Dear Earth dwellers and fellow mashers of trash
Vår venn Ibby E. Okiny er på vei mot Nordpolen. Her reflekterer han over folk, hendelser og gjenstander han støter på under vandringen gjennom landet «Norge».
Tekst og foto Ibby E. Okiny, President of The Arctic Chapter
Be you a gangsterous gangrenous girl, a bad boy with botulism, one who wishes to throw binary in the bin, or one who plain doesn’t fit in. Forget your social or mental status, discard all that junk into hiatus. I’d like to warmly welcome you to access the open clubhouse facilities, of Shopping Trolley MC, the dumpster diving motor cycle club that need not motors nor cycles! … (but maybe skis)
To the untrained eye, the Ferrari appears to have an acceleration edge as it weasels it’s way through traffic on-route to a fatal halt. But, if you measure velocity at a deeper universal level, factoring in the spin of the earth and the diversity of atmosphere that rides with it, you soon realize that the speed advantage of locked motorized shit boxes with jailed occupants, is a mere optical illusion. Not only does the shopping trolley hold its own on the autobahn, but it’s driven through a lack of fear of social judgement due to its solid frame, giving its riders the upper-hand needed to ride against the traffic and out maneuver the snobs at the bins.
I have the pleasure to update you on my reconnaissance mission, in which I am walking towards the North Pole.
The operation started on April 3rd, so far I’ve trudged every meter of the roughly 1000 km from Oslo to Mosjøen, a town which thrives fractionally south of The Arctic Circle. The shopping trolley is in good health, as am I. Luckily, the terrain that I’ve scoped out, in the land that some refer to as ”Norway”, hasn’t been smashed by the pestilence, so the social restrictions to date, aren’t too chain severing. I’ve noticed that well over 95% of people I’ve interacted with are opened-minded and receptive, and find some social value in our club.
The tiny fraction of the rest of the population who are either skeptical, cold or outright aggressive, they have their own mental health problems to sort through, like we all do at times, so no offense has been taken. No territory has been conquered or lost, and we still coast in top gear throughout the planet as a whole.
We are still the strongest of the MC clubs, we can be seen all over the planet with our 8 billion strong membership, we still have the biggest allied standing army. All those who ride with us on foot, the shopping trolley, walking sticks or wheel chairs, whenever they are on the minimalist fleet. We are still the guardians of every path of human existence, except for swimming pools, and maybe lakes of a depth of over 1.5 meters, but that doesn’t matter.
During the plague, we’ve been forced to turn inwards and embrace our own mortality. Whilst humanity is sketching the outline of the inevitable post-corona map, I don’t see why naive tribalism and nationalists wouldn’t ride round the same fishbowl as they did in the pre-corona times, failing to tap into the worldly ways, believing that their allegiance to the nation, should take precedence over fellow humans. They, by their own definition, will stay home where they belong, and only come out when called by their masters. We wish these wagon-worms the best, and thankfully they at least enjoy food and gadgets supplied to them from all over the planet. This domesticates them into distraction and frees up the highways for our global clan of adventurers who get off on learning by talking to those who have lived under different circumstances than ourselves.
Although we, brag and flex over the minimal requirements for our sustenance, us who roll with the Arctic Chapter of Shopping Trolley MC, understand deep down that to some degree, we’re only posers who scavenge our wealth from resources plundered by carving up more than our share of the sea.
Smiles, laughs, and showmanship, are great allies when it comes to the health of our members. But we have to also create an equilibrium in the practical world, so we don’t fall off our bikes ass-over-tits. As the water levels rise and the seas attempt to bully our terrain off us, action is called for. We’ll shortly be announcing a project, in combination with an equatorial chapter of our club, which operate on the front lines, bravely putting their lives on the line by staving off waterways recently flooded to unprecedented levels due to climate change.
If you play the political game your genitalia is already caught in the gear shift. However, there are only two mentalities in that game.
The first is the warrior who wrestles the biggest foes within himself, the mental pandemic consisting of greed, fear, and xenophobia. Voting for who or what and where is one fad, but more importantly, who out of our membership are there throwing their heart into smashing through walls teeth first, bringing ideas into practice in the highways of day-to-day life?
The second mentality is the cowardly clone in the side-car. These wagon-worms bow down to the rich and powerful, they follow chains-of-command and only pick fights with those they know they can beat without resistance. They attack the those weaker than them, poorer than them, the politically vulnerable, the ”immigrants”, and those in need of assistance.
They are closer in resemblance to domesticated roadkill.
