Beasts Bounding Through Time

I threw my guitar off my bed and laid down on my back against the sheets that I couldn’t remember the last time I changed. I hardly slept in the room, so they shouldn’t have been that dirty. They didn’t smell, that’s all I really cared about. I hadn’t written a single fucking song, a week later after Sylvie had offered me to come up to her cabin. And still not a rift, a single line or even just a chorus. I needed help, I needed inspiration and I couldn’t find in anywhere or anyone.

Usually Slyvie and I met up to exchange our work in progress after the last time we chatted over coffee. It seemed though that my lovely poet friend was having just as much trouble as I was in the creativity department. I wondered how many other distressed right brainers were struggling like my friend and me.

The phone rang out a few times before I went to answer it. I was in no mood to make conversation and I knew who it would be. Seppo, my band’s manager, had already called several times this week asking me about my progress. He was worried, I could tell he was, the record company wanted a rough demo by January and it was November.

I begrudgingly answered the phone. “Look, if you can’t write anything decent within the next few weeks, I’ll phone Warner and ask them to push back the deadline, they won’t be happy about it but-” Seppo said simply, no ‘hello’...or ‘how are you’s’, just straight to business. I didn’t blame him because it was his job to kick my ass. I have known Seppo from the very beginning of my spiraling music career, and we became quite good friends, but when it came to the band Seppo acted as if we had never shared a few humble drinks together.

“I’m trying my best, I’m just dry right now. Nothing seems to be coming out,” I sighed and laid back down on the bed, taking a deep breath and closed my eyes. “I’ve never had a block this badly.”

“Why don’t you go have a jam with the guys, that might help. Mige is getting a little worried, he said you didn’t answer your door at all this week. And according to him your only answering calls from me. That’s not the best way to go about, is it Ville?” He scolded me as if he were my papa. In a way he kind of is, that is, my father in the music business, but his tone still made me feel agitated, which is how sons react when reprimanded.

“I know! I fucking well know that Seppo!” My anger got the better of me. “My head has turned to shit as of recent. You piling on the pressure is not helping. I need a break.” And with that something clicked. “Actually, hold on,” I said absently as I sorted out my next move in my head.

“You can’t go on a drinking binge over in LA at this time of the game Valo, now get working.” Seppo hung up.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and smiled. I knew I shouldn’t have been smiling about anything right now after that bollocking I just got from my boss but I was, because the penny dropped. I put the phone to my ear again as I called Sylvie.

“Yeah?” she answered, sounding like she was in the middle of something. Her voice was muffled.

“I’ll come with you,” I said.

“Well, I’m actually just in the car at the- Fuck! One way street, I’m getting lost in my hometown now, great!” She babbled to herself. “I’m leaving now, well I would have been half way there by now if I had set my alarm to the right time! If you can pack your shit in five minutes I’ll be there.”

“Give me ten?” I laughed at her.

“You might as well get fifteen sense I’m driving down a one way street and I’m not really sure where I am.” She giggled to herself, “Right Valo! I will see you...when I see you?”

I chuckled to myself once she had hung up. She was a very interesting lady, was Sylvie. I remember when a friend of mine had given me a Christmas present a few years ago that would lead me to meeting my dear scatterbrained friend. The book given to me was titled, Love of the Deranged. When I finished the first few poems I was surprised to know that a woman had written such malicious and truthful words about love. After finishing that book I bought the four other poetry books she published, including another book filled with some essays she had written for magazines.

She intrigued me on paper, so it was natural for me to wonder what she was like in person.

It was May 2009 when I had some free time to stay in Helsinki and try to catch up on my restless head that could not bare the thought of travel any longer. I decided to take a trip to a small family owned bookstore near my father’s sex shop. It was always a quaint little shop that had a lazy mutt of a dog to greet costumers at the door.

That one day in May I stepped into the mass of air that smelled of old books, a pleasant welcome that came along with the mutt. As usual I patted the scraggily tan dog on it’s head, smiling at the tongue that lolled out of it’s long snout.

When I turned a corner I came face to face with the woman I had admired countless times on the back pages of all her books. She stood tall, lean, and quite confident in front of a small crowd that were set up on folding metal chairs. The newest book she released was sitting up on display along with a few extra copies. Quietly I sat in the back.

