Unavoidable. For those who have the chance and boldness to dedicate seasons to skiing, collecting multiple jobs in the prospect of enjoying total freedom, these wild winters might lead to the uncertainty of a beatless future. Felix Olsson, confused about his ability to get back into the line marked by his social status, continues to feel life rather than fantasizing it.
The seasons are changing again.
Tourists come, tourists go.
Recently, I was one of them. Climbing at Les Gaillands, for the first time, a hundred years ago… I no longer go there to climb, but to play with fire.
Now I march up and down Route des Pecles, up and down Rue des Moulins.
Up and down, up and down, every day.
Last winter was magical, and it is already over.
I remember my brother coming to see me, every day, because he lived here too.
Now he is gone, the snow is gone, even Pär is gone… He who used to be with me every day as I rose exhausted from bed, another night of stress and alcohol abuse behind me.
“Will you be here next winter?” I am asked, by an idol.
“I think I will be here forever” I answer.
“…But you have no plan? For your life?”
I guess I don’t.
Félix Olsson
Playing with fire
Deux frères
“C’est toujours la mélancolie, mec” he says.
I smile.
Damn, I love the dark and the sad.
I’ve returned to Stockholm to buy a car, and my best friend has just introduced me to PNL. I am obsessed! They’re so cool, and so sad.
Just like me! Ha ha!
I am getting ready for another night at work, and I am wondering when my brother will show up to say hi.
Then I realise that he won’t.
Is it a coincidence that the album that is now so present in my life was recommended to me by a brother, that it is written by two brothers, and that I am waiting for my brother?
I don’t buy a new car. I keep the Saab, for it is filled with memories, and I ride it to Grands Montets again.
Félix Olsson
Grands Montets again
“Happy Birthday”
I feel sad.
The mood in the room is joyful, and I regret the inevitable moment when I will make it less so, when I announce that I will not be joining the team for the party that’s currently going down in the streets outside.
Part of me was really hoping to show my new friends that I am totally fun, and susceptible to peer-pressure. But I fear that I’ve already decided to sneak home instead of joining the dance.
As another round of drinks are being poured, my subconscious looks up from his book and tells me to get over myself.
“Going out with the crew this once won’t ruin your life, will it?”
Everyone is getting ready to leave.
“Are you coming, Felix?”
-”…Yes.”
We exit the building, enter the pulsating mass of sweaty, warm bodies.
I feel uneasy in my decision. Something has made my subconscious encourage me to come here, some mystic force. Why?
The music is rough, too loud, coming from too many sources at once.
Suddenly I see a familiar face smiling at me in the crowd. Hello.
We start to talk (if that’s what you even call it – the music makes normal conversation impossible), and I am stunned by what she is saying.
My subconscious gapes at me.
…Is she fucking hitting on me?
Never thought this day would come! Her, of all people!
As the hours go by, I suddenly realise that I am about to kiss her. I do, and for a few moments, God exists.
I look at her.
“Happy birthday”, she smiles.
Félix Olsson
The Pulsating Mass
Sex, money, feelings, die
Everyday I write in my little diary.
I have decided to take a break from social media, it is messing with my head, making me feel like a corpse.
Sometimes I am forced to go online, though, for professional reasons.
One morning I stumble across a piece written by a friend, a sort of meditation of hers after having spent three days reading through 14 years worth of her old diaries.
Alot of insight is provided by this, and she successfully manages to summarize periods of her life in short lists.
I decide to read through my old diaries, and realise that my memories can be categorised as musings about four things.
Sex.
Money.
Feelings.
Uncertainty.
Well… How fun.
Félix Olsson
Feeling like a corpse
As little stars
“It would be the most expected thing ever for me to keep writing about how I detest the commercialisation of trail running” I note in my diary “so I am pleased to observe how I last night, In awe, gazed from my balcony on the hundreds of runners in process of descending the steep northern slopes that were the last pitch of their long run. In the middle of the night. Seen by me as little stars all over the forest.”
This town has some serious problems when it comes to over-consumption, it’s far from sustainable, but last night I felt nothing but love for the runners fighting their way towards the finish line.
I decide to go for a run in their footsteps, and take pleasure in the perceived unity.
Félix Olsson
The perceived unity
Félix Olsson
As little stars
No need to go to Cervinia
It is summer in Chamonix, and I am not over skiing yet.
“Anyone keen on driving to Cervinia for some glacier skiing tomorrow?” I ask my friends around the table.
“Absolutely not”, is their united answer. Damn. Okay.
I keep not going there myself, weekend after weekend, out of the feeling that such a trip should not be made alone, but rather in companionship with good friends.
And yet, I still have not stashed away my ski gear for the season, it is still right there for me to be inspired by.
Gang-shredding the glacier not happening, I decide to embark on something more solidary, a pleasure for me alone.
“Bon courage, hein” they’re yelling at me at Plan Jordan.
Thanks, yo.
I make it to just above the Bochard, this old friend, before I decide to stop.
I am not really trying to traverse the glacier wearing nothing but my swim shorts, trucker hat and Corvus Freebirds.
The descent back to Plan Jordan is a reminder of why I am still here.
No plan for my life, maybe, but who cares.
Félix Olsson
No plan for life
