Sunday, January 28, 2018


Down in Kalmar, my mother has just signed up for a course in creative writing. While I may not follow in her footsteps, there is an undeniable beauty in the unfinished. As such, it is perhaps not surprising that Rawls & Me is much about incomplete narratives and loose threads.

In the garage, I found an old baggage tag marked “KLR”. It reminded me of summers past, of what it feels like to fly home to Scandinavia, the sudden serenity, to be picked up by a red tandem bike at the tiny airport only hours after walking through the endless corridors of Heathrow.

I already said it all. That is perhaps the only thing that I have against writing fiction, as if somehow the shortcomings were about aesthetics. Being a parent, it is of course easy to blame everything on the lack of silence but I fear I never measured up anyhow. So, I guess I better stick to writing journal articles about the end times. 



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