Hi, Sleepy. Tonight we practice the tender art of doing nothing without giving up. We float between two kinds of inaction — the gentle pause that lets you drift off to sleep, and the frozen moment where choice feels like a tiny, sharp point.

From there we wander: gratitude letters from Sydney to Naples, the strange party where everyone talks about you and you try not to wave, and a ghost-story from drama school about a fearsome mime-teacher who once broke me and later cried at my opera. Hierarchies, lion-lounges, whispered corridors, and the ridiculous pride of saying “I saw Bergman live” while brushing the dust off my inner raisin.

It is what it is — and right now there’s nothing we can do but breathe, listen, and let confusion soften at the edges. Let my voice be your messy mind for a while: introspective, imaginative, and gently absurd — a small, shambling journey to sleep. Sleep Tight!

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

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