Hi, Sleepy. Tonight we try a small and slightly ridiculous experiment: you say “hi” back, and somehow I hear you anyway. We wander through painted reality, peel a corner, and glimpse the backstage where nothing is dangerous, at least for a few micro-seconds at a time.

A houseplant becomes pain (harmless in its pot), a dragon suit becomes a memory of feeling invisible, and a lion in the bushes politely asks about your spiritual life.

It is what it is. You can listen or not listen; you can drift off to sleep or just rest in the gentle emptiness where an egg-and-raisin sandwich is, briefly, the most important thing in the universe. Imaginative, introspective, a soft journey to sleep with a wink. Sleepy, let’s pretend together, and let go.

Sleep Tight!

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Hi, Sleepy. Tonight we tumble straight into the soft chaos: gratitude letters from everywhere, the strange art of being personal-not-private, and why “content creator” sounds like a label on an empty jar.

We circle around presidents paying for burgers, detour by Elvis (don’t worry), and then land in a sweaty body-pump class where a 50-year-old Swede forgets how heavy ten kilos get after forty reps.

A robot vacuum develops ritualistic tendencies, a pizza becomes a childhood comet, and language itself turns into a sleepy predator stalking the right word.

Nothing is planned, everything is allowed—just enough sparkle to keep you half-interested while you drift off to sleep on this imaginative, gently absurd journey to a peaceful night. It is what it is. Let’s begin.

Sleep Tight!

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

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Hi, Sleepy. Tonight I begin with a black t-shirt and a forest that insists it’s a ballroom. We wade into the dark pond of starting—awkward at first, then quietly inevitable. I whisper little unimportant truths (the best kind), invent hidden worlds on top of air-ducts, and point out a troll behind a birch just to keep the ordinary honest.

We talk about fear—cellar-door fear—and the moment you slam it and lie down anyway. We compare the “mess” of a teenage room with the sacred clutter of the forest floor, and meet a bird who builds perfect nests only to undo them, the way art sometimes does.

Somewhere in there I admit I’m scared of being unloved and still decide to swim. It is what it is. What happens, happens. And right now there’s nothing we need to do—except drift off to sleep on this small, imaginative journey to sleep and a peaceful night. Sleep Tight!

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

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A sun-splashed motorway, The Killers on repeat, one hand on the wheel and one small tear of relief—then we tumble, softly, into an alternate city where poems buy blankets and conversation pays for lunch.

Your guide hums by your ear, pigeons approve this silence, and a blue gate dissolves into fog while we practice the art of lane-changing without panic.

Nothing to fix, only to notice. Let go, drift off to sleep, and let this imaginative, introspective ramble carry you toward a peaceful night, Sleepy. It is what it is. What happens, happens. And right now, there’s nothing we can do but begin.

Sleep Tight!

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

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Hi, Sleepy. Tonight I record with a camera staring back and a desk lamp pretending to be the sun. We wander from “ugly days” and nameless feelings to a pocket-list of fears (being unloved, losing the thread) and a shy wish for an embrace that actually lands.

Stockholm drifts by in autumn colors; Antarctica glitters at the horizon; the anger engine sputters and we swap it for aim. It’s an introspective, slightly absurd ramble designed to help you drift off to sleep—soft edges, loose threads, and an imaginative lull between breaths.

It is what it is. What happens, happens. And right now, there’s nothing we can do except fall asleep together. Sleep Tight!

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

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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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Hi, Sleepy. Tonight I’m the hat that won’t come off and the sigh that finally settles. We wander from my daughter’s Friday-breath of relief to a prairie of 900 million cows, a horse named Barbara who can sing the herd into neat little lines, and the dizzy kindness of work—the kind that bends backs and hearts and still asks for more.

We listen for sand that sings, tip our hat to saints with thorny ideas, and let the town called Rest appear just when the dust tastes like old starlight between our teeth. It’s an improvisational, introspective little journey to sleep where nothing has to be solved and everything gets to breathe.

Let my voice do the walking while you drift off to sleep, unbuttoning the day one quiet image at a time. It is what it is. What happens, happens. And right now, there’s nothing we need to do except close our eyes and ride. Sleep Tight!

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

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Hi, Sleepy. Tonight we dig where we stand—heels in the soil, head in the constellations. From a quantum shiver under our feet to a secret cave in the mind, we wander through dream-workshops where ponies deflate with comic dignity and a shaggy little creature eats a balloon behind a popcorn stall.

We wonder if dreams are solitary janitors or communal rivers, if cores are gilded or just waves, and whether our inner rubber band needs a little soul-oil. It is what it is. What happens, happens. Breathe, drift off to sleep, and let the cave open like a quiet door. Sleepy, I can’t hear you—but I can feel you. Sleep Tight!

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

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Hi, Sleepy. Tonight we drift through memory like a midnight train—rattling carriages of rain on the Adventure Wolