Episodes

In this episode, Sleepy, I speak from my apartment instead of my little studio in the backyard, surrounded by a portable recording booth, a stiff bar stool, and the faint sound of children in the yard outside. From there, my mind wanders to kindergarten, clay birds with bright feathers, fur coats in...

In this episode, Sleepy, we wander into the strange workshop of theatre itself. The table readings, the shoes, the frightened directors, the actors holding scripts like shields, the sacred line about saddling the king’s horses. I remember rehearsal rooms, wild-horse masculinity, Shakespeare chairs t...

Hi Sleepy. Tonight we begin in the usual humble abode, that small studio in the backyard where the past still keeps some furniture, and we drift from sticky thoughts to electric shocks, from the mystery of knowledge forming in the brain to Flingan the tick-covered philosopher cat. There is a warehou...

Tonight, Sleepy, we begin with seagulls, of course. The old fish-gulls of Stockholm, one of them swallowing a whole pizza with the quiet dignity of a fallen emperor. From there we drift into walnuts, childhood, the strange power of being the only one who has ever seen a particular thing, and then so...

Tonight, Sleepy, we begin in the blue, get dropped into a forest of the mind, and somehow end up discussing mist, Apple Watch pressure, Swedish community buildings, the dark forest theory, lonely Facebook groups, English consonants, weird words, escape goats, tigers, American politics, Swedish myths...

Tonight, Sleepy, we begin with a telephone meeting, pass through the strange social weather of voices without faces, and somehow end up inside Seinfeld , holding a babka with a hair in it and asking questions no one strictly asked us to ask. This is an episode about what happens when a tiny thought ...

Hi Sleepy. Tonight I sit in a tin container in the backyard, talking about monkeys. Not real monkeys. Pieces of monkey. You and me. Worried, wandering, trying to control things that don’t listen. We drift through spring in Stockholm, where the light insists on hope while something quieter resists. A...

Hi Sleepy. I start somewhere near a phone. Or maybe in the absence of one. I circle around how we look at screens to escape a world that doesn’t quite fit its own stories anymore. Then I drift. Into Jack Bauer, into old TV rhythms, into the idea that maybe we’ve lost the space in between things. The...

Sleepy… tonight I find myself somewhere between a waiting room and a memory of falling down the stairs with a sandwich in mind. I talk about time that disappears when no one is looking. About being early. Always early. Sitting there while life behaves perfectly most of the time, even if we insist on...