“Hey, Valo! What are you doing at my shitty poetry reading? I’m sure my work isn’t in the right dimension for you.” And that, right there, were the first words she ever spoke to me. I couldn’t believe she called me out in the middle of her poetry reading.

When her reading was over she stalked over to me, but was in a much lighter mood when she spoke, “Mmm, sorry about that, chap. I get a little carried away at times. Can I get you a coffee from across the street to make it up to ya?”

I gladly accepted. From that day on we have been going back to the same cafe after realising we had quite a lot in common when it came to our creative process.

I chuckled at my memory as I packed a bag in the allotted time slot I was given; it was easier than I thought. I had packed last minute before but not this last minute. I took my note pad, some extra clothing, three guitars; acoustic, a bass and electric, and my laptop; for recording and the use of ProTools. I stood looking around my bedroom, seeing if there was anything else.

But before I had a chance to pick up anything else there was a blast of a horn from the street below. I made my way towards the entrance of my home, but stopped when my mind taunted me to make a quick double check across the living room. My eyes landed on the old taxidermy black lamb that looked sadly out a window. Biting my lip, in thought, I grabbed it before I could really question the purpose of it. With the lamb tucked under my arm and between my side and guitar case, I eagerly locked up the house and juggled my luggage down the drive. I threw my guitars in the back seat along with my back pack and closed the passenger door behind me in the front of the car.

I sniffed about the car, the smell was unmistakable, I looked to Sylvie who was hunched over the stirring wheel. A joint hung from her lips loosely, and her oversized black aviator sunglasses covered her eyes. She had on a slightly thin dark grey sweater that crept off her shoulders. There were two skeletons dancing on it. Her long legs were turned leopard print from leggings, and from my position I could make out black buckled ankle boots. I never understood how she could survive the winter climate of Finland by barely wearing anything. The last item she had on looked absurd, but was quite...Sylvie. She smiled and turned to me, noticing my questioning look towards her apparel.

“Snow glare.” Fiddling with her glasses, she laughed to herself more than anything else.

That was not the part of my concern though. I pointed at the furry fabric that covered her head and led down over her chest. It made her hair stick out in tuffs at the side of her face. Tugging at the fabric ear attached to the hat I pondered, “Is this supposed to be a wolf?”



“Yeah, now back off, Valo. This ain’t no taxidermy. You can take your odd taste picking hands off.” She shifted in her seat, pulling the fake ear out of my hand. “Anyway, what the fuck is that doing here?” She accused with a pointed finger at the lamb in my lap.

“It’s a sheep.”

“I know that, dickhead. I asked why it’s in my car, which should be moving right now.” Her leg kept moving forward and back at the gas pedal. I could tell she was debating if she should move the car with the lamb in it or make me put it back on it’s lonely sill. Her foot finally settled on the gas and her hand put the gear into reverse. “Why is this thing in my car?”

“Totem of inspiration from home?”

She starred at me skeptically before nodding, satisfied enough to accept my quick draw reasoning. As she drove down my street the car swerved too close to the side of the road, making me grab onto her forearm.

“You all right?”

“You able to drive and smoke that?” I nodded to her mouth.

“Want to take it ‘off my hands’ like?” She pulled the joint from her mouth and handed it out to me.

“I gave it up years ago,” I took it from her regardless, holding it in my hand awkwardly.

“Fair play, man” she smiled and settled back in her seat and took the joint from my fingers, I could tell how comfortable she was just by her mannerisms.

This was the first time we were going to spend any length of time together and that was slightly daunting for me. Then again, wasn’t I here to work? Not get to know her better, then again that wouldn’t be a bad thing would it? But by the way she looked right now, she didn’t have a care in the world and for that, I envied her for a second.

“Fuck it” I muttered, “Pass.”

“Now, if your Mummy asks Valo, I didn’t give you any,” she laughed. “You only live once my dear friend and I’ve always thought, if that’s the way it is then you should enjoy these certain substances while you can because they can open your mind even more than you thought was possible.”

“You’re high,” I said and took the joint from her slim fingers.

“And you will be too after a few toaks.”

And she was right, an hour later driving up the motorway on our way to our cabin we were on our third joint listening to Pink Floyd and talking about the possibility of life on other planets and conspiracy theories. As I looked to her whilst she spoke, I thought that maybe I didn’t want to spend so much time alone while I was there. That maybe, just maybe, her presence could help me rather than hinder.