"Butlering"
Living in Akke Kumliens heart in Stockholm
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Category: Art and Photography
There is this unwavering tightness. It sits deep, deep, deep inn the chasm that has unfurled in my chest. Its presence is always known. I don’t care for it and I don’t yearn to admit it. Any of it. I feel most shameful in this confession but… I hate you. I hate you dear for the graceful grip of your hands. I hate you love for the permanent whisper of your quill. I hate you Akke for you leave thi... » Continue Reading
Category: Blogging
A drizzle sets in outside my window on a night not long ago. It’s persistent in its assault on the fleeting season, plucking glacial hints from the months to come, drilling droplets into the cobblestone like the exercising of a pianos lungs. On this night I bring a serving of warmth to my lips which I can’t differentiate from the breath of Akke Kumlien on my skin. » Continue Reading
Category: Friends
Akke Kumlien appeared to me in my dreams again last night, even there in the realm between reality and fantasy the weight of his quill still remains. Not often are we acquainted with true beauty, the strain of wonderfulness that is so quiet only the keenest of listeners can spot it, the kind of loveliness that resides in raw honesty in all its brutal ugliness. Despite my state of drowsiness this t... » Continue Reading
Category: Parties and Nightlife
In the wee hours of the night, when all evils accumulated over many years on this planet awaken themselves, it helps to listen for the scratch of Akke Kumlien’s quill against the sweetest of parchment. I wait for his call in the night and am reminded of his time on this Earth forged of rock and heavenly power, reminded that without each individual brush stroke there would not be the beauty that li... » Continue Reading
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