Svalbard Diaries Paragraph

On the plane on the way to svalbard

PLANE
Electricity pulses through me as i enter the plane. Im going where i desire to travel, seeing what i wish to see. Im amongst the few privileged humans on the face of this earth that can do this. Im not sure what the flicks of my finger tips will produce but armed with my vocabulary im determined to write about the arctic.
Coldest place on the earth i hear, easy to die, hard to survive. Sounds like my kind of adventure.
The plane is packed, but it may as well just be me. Im in my head as usual. i nod and smile at the plastic air hostess, her teeth like a grill on a cheap shiny car, hair stuck to her head with some kind of fashionable adhesive, her tounge primed with instructions and procedures. I sit at fourteen E, inbetween two overly sized men, not giving a shit about my personal space, their arms strune over the arm rests and refusing to move, i suck my shoulders in and open a book about addiction, tolerate the masses for a few more hours, soon there will be no one. The airhostess proceeds with her drill, smile still attached to her face. All i can think of is inflating the life jacket under my seat and throwing it at her, screaming at the top of my lungs, “we know how this fucking thing works, we are all going to be dead anyway if we hit those icy frigid waters”. Although i think i could survive. Maybe il just steal the life jacket, would be a good party piece.
The flight is underway, the mechanical beast hovering at thirty five thousand feet, propelling its self along, emitting delicious amounts of kerosene fumes into the troposphere. I always get nervous when im so high and so vunerable. So i always recall the scene from fight club, when the plane is breaking up mid air and the chaos clams me. I would also be sitting there clam, absorbing the minus fifty air as my retinas freeze over, contemplating my life insurance, knowing that someone else somewhere will be benifitting from my death. My own form of charity.
Im served coffee for a change, free of charge, which is an unusual luxury for commercial air transport these days. It tastes utterly repulsive, although anything free that isn’t going to kill you should be graciously accepted. I heard they are going to make you pull out your wallet to piss. Id piss in a bottle or on their CEO before i pay a quid to use that cubicle. Although i do like the functionality of the aeroplane lavatory, there are lots of hidden gadgets in there for your convenience, an engineer surely designed that space. Im sure to poke and prod every nook and cranny of that toilet before i leave, making the most of my time on my legs. Im in my imagination thinking about what other inventions could be packed into that cubic meter.
Every time the pilot announces that our destination is Longyearbyen, Svalbard my spine shivers. My soul is filled with happiness. Im free. Finally free to make something of myself in that baron icy landscape, away from judgement, responsibility and slavery. A feeling of home overwhelms my body and I’m infinitely content. Ive made the right decision.
Stories echo in my consciousness about the darkness, that the sun doesn’t dare peek over the horizon, the people there are incestuous, lonely and devoid of any emotions. Still it sounds better than the alternative. I will have my space to think, speak, decorate, live, create, control, be. im thinking about the bears. Those wild creatures living out in the wilderness, i marvel at their creation, how they can withstand such conditions, reproduce and raise young in temperatures as low as minus fifty celcius. Im in awe at their evolution and although i know my body will never change to be the same i know my mind set can be one of the strong.
Im scribbling thoughts and feelings down, this bastard broken wrist won’t stop me, i curse the cast on my arm and continue through the dull pain. My handwriting is as if i’m in a military vechical in a warzone, earth shattering explosions surrounding me. My hand shaking from? Excitement? Pain? Withdrawal? Who knows? But i keep the pen to paper, ink rolling off the ball into my elegant leather bound notebook, which im so proud to possess. Its all about appearance, titles, status and rank are all an illusion. Im the second dr of journalism as far as im concerned, justifying my status, its scrawled across my keyboard in black marker, its scrawled across my mind in the scared caverns, its scrawled in every stroke of insanity crawling on to the virgin white paper. Scrawled. I don’t mean to sound egotististical but if i don’t have confidence in my confidence then no one will. We are all alone.
Heading north, away, away to be alone, to become, to be. nothing before, everything after. The memoirs of a struggling twenty somethings male, finally a genuine smile. Making. Making it? Making something atleast. Trying, trying to make my parents proud. I’m here to wonder off into the twisted caves of my mind, where beauty exists in me all the time. A place so full of contentment i question why others don’t have it. One day my adventures will end there and il choice no return. But til that day documentations of the interpretations of the caverns will begin to exist and il explain how i see the world. Others will realise what it is to hold an uncontrollable imagination.
The aeroplane engines hum and i inspect the rivets and joins that are keeping us from falling. Its incredible and man is magnificent. I start seeing flickers of icebergs below, marvellous things, floating so majestically through the salty arctic waters. My heartbeat starts to race, jaw falling, pupils dilating, time stopping.
Out the triple glazed inert gas filled windows i get my first glimpse of the indescribable geography. Gargantuan peaks and troughs line sea level. Far far into the distance. Their edges complimented with a blue that only the arctic glaciers possess, it is rich, untouched, perfectly created. If god were an artist he would have this hue firmly in his pallet. Using it sparingly, appropriately to represent perfection in solitude. There are no signs of life. This is where i need to live. There is a reason why fifty percent of the time the landscape is swallowed in darkness. Its too perfect. Humans wouldn’t be able to appreciate it if they were allowed to witness this all of time. I feel privileged. Looking around the plane every face is like mine. Stunned, in awe, content with just being in this moment. The plane is deadly silent. As we adjust our course something appears far of in the distance. Nothing could have prepared me. I grin and fully absorb. The sun, sorry. The Sun. In all its majesty, exploding, creating, giving, everything. Its rays pierce our fragile atmosphere, coming in eight minutes, directly, on order, its never late. The inconsistent reflection off the sea shimmers and sparkles in a way that will stay with me forever. Im scared to look away, soaking in every second, my brain rejoices, wants more, more like a junky in the depth of a lethal binge. I will be happy forever because of this moment. I knew this was what existed here. A beauty so harsh. Perfection. Im laughing out loud because i know there is more to come. Im spending a month here. Bring it on. Il die here.
It knows its beauty. Welcomes me. Congratulates me. You made it.
I breathe back in my thoughts ideas and ideals. They nearly escaped into medusas eyes, I pick up the pieces of myself from the grubby, hard packed floor, gather my emotions. Pack them back into my finger tips, continue scribbling.

Story Book Coming ....