Clothed in white beauty, Iceland lives up to its name. Icy patches lead the roads to the sights, the cities and the landscape. There are two kinds of winter tourists in Iceland: those with spikes on their shoes and those…
Author: Puzzle Pieces
Latjo Lajban Lådan – a game of similarity and belonging
All Swedes younger than 60 and older than 20, is familiar with the kids tv-show “Five ants are more than four elephants.” It was an epic show that aimed to educate kids about language and creative thinking through games and…
Remembrace
The owner of the Irish Pub presses her bought breasts hard against me in the tightest hug I’ve had in for as long as I can remember. I haven’t seen her in years and, for sure, she doesn’t remember me…
A whiter shade of white
The paint roller leaves an unmistakable wet white line over the already white wall. Feeling like I’m being attacked by my own presumptuousness, I am forced to realise that the wall was not actually white, but stained, yellowed and dirty.…
Goodbye, so soon
“…and so ends the short undistinguished career of Puzzle Pieces of Bremen” Time is a fascinating thing. No matter what you do, it keeps on ticking. And so the time I’m here in Bremen is ticking its final tocks. With…
The soul of the lifeless: adventures in Gdańsk
“The water’s not very clean,” I tell him while mentally visualising the semi-fluid soup of chemicals and goo that I just moments ago rejected for a dip. He looks at me, like he always does, challenged and ignited, and says…
The beating of a human heart
Strangers on a bus become the best of friends, neighbours become lovers, and the person in front of you at this precise moment might come to share their deepest secrets with you should you give them the chance. Through some…
Reflections
The butts of two ducks turn into the protruding eyes of a crocodile as I find my peace at a lake. Water is such a remarkable material. Around us the ground bends and curves to account for the residue of…
Pandemic ⇾ Meditation + workaholism
For the first time in very long, I overslept. Waking half an hour too late, I sat up in not a panic, but with the guilty realisation that I probably needed that extra moment of mindless bliss. It’s been a…
Searching for sense in sensory deprivation
In the air, the smell of orange zest, cedarwood and cashews forms out of nothing but my own appetite. It’s not a real smell. It’s not an escaped soul of some combination of ingredients I have spread out in front…