Portfolio

Friends and colleges sometimes request me to show off my creations and just as often I tend to reach for my cellphone and start swiping thru this and that, or search here and there in it’s vast – and not always logical – structure of folders, albums, and galleries.

Never finding anything I’d like to share.

I felt I really needed to do something about this.

And so this is my vault of stuff I deem suitable for the public.

At the moment most of these entries are mere placeholders until I finish up, or at least polish up, stuff I’d be more proud of showing off. So please bear with me, and enjoy these entries for now.

/ Johnny

Music

Sample through over 30 years of compositions.

Drawing

Mostly portraits in monochrome charcoal pencil

Photography

A collection of photos, mostly nature and animals

Writing

Short stories, both in English and Swedish, and mostly in the genre of suspense.

Music

Sample through 30 years of compositions spanning genres like 8-bit, pop, rock, musical and soundtrack.

If you feel the tracks are incomplete, sound choppy, unbalanced in levels, badly EQed and what not, it’s mainly due to a sudden drop of interest or time, leaving them as is in a rough WIP state. As such, they may be updated, or not, at any time I feel like it.

A tune which uses a SID emulator to make it sound like it’s straight outta Commodore 64.
Which it’s not.

Another one during my SID period. Also emulated and not from an actual C64.

Another SID tune.

More of this?

These are just previews of my chip tune collection
Go to the dedicated page for more of these!

Drawing

Mostly portraits in monochrome charcoal pencil

Photography

A collection of photos, mostly nature and animals

Writing

Excerpts from some of my short stories. To read them in full, please follow links to 1kstory.com where the complete stories are available. There you will also find other short stories by me and a whole community.

Now what?
1

Ok, Brian thought. Now what?

He’d just defended himself from foul, broken and fallen fellow human beings. But not just any human beings. Not just anyone.

And no, not even human anymore.

He looked straight ahead as he stood (well just barely capable of standing), clinging to the white porcelain sink under the mirror in the next to pitch dark bathroom. His knees were struggling to grant his simple wish keeping him on his feet. Although they admittedly would prefer to stop shaking by simply let the man drop. They would be well within their rights if they so chose to, he thought. His night vision had settled in for some time now and he wasn’t that surprised he actually could see pretty well at this point. He could see a bearded man staring back at him, eyeing his face up and down. Most of his features were covered in something; fresh blood, blood clots and brain tissue? From the corners of each eye plowed a pale miniature river through the dark gradient of red on his cheeks. He thought he looked like he was in his early sixties, at least that’s what he felt like, when in reality he was closer to 30. And to think that just moments ago that man, this man, was happy? He was thinking that it might as well have been in the stone ages.

The eyes with big dilated pupils staring back from the reflection had nothing in common with the eyes of the man he thought he was. Or wanted to be. A good citizen. A perfect spouse. A “The World’s Greatest Dad” dad, as the desktop brass plaque received last birthday humbly announced. The eyes were those of a man in survival mode, a man all crazed up and ready to chop anything off. But maybe that was good, he argued. Maybe it’s what I need right now. Where I need to be, the inner voice said.

“Daddy”, he heard from the other side of the bathroom door. Or he thought he heard. “Daddy”, and now it was decided. His ears still worked, he thanked whoever would listen to his thoughts. They might have taken some scratches (hopefully no bites to be on the safe side should this shitstorm be a zombie outbreak) which rendered him with a burning sensation in his left ear, but they were there and still in office. Just as his knees. Good thing. But were they only scratched? He couldn’t really see as he turned his head to either side to investigate. They were totally covered in blood, and by the color and viscosity of it, the blood seemed at least two days old. But it wasn’t his blood, he knew.

What he heard made his action mode eyes soften and turn into those of a weary old man who was done with this world. He felt a tingling sensation and his eyelids started to jerk slightly. He realized he hadn’t blinked for eons and let the eyelids wet the eyes and shifted his focal point beyond the face in the mirror, and as he feared what might be heard, or happen next, from outside the door his eyes started to well up.

“Are you”, the voice began in a soft tremble as if the words had to struggle to get past the tonsils of the young speaker. “…in there”, the voice concluded.

What Brian heard was the voice of his son. But he knew that it wasn’t his son. His son was dead. Slain by “The World’s Greatest Dad”.

More to this story

This is just the first chapter of “Now what?”
Go to 1kstory.com to read it in full!

This one’s in Swedish only. Sorry! ūüôā

Morten

Morten var den enda av alla tusentals fotsoldater i orden världen över som djärvt, eller idiotiskt, nog brutit mot den strikta kodexen och skaffat sig en familj. Trots den strängt religiösa uppfostran och hans förväntade lojalitet att slutföra sin enda uppgift, om han en dag skulle aktiveras, så hade han ändå haft kraft och mod nog att självständigt och källkritiskt staka ut sin egen framtid.

Nu, knappt 33 år fyllda, hade han ett idylliskt liv tillsammans med sin underbara fru och två fantastiska söner i åldrarna fem och åtta år. De bodde i en magnifik arkitektritad herrgård av modernt snitt med en grandios entré som sträckte sig hela tre våningar. Njurformad inomhuspool, som var bra att ha utifall det var för kallt för den dubbelt så stora utomhus, och garage som höll fyra fordon. Hela den generöst tilltagna tomten var inramad av en hög tegelmur och krävde sina två heltidsanställda skötare. Det materiella täckte han enkelt med inkomster från tre privata kliniker med specialinriktning mot plastikkirurgi för extremt rika.

Nordamerikanska stjärnor som passade på att kombinera en semester i Europa, flykt från paparazzis och förskönande av sitt redan artificiella utseende hade blivit till en storindustri och fyllt mången skrupelfria kirurgers fickor med en eller annan sedel. För att inte tala om deras fruars, eller älskarinnors, tuttar som på nästan samma sätt fyllts med silikon. Eller arslen och läppar, för den delen.

More to this story

This is just the first three paragraphs of “Morten”
Go to 1kstory.com to read it in full!

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