Alone on Christmas Night
The vicious voice of winter is the pock- marked strangler sneaking up behind you in an alley filled with bums and winos, when you are lonely on a Christmas night. […]
Author Archives: Björn Rudberg (brudberg)
When skiing in full moon
Nowhere there is silence such as silver spilling from the full cold moon. Nowhere there’s an essence quite as lucid as the freezing glow of moonlit snow. Nowhere am I […]
No tygers anymore
It was afterwards we realized that fearful symmetry was not the burning bright of stripes on carnivores, but the echoes dying from a hunter’s rifle in forests of the night. […]
The old deck
The old deck had turned grey, polished by weather, sun and wind, but Sven recoiled as it still stung his feet letting off splinters. Coming back he understood they had […]
Filled with stars
My first bed was made from wood and Masonite and it was painted blue. I have lucid memories being awake or maybe I should say being awakened, stunned in wonder […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 