Author, blogger, slacker, cynic, clinically depressed comedian.
My beautiful thoughtful colourful book for children of all ages all over:
http://www.bonniergroupagency.se/1100/1100.asp?id=1000
Blog from now - in exotic yet phonetically enjoyable Swedish:
http://staffan.blogg.se/
Music from a former life - or several former lives. I used to be in this band called The Happy Pilgrims in the late Eighties. Too late for Swedish garage rock and too early for Swindie. Before that I was in a brilliant band without a name with Jörgen and Tomas and Håkan. Too early for Swedish garage... Before that, for about two minutes in 1983 or so, I was in this "glam" band silly enough called Glorious Bankrobbers. I'm sorry about that... Anyway it was too early or rather too late for glam. Before that I was in a punk/New Wave band called Alternativa Ljud who could have been great if we had actually tried. When I joined it was too late for punk... and to early for post punk. Before that, in 1979, I was in a punk band that was more like an idea. We could have been great! I promise! We were called the Spy Gallons. It was the heady days of punk but we did not leave the basement until it was too late. Before that I was a child happily banging tin cans and playing an out of tune Hagström acoustic in my room in Helenelund, Sollentuna, Stockholm, Sweden, making genious sound-on-sound recordings. It's been downhill ever since.
Samples of my music from various eras can be found HERE:
http://hem.bredband.net/staffanb/index.html
I am writing a novel which will be finished in about 2011. It's gonna be genious!
I Have a Bachelor of Arts in jurrrrnalism specialising in culture. I mean, if you're interested.
I'm actually quite shy, so if I send a friend request without saying hi or thanks, don't hesitate to write me instead. Once the cork is off I'm ketchup all over your plate.
I love you!
Go away!
Une ,,uvre d'homme n'est rien d'autre que ce long cheminement pour retrouver par les détours de l'art les deux ou trois images simples et grandes sur lesquelles le c,,ur, une première fois, s'est ouvert.
Albert Camus
