Extract from D. Berman's Actual air & N. Bauer contemporary writings

The moon hung solid over the boarded-up Hobby Shop.
P.K. was in the precinct house, using his one phone call
to dedicate a song to Tammy, for she was the light
by which he traveled into this and that.
And out in the city, out in the wide readership,
his younger brother was kicking an ice bucket
in the woods behind the Marriott
his younger brother who was missing the part of the brain
that allows you to make out with your pillow.
Poor kid.
It was the light in things that made them last.

So - standing in the middle of this abyss called Gothenburg - it makes you wonder; is the rain everfalling, is it going to stop, ever? I, or someone else must have angered the Gods, I think for myself sometimes. Then, suddenly I remember that I’ve left my heart downstairs, free for all the neighbours to stomp on it. I find it bad damaged, nevermind, I’ve never liked them anyways. The worldworm, which on day is going to gobble us all, is knockin’ on my window. I’d let him in if it weren’t for my parents which are sittning on my fancy sofa. They are pretty finicky about such things. I’m the first swede in space. I’m Christer Fuglesang waving to everybody, seeing it all from a new perspective, from above. I’d love that. Floating away. 3, 2, 1, take off. Memories from the past. Watching the worlds greatest televison-series in my boyroom. The feeling of recognision, to belong. The past have a negative impact on you, I tell myself loud. And so I open the window.