This is an uneven fight
I know I can’t win
I know this
Falling on all levels
Failing to make my
Life working
But it doesn’t matter
I have to try
Again and again

At night

Fire and Ice

We hide inside the basement

Watching the destruction

From safe distance

While the dark sky looms over us

The ground is again frozen

And the water has turned to ice

And the city is very silent

Waiting for the return

OF spring


The long, long friday

Högalidskyrkan, Hornstull, Stockholm

This terrible day when Jesus dies
Happens every year
When sky is greyer than grey
The snow is pouring down
And the universe is as depressed as me
Then Sunday everything will be alright again
Jesus will stand up from the dead and walk
Away that day
What to say?
I am very happy for Jesus being able to do his thing
And in that process saving mankind by the way
But I am not sure how attractive it is
To rise from the dead again and again
But I guess he is his fathers son


The plants are growing

Fast and furious

Trying to kill old roots

That once were healthy and strong

But only time will

Tell us who, if anyone won

The metamorphosis is quick and

Painful often killing its host

The only things that comes easy

Is the rain and the mosquitoes

And they are endless sources

Of frustration

As is the cold white light

At night


April fouls

Slow changes
In this cruel
The ground is still
Cold and frozen
The light has turned
And once again
The white nights
Return to this frozen land

From the darkness
To the light
The natur prepares
For another extreme
From death to life
And than again dying
Leaving the land
To the white snow and ice
This is our fate
We fouls that live
Here in the northern corner

Da capo every year

Time moves quickly
On a Sundays
A lot of things
To be done
A lot of family
To interact with
Family diners
And the annual
Easter torture week
Every year the man
Dies on a Friday
And is reborn on Sunday
Every year I do not
Know what to do about it
What would have happened
If he instead of going to
Jerusalem that pitiful pit
On a mountain slope
He decide let us go
To Tel Aviv
Have a beer
Let´s make som miracles
By the sea
Putting our bare feats
In the warm sand
And watch the ocean
What would Easter be then?


The streets are quiet
Tonight, people trying
To make their way home
We are still trying to
The dead and the injured
It could have been me
Or anyone walking by
Not taking notice of
Death approaching
In high speed


So while the days move slowly
And the sun had it´s way
crossing the sky
I forgot
Like the rest of us
Why I live here
I did not enjoy
The purple morning
Or the white daylight
Nor did I see the different colours of the trees
Just busy doing things
That makes no difference or anyone happy
God punished me
With the inability to do any progress
Now I am a refugee on the camino
Looking for shelter and purpose

The art of dying and defying

The danger of staying is obvious

Still I remain here stubborn as ever

Defient as ever

Me a lost old man

Not in his body

My mind is elsewhere

far far into the future

I know what happened

I lived through so many

future war, I lived through so many

good times and bad

being reincarnated is a bitch

and suicide is not the answer

just a new role to play

somewhere else on this

blue planet

filled with folly

and all forms of life

like a perverted caleidoscope


Change now!
Change when?
Change what?
Change why?
Cry to the sky!
This is why,
I am I !