Video by Anton J Olsson

Hi there. Glad you're here! Here's a short update on what's going on. (2022/05/26)


I'm currently in Bassängen Studio finishing my second album with producer & best friend Johan Weber. We've come very far towards finishing the album,  and I've now started thinking of under which circumstances it should be released.  


What about tour? Not much to tell you here, except

that I'm planning a great release party/concert for the album.

And yeah, May 27th I'll be streamed through  AmazonMusic on Twitch for

Festival Marvin in Mexico with about 6000 people in the audience. 


Thanks for stopping by.  /Paul

if you keep scrolling, you'll find fucking everything.


 

 Easier Livin'

(The Cactus Song)

 

This here snow ain’t made of ice.

Neither is it cold.

It’s cracking, and it's shining,

but the color is of gold.

 

They have one more thing in common.

I can’t tell you what it is.

I guess we’ll keep on wandering,

’cause there ain’t no time for this.

 

Easier livin’.

That’s what the italian promised me.

Easier livin’.

Like a pillow on a cushion ’neath a tree.

 

Is it hiding, have we missed it,

is there more than one to find?

It’s been watching me for ages

allthough plants ought to be blind.

 

Where are you, little cactus?

Not all flowers are fair.

Green and studded punk-rocker

with bright red mohawk hair.

 

Easier livin’.

That’s what the italian promised me

Easier livin’.

Like a pillow on a cushion ’neath a tree.

 

I’ll pick you up and brush you off,

and let you guide the way.

You use the sand as the lid of clam

to sneak a peek of me.

I wish you would stop moving.

The dunes ahead are steep.

 

Easier livin’.

That’s what the italian promised me.

Easier livin’.

Like a pillow on a cushion ’neath a tree.

 

Ungulates

     first sketch    

Look again, what am I on?

I really do seem high.

There must be something under me,

since people cannot fly.

 

I must dig myself further up

’cause you’re not looking down.

You are scared you might find out

who rode what to what town.


Pure bred easy keeper has

reached it's proper height.

No martingale is needed here.

I'll save that for your wife.

 

Ungulates of taller kind?

I took you for a ride.

It’s funny how my story strikes

your ego and your pride.

 

And it sings:

"Ouuuu   ouuuuu ouuuuuuuuu"

And it sings:

"Ouuuu   ouuuuu ouuuuuuuuu"

 

Amber

 

Hyperventilating amber in a transparent grail.

This heart-warming geyser is a tub for my brain. 

It comes from a-far and its made right here.

Dry, tinted, bloody and perfectly clear. 


It's getting kind of lonesome here, Junior. 
I'm down on my knees. 

Ocular endemic disease.

Talking 'bout tomorrow as if it comes free. 

Everybody's looking, but nobody's willing to see.


Those eastern cherries. Trap obsolete.

Stuck in the quicksand that is Islay's peat. 

Well, well, well...  When I throw my coins in thee

I down all my chances of owning my deeds. 


It's getting kind of lonesome here, Junior. 
I'm down on my knees. 

Ocular endemic disease.

Talking 'bout tomorrow as if it comes free. 

Everybody's looking but nobody's willing to see.

(S)hell

(Living When You've Died)

                                               morning sun.

You’re still here in the mourning son.

You’re in the wind, you’re in the sound.

You’re not around.

 

Everywhere I walk, you’re in the ground.

Your body is dead, but it still has you bound.

You’re not around.

 

Your picture’s on the wall over my bed.

So if it would fall it’d fall in my head,

where you’re never dead.

 

It kills me to see you getting killed in you.

You’re trapped in a shell of eternal gloom.

The void won’t let you through.

 

If you would want to end it, no-one would chide.

You are so strong - and so strongly admired.

You’ll keep living when you’ve died.

 

The Now


Took a look at the ocean.

How it already knew

is uncertain, but my eyes sure

were being stared right back into.

 

It’s been here for all this time.

Must have missed a million cues.

Bleed the heavens into my eyes

and please let me introduce:

 

This is called the now.

How I’ve waited for you.

Quit stalling now

and create in the truth.

There’s no golden hour.

The future is blue.

It’s over now

The past can only shape the fool.

 

I’ve been forcing a distance

between me and what I do.

As long as I don’t cut myself slack

I’ll keep tightening the noose.

 

I present to you, Green Grass:

my foot without a shoe.

Letting go of the future

without further ado.

 

This is called the now.

How I’ve waited for you.

Quit stalling now

and create in the truth.

There’s no golden hour.

The future is blue.

It’s over now

The past can only shape the fool.

 

What I Let Running

 

I have no idea of where I’m going

but I feel I’m nowhere close to there yet.

I really need to keep my wheels a-rolling

to keep up with the pace I have set.

 

I’m gonna take this car and drive it along.

On foot I’ll never reach my thoughts a-roaming.

I’ve been grinding hard, and to catch my teeth off guard,

I must get up to speed with what I let running.

 

I live by the foot of a big mountain.

It’s mostly made of steel and glass.

Above it is an up-side-down fountain

that submerges what I wish at my command.

 

I’m gonna take this car and drive it along.

On foot I’ll never reach my thoughts a-roaming.

I’ve been grinding hard, and to catch my teeth off guard

I must get up to speed with what I let running.

 

Claustrophobic panic preassure stowing.

Intelligent inconvenience.

Uncomfortable is my mind growing.

I’m sick of making sense.

 

I’m gonna take this car and drive it along.

on foot I’ll never reach my thoughts a-roaming.

I’ve been grinding hard, and to catch my teeth off guard,

I must get up to speed with what I let running.

FOMO

    second sketch     

 

Whichever path you choose to take

you’ll fear you're  missing out.

Could be the master of a trade -

but why and which, and why why?

Why and which and why why - why?

 

All the dollars you can make

if you choose not to hang out...

I never want it to be fake, but everything’s

made up yeah, nothing’s really up here.

 

All or nothing’s what they say,

but wait a minute now...

If both of those ways are okay -

what’s up in the midst? There

could be something hid there.

 

Of all the colors you can paint

next which one leaves no doubt?

’You really sure about that shade?

What if it could be better?

I guess we’ll never get there.

I wish...

   first sketch     

 

I wish that you were deaf and spent your life tending to plants.

I wish that you were happy now, but in the past you had been sad. 

I wish your eyes would cool me down and gently force me back. 

I wish your braided hair were roots that snuck into my past. 

I wish that you were beautiful and that you didn't care. 

I wish that you respected what is sacred and that you didn't have... to ask.


But there you are.

A highway.

My wasteland cut in half.

Something dangerous to cross

before I continue on my path.

An open bar.

A neon-sign that's selling me my past...  


I wish that you accepted me

in being what I am.

I wish that you corrected me

when I would drift too far from that. 

I wish you told the truth and thus

never had to act.

I wish that I could trust you...


But here you are.

A highway. 

My wasteland cut in half. 

Something dangerous to cross

before I continue on my path.


An open bar.

A neon-sign that's selling me my past. 

A filthy little hidingplace

that waters down my craft.


All void of cars:

the highway. 
On look-out for some light.

One could flash by any second,

and I'd be fragments in the hites. 


No cigar,

but you're so close - in a landscape so vast.

Many small correction waves

instead of a crash. 

 

 

Photo of
the tree by:

L.R. RENKSE