My story is simple, really.

I was born in a small arctic town.

Back in the sixties.

My father was a captain at sea, while my mom was at home looking after me and my two brothers.

I had a fairly pleasant childhood, though I found it a bit empty and lonely at times.

So when I reached my teens, my main ambition was to get away.

And become someone else.

But I never left this place.

In fact, I still live only a stone’s throw from the red brick building where I was born.

Every time I tried to get away, some unexpected obstacle would appear, and prevent me from going anywhere.

Almost mysteriously, like at the hand of some invisible ghost.

The urge to dream up a new existence wasn’t because the one I had was unbearable in any way.

It was just that my adolescent life seemed to provide the perfect canvas to create something new upon.

So at 18, I decided that the best thing would be to leave and start again somewhere else. 

I attempted to move south, to the big city.

It seemed like a place of opportunities.

I got myself a job as a mailman, and spent most of the money I earned on buying records, and going out to see bands play live in dark clubs.

But I soon got caught in a loop, and after a few months I couldn’t get up in the morning, and just stopped turning up to work.

Needless to say, I was fired, and money soon ran out.

I decided it was the wrong city for me, and returned to my hometown.

Back home, I got myself a new job as a salesman at a local records store.

We were selling 12-inch dance singles to DJ’s, and progressive rock LP’s to middle-aged men.

And cassette tapes with mainstream eighties pop to teenagers.

It was a job I quite enjoyed.

After all, music was my main passion at the time.

But because I bought so many records for myself, I still didn’t earn much money.

One month, when I went to pick up my paycheque, an amused manager told me that I actually owned HIM money, due to the amount of records I’d picked out for myself.

So I left his office as broke as I entered.

Even if life was pretty good, due to the job, and the fact that I was in a lovely relationship with a new girlfriend, I still didn’t think the setup was right for me.

So I made new plans.

This time, I set my eyes on Berlin.

It seemed to be the European city where the most interesting music were made at the time, and an interesting place to live due to being this strange western island situated deep inside the Eastern Bloc.

This was before the wall fell.

So I quit my job and sold most of my stuff, and told my girlfriend that I needed some space, and that we would have to see where things headed.

She agreed.

But just when I was about to leave, she told me that she was pregnant.

So I stayed.

As any decent man would.


I am five years old, and I’m asleep in a cabin on my father’s ship. 

In the middle of the night, I suddenly wake up. 

It is dark outside, and the ship is moving slowly through the black waters. 

I get out of bed and exit the cabin into an empty corridor. 

The ship seems to be abandoned. 

All I can hear is a low, humming noise coming from somewhere above my head. 

I find the stairs and climb towards the sound. 

The sound seems to enter my consciousness from within my mind, and not through my ears. 

At the top of the stairs, I find myself at the bridge of the ship. 

It seems to be empty, but I can feel a strong presence of someone else being in the room. 

The humming sound has now turned into a modulated, muffled sequence, like some incomprehensible language, and I realise that the sound and the presence I  have been sensing is coming from across the room. 

I look around, but there is no-one to be seen. 

But as I look towards the navigational instruments lined up in front of the bridge, it strikes me. 

The sound is the voice of the radar console, shining its flickering green light into the darkness, trying to tell me its secrets.


I am sitting on one of the thick branches of a large tree.

The tree is dark and old, and carry no leaves, yet it seems to be very much alive.

I somehow get the feeling the tree might be able to live forever, although I myself don’t feel particularly immortal sitting in it.

A young girl is looking up at me from another branch down below me.

She is very upset, and tears are rolling down her cheeks.

Deep within I know this is my doing.


A vast desert landscape.

The sky is foggy, and the features of the place fade into a blur in every direction, making it seem without limits.

A young man slowly emerges from the distance, walking barefoot across the sand.

He wears an orange robe and carries a staff in his right hand.

His face seems old. His head is shaven. His gaze clear.

The young man comes to a halt, raises his staff, and parts his lips.

A slow, strong tone builds up from deep within his lungs, resonates through his throat, and spreads out across the landscape.

As the sound grows louder, the grains of sand begin to move, and rise up into the air.

Gradually, different formations emerge in the air around him.

The shapes flicker in and out of form, then begin to glow in colorful patterns as his voice raises to an unbelievable strength.

And then everything snaps into existence.

As I’m walking through the city today, I have forgotten all of the above.