Oh, Bo.

Where is it I hide? In my fatalism, or in my dreams of change?

Does the character of your native language affect your concept of beauty?

I’m trying to enjoy my life, but it’s one of those concept pieces and I haven’t really grasped the idea.

There were some mutes here that were looking for their seats. I thought, “isn’t it obvious?” But they weren’t in the quiet section.

Don’t ask for redemption, don’t ask to be spared.

Am in Umeå, at the Mekka café. Did not sleep very well on the train. Fat guy snoring. Oh well.

Train to Umeå is a ten-hour ride. It’s like traveling transatlantic. I’ll be there when I wake up.

Train to Umeå is a ten-hour ride. It’s like traveling transatlantic.

Still tense; a little off. A little weird.

When was the last time I did something for real? When it wasn’t pretense where I lowered my ambitions? I need a shake.