went home with a bag full of legal narcotics

The best is the sedatives, they work well but softly
I don’t scratch myself in sleep, I pass out like a baby
When I wake up I’m rested, I’m calm and happy
The only bad thing is the strange dreams that haunt me

I’m deep in the woods, in a village with tipi’s
The branches from old oak trees hang heavy
A woman carrying a baby greets me
says she’s glad that I came, she’s been trying to reach me

She shows me around, the villagers are happy
they give me some wine and flowers to greet me
their society’s based on a loose form of anarchy
they’ve dealt with the climate, injustice and patriarchy

Cause this is the future I can tell from their technology
But they use it for good and they use it so sparsely
They are not but slaves under their own machinery
The cogwheels turn only when they think it’s necessary

And the woman grabs my arm and she looks me in the eye
She’s contacted me cause she’s worried bout our time
This future is only one of many lines
That we can potentially walk down you and I

When I wake up I giggle cause it seems kinda cringey
I think about their village, what a bunch of fucking hippies
This must be because I read that book by Marge Piercy
Where some people from the future make contact with Connie

A woman in a mental institution in the seventies
and show her their world that’s one of many possibilities
And instill in her the hope to fight for humanity
I loved that book, but as a document of history

Cause now it seems strange to hope for anything at all
When every step forward seems infinitely small
Save the polar caps from melting by recycling milkbottles
While the CEO’s are flying their pets to skilodges

How vulnerable it is when someone says what they want
Instead of just saying what they don’t want
How easy it is to laugh at someone’s utopia
after decades of being spoonfed dystopia

I rub my cortison ointment on my eczema
I take my sedatives and crawl up to the heater
Keep treating the outside, ignoring the inside
Keep treating the symptoms, not the root of the problems

And in my next dream the woman’s back again
This time she’s shouting cause her signal is fading
I wake up sweating, my skin is itching
I put some ice on it and sit down in the kitchen

And outside the leaves are slowly falling
Over pigeons, buildings, CEO’s and children
I’m gripped by a love for this world that we live in
And I think about a quote from Ursula Le Guin:

“We live in capitalism. Its power seems inescapable.
So did the divine right of kings.
Any human power can be resisted
and changed by human beings”

There’s a dying light in the distance that beckons
As the clocks are rapidly running out of seconds
This is where I get off I reckon
Take care of yourself, your friend Jens Lekman