Dick Hedlund


I had still to contemplate this as we walked, I was more concerned with PL’s waining energy, I kept feeding him nuts and berries while he was leaning against the hay bale, the little salsiccia’s furious barking still ringing in our ears, the woman either yelling at us or the little shit is unclear. I never felt tired or I did, but not in that sense.

Nowadays tiredness comes in a different form, the over explosion of the blue blue light, the midday, the 7 inch screen, the carryon luggage and our perpetual noise machine chugging away at a constant pace. Drone.

J, we never met but fuck you and your waterfall we were purists and stuck to the narrative. Cheeks burning red while waiting in the chartered bus, we were too fatigued, the joy we felt for seeing the big sillouette roll up, and the snarky guy with all the gear.

J, it was too dark anyways, and I was just longing for a nice shower and meal.

The ruins were a construct, they played on our immediate love for the desolate, for the seemingly post-apocalyptic, but the people who mill about there, to them it is all but romantic, we are the aliens in this scene, we collect and prod, climb up the highest stairs to survey what strange place we have landed in. Measure and document, collecting samples.

Is here a possible place for rest or restitution, can we make something out of it?

Academia, no, anthropology, we are scouring the post USSR chemical factory, in search for where the light hits just right, #nofilter.

I’m not cynical, but a hypocrite, I too fancy the derelict, and find the concrete arousing. Now the ground is covered and time past, geological necrophilia is not a term, but somehow fitting.

An article cited that a horrifying amount of students at a university in the south of Sweden sought help for their addiction to a certain VOD service.

Enough of the smut, lets talk collective joy, yes let’s celebrate, because when you are crossing streams and building bridges, snapping twigs and climbing fences you are affected by your surroundings, and we need to be affected. In society we affect our surroundings, turn on the light, play with the app, drive there, do this.

As we walk through the terrain vague we affect our self, we fill our senses with the other, the constant, the decay, the rebirth and some might find their place in this and others don’t.

My energy was waining, the blue light strong. I found beauty in the plastic casings of copper cable, scattered about, stomped into the dirt outside the city, the randomness became pattern, remnant of other time, other socioeconomic class, other intent, other drive. Ours to survey, to prospect, to finish, our academia to be inspired maybe. 

The others shaved those cables where we stood, we were happy and fatigued as the sun set over the soviet era block housing and the bunker we stood upon, sun in our eyes, passing the life-water between us. This halfway mark an achievement for us, a bleak everyday to the other.

“hey hey, just 10 km left everybody up in five!”

The others not the others. 

Could be us, but are not.



This diary except was written while tracing the spaces of Tarkovsky’s 1979 film Stalker, accompanying a diverse group of walkers on a gruelling 50 km trek from Tallinn to the Jägala falls, via the heavy industrial city of Maardu in October 2015.