Inbetween days

When life flow like water between your fingers. Seems like a waste of time, nothing to catch.

But you are wrong. Can’t you feel the smooth nice feeling in your hands when the water runs through fingers and touch your skin.

Life is everywhere and never bored of being so. You just need to discover the details that make it.

Blinded and killed by the superfluous. Dreaming of entertainment to excite you and feel good. Everybody hunting the need to feel great to be real.

Reclaim the speed of life. Wait, wait… wait. Watch, listen, smell. Can you feel it. It’s life.

It’s happening again. Don’t try to catch it. Let it flow, slow down, open your mind and it will catch you.

it’s happening again


Live Today, Die Tomorrow

Live today, die tomorrow
Life is time, time is life
Life is changing, changing is time

Life between yesterday and tomorrow
A lifetime before tomorrow

Today we live as long there is time
Tomorrow we die as long as we live

Be there and don’t miss the road trip
Live today, die tomorrow

Born to be alive, not die

A walk, some shots, a meal, some coffee, some sleep. In the air. Looking at the sky, the sun and the passing clouds. Life unlimited as long as you are. The wind made a song of air in my head, whispering. This is what I heard, or felt, I’m not sure.

Riding the Ghost

Sometimes I wonder more than yesterday. Sometimes less and sometimes I don’t care.

Having doubts in myself and what I do is a common ghost. I’m so used to this company that I have become to believe in ghosts.

This ghost is like an invisible empty hole in the air. You can’t see it but you can feel the presence of it.

Luckily I have learned through time that this ghost is trapped inside a mirror and can never be real or do something you wouldn’t. As long as you don’t.

Never shake hand with ghosts. They’re fake news.

It will never be any better than you make it

It’s the most simple truth and fact. Boring is about nothing but making it so. Not the most fun may be true, but it will definitely never ever be more fun than you make it. Strangely it’s very easy to make it worse.

Where does happiness comes from?

All you need is to be aware and accept the rules of life and how life affects you. And how your own attitude to life affects yourself and your surrounding.

What goes around comes around.

Curiosity never killed the cat. It made it experienced and stronger. Failure is for pessimists. Optimists see it as a challenge to make it better. Boredom is for pessimists. Optimists see it as time to be mindful.

Either we find a solution, or we make a solution.

We need to be curious of what will happen next and what will happen if we do this or that. We need to love what we do, and not just do what we love.

We need to create our life.

My guardian angel in life is made of sarcasm, the good in the bad, mysteries, loads of cheap humour and inexhaustible curiosity. I like to cope to infiltrate the ordinary and make it mine.

Make my day

I’m bored from time to time, just like everybody else. I’m not immune to boredom. And I’m often restless. You won’t need what you don’t have to create and make things better than worse.

Don’t play dead to ignore life.


Those I saw, those who saw me. Those not aware, those I not aware of. Where we was, when, how, why, what. Everything connected.

In the centre of it all. Tick and Tock and the atoms move.

Nothing but a moment once in a lifetime, just like any day. What’s the difference in the water flowing through the life of the river.

A river without its water is different. It’s the water that makes difference. Life is what happens while you wait.

Life is like water, be like water.

Flow your soul

An intuitive trip without destiny but where to go and then…
Kållered, Mölndal. May the third twenty seventeen

Poetry for lost

I think too much. I write too much. I try to understand myself too much. I’m too complicated to understand myself. So I’ll try to not.

This is kind of follow up from my last post, Moods part II – the poetic version. It make sense…

Time by passed and over again
Always again as ever before
Hollow cup of coffee
Never here seems to already exist
Unknown friends itching backwards
We travel through skin and bone
I can see the back of my head
I see white on black
I can’t find my bed
Someone stole my hat I have no pillow

… ghosts have no shadows. And are only visible for mirrors when nobody looks in it. Dreams are like water

I really like pigeons

more Black Coffee

I will never be a poet. But it happens from time to time when words starts popping out from my head that wants to be written. Without any particular reason as I know. It just feels good to get it out from my head. It often starts very random and then I try to put it together into something.

There he is. Without no name. Without a face. Without a memory. There is so many, so who really care. Which is mine. Oh, I forgot I’m nobody. I’m your shadow in the dark. The light in the sun. The face in the window. Where am I going.

Actually almost all of my posts start in similar way. It’s seldom that I have any manuscript ready in my head of what to write about. And then it grows into something.

Sometimes I wonder why I’m doing it. Writing about everything and nothing. It’s probably more for myself than someone else. Like a tree that wants to grow.

And the Black Coffee project continues with random moments of shots whenever at the round table (ok, and in close range around the round table). Coffee is a good companion when you try to think. And beside that snus. You know, that tobacco stuff from Sweden that you put under your lip.

the moon the tulips and the coffee