Hi Sleepy.

I start somewhere near a phone. Or maybe in the absence of one. I circle around how we look at screens to escape a world that doesn’t quite fit its own stories anymore. Then I drift. Into Jack Bauer, into old TV rhythms, into the idea that maybe we’ve lost the space in between things. The grey. The place where nothing has to be decided.

You’re there, somewhere between listening and not listening. Maybe under a pillow. Maybe just next to me.

I talk about getting older without really understanding what that means. About identity crises that arrive like seasons, whether invited or not. About the quiet wish to still be moving, even when everything feels a bit heavier.

At some point we leave Earth. Not in any practical way. Just enough to look back at it. A small thought about space, about hope, about being a piece of monkey that builds machines and feelings at the same time. And crying a little without fully knowing why.

You don’t have to follow. You can let it pass. Let it blur. Let it become something else entirely as you drift off to sleep.

It is what it is. What happens, happens.

Sleep Tight!

More about Henrik, click here: https://linktr.ee/Henrikstahl

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Sleepy… tonight I find myself somewhere between a waiting room and a memory of falling down the stairs with a sandwich in mind.

I talk about time that disappears when no one is looking. About being early. Always early. Sitting there while life behaves perfectly most of the time, even if we insist on remembering when it doesn’t. I drift into my daughter, into the quiet panic of missing her and the equally quiet fear of being too present. There’s a farm with goats and a childhood filled with rules and prayers and a God that felt a bit like a flashlight pointed straight into my face.

And then I wander. Into Greek gods behaving badly. Into questions I didn’t know I still carried. Into the idea that maybe everything is layered, not decided. That maybe nothing is as fixed as it once felt.

You don’t have to follow. You can just drift off to sleep somewhere between Zeus and a Swedish kitchen, between a boy with a tape recorder and a man trying to understand what any of it meant.

It is what it is. What happens, happens.

Sleep Tight!

More about Henrik, click here: https://linktr.ee/Henrikstahl

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.

Hi Sleepy.

Tonight I start a story and immediately question it, which feels right. There’s a woman named Constance Mallory. She has green shutters she once painted during a summer that didn’t try to be anything special. And a house that knows her. Or thinks it does.

We move slowly through rooms, through habits, through the sound a coat makes when it meets a hook. And then something is slightly off. Not dramatic. Just… misplaced. Like 5000 songs playing at once somewhere far away in the brain.

Sleepy, you don’t have to follow this. You can drift off, come back, leave again. The house will still be there, holding on to a version of someone who has already moved on.

It’s about small changes. The kind you barely notice until something echoes wrong.

Maybe you’ve changed too. Maybe the room hasn’t caught up yet.

So just lie there. Let the sounds rearrange themselves. This is your journey to sleep. A quiet, introspective wandering through memory, habit, and the strange feeling of being slightly newer than your surroundings.

It is what it is. What happens, happens. And right now, there’s nothing we can do about it.

Sleep Tight!

More about Henrik, click here: https://linktr.ee/Henrikstahl

Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information.