Filling my hollow
The shadow of Meursault is thinner than Raskalonikov’s… which is the reason why it ends the way it does, but still in part, I wish that there would be a […]
Category Archives: Real Toads
Talking to my dragon
The dragon of midnight tiptoed through bric-a-brac left, through pockmarks on concrete through ember of graphite through body and mind; while black as the rain, he stared through my dreams […]
Eulogy for mother
Även i sommarens ändlösa skymning drunknar ljuset tillslut i bruset från fjäderlätt natt. Translation to English by myself Even in summer’s limitless twilight the light finally drowns to buzz of […]
Midsummer night
As midsummer dusk crawls calmly over grass, through brush and thickets, with dew-retracted claws as careful as a sated stray-cat; suddenly aroused two blackbirds bicker over nest and egg, while […]
Letter from the frontier
I’m told that back home in the city where libraries once held books to be read, a few fertile are left to be widespread for masters and wives, to be […]
Björn Rudbergs writings 