I just updated the site.

The ‘Links’ section has been split up into two and expanded.

There’s now one section called ‘Contact Me’ and one called ‘Published Works’. The latter has also been completed with short descriptions of my published works, which so far consists of the novella Like Clocking Fuckwork and the short-story A Fish goes for a Swim and ends up Drowning, first part of the Poison Flour series.


He turned around in the doorway and let his eyes sweep over it one last time before leaving. Now empty once more it looked just like it had done all those years ago when they had stood together, right where he stood now, to see it for the first time.

He remembered how young they had been, how irrepressibly in love, how filled to the brim with hopes and dreams. Some were now teasingly close to coming true, some had been crushed under the relentless boot heels of consequence and coincidence, and some remained as dreams, unchanged. Those now cold and naked walls, who had witnessed it all, would not spill a word of their wisdom to anyone.

Looking around, he tried to find a sign, just any sign, that they had ever been there at all. He found the permanent stain, left where they had spilt something boiling on the wooden floor, and he saw a dried red rose petal, dancing enchantingly back and forth across the room, following the gusts of wind coming in through the open window.


They sat, as so many times before, at a table by the window in a coffee shop, a group of twenty-something friends, talking about everything and nothing. A few of them had known each other since before they could remember, some since the earliest days of school and the rest had joined paths at various stages along the way. Some of them were drinking coffee, a few were eating and some, with neither food nor beverage, had fished out their phones and were currently part of entirely other circumstances than the ones unfolding around them.

One in the group had finished eating a while ago and was thoughtfully playing with what had been left over on the plate before sighing deeply, looking up and around at the others, saying

‘Remember when it felt like anything was possible? How we sat here at this very table enthusiastically planning and speculating about our future, about all the things we were going to do and all the places we were going to go? Remember how full of energy we were? How vibrant the air was? How we fed off each other and built each other up? Now look at us. What happened?’

Some of the others nodded solemnly but didn’t say anything, the ones with their phones out chipped in with well rehearsed, vaguely encouraging, grunts, having obviously not heard a word, and a melancholic silence fell over them all, until one of them, who had been chewing on a somewhat stubborn piece of asparagus, finally managed to swallow, washed it down with a mouthful of water and said

‘That was three weeks ago. Have a little patience.’

On Queue

I thought I’d share something that just happened.

I went to my local grocery store to pick up a package that had arrived for me in the mail. Arriving at the postal section I found one open register and about fifteen people patiently waiting in a neat queue leading up to it. (Actually I counted them and it was fourteen but exact numbers do tend to sound rather pretentious in a context such as this, am I right?) Taking my place at the back of the queue I slowly but surely made my way towards the front while new people arrived, making sure that the queue remained about the same length at any given time. After about fifteen or so minutes I had reached the position of number three in line to the register when a new customer walked in, asking with a loud and clear voice

‘Isn’t there usually a queue ticket system here?’

to which the clerk, a guy who looked to be in his early twenties, looked up at her and answered

‘Yeah, actually. The dispenser is over there on the wall.’

before turning his attention back to the customer he was currently serving. And well enough, on the wall right by the entrance, partially hidden behind a rack of post cards, was a perfectly functional dispenser of queue tickets. Since the clerk had made it clear enough that he had said all he intended to about the matter the situation was now in the hands of the newly arrived, a fashionably dressed middle aged woman, who was closest to the ticket dispenser. So what did she do? Did she suggest that since there was already a neatly functioning queue in place we should simply take tickets accordingly to retain the order in which we were? Of course not. She just matter-of-factly took the first ticket for herself, happy as can be to skip ahead of everybody to the very front of the line and as she had thereby declared the rules of the situation the queue then simply turned around 180 degrees and went on functioning just as neatly as before, only now it was a queue to the ticket dispenser instead of to the register and the people who had been in the front were now at the back. I myself went from being number three in line to being the second to last and the poor old lady who had been standing ahead of me went from being merely seconds away from being up to having to wait a solid twenty minutes more. Fortunately for myself I don’t really mind waiting in queues unless I got somewhere to be. I just use the time to live out some adventure inside my head or, as in this case, observe the situation and the people around me. (I actually gave my ticket to the old lady and having seen me do it a young woman with a significantly better queue number than me generously did the same, so she thankfully didn’t have to wait all that long after all.) The mood in the room turned rather interesting after that, although people arriving after it happened would hardly have been able to pick up on it. If looks could kill the fashionably dressed woman would have been Julius Caesared on her way up to the register and I have no doubt that quite a few fists were being clenched inside of pockets. Still, it’s nice to see that at least in some situations blatant opportunism is still frowned upon in this day and age.

A Fork in the Road…

…is a seriously grandiose title for this blogpost, but there you go. I’ve been pondering over what I should do with this website of mine, and specifically whether I should keep it as a strictly informative website type of thing or if I should take it more in the direction of a blog, and I have decided on the latter alternative. So this thing, whatever it will turn out to be, will se a lot more action in the time to come.

What you will actually find here I haven’t quite gotten around to figure out yet but let’s take that as it comes eh? With me being an author and all there will probably be the odd short story, some poetry every once in a while but mostly just random thoughts. Based on what I think I know about myself there’s a great chance I’ll be ranting about some injustice or other of this world of ours from time to time as well as share with you experiences of finding beauty and amusement in the smaller things in life. You should probably also expect the popping up of short but rather well researched essays on random topics as I’m keen on knowing things about stuff.

That’s all for now but, you know, buckle up and hold on to your hat. This is gonna be fun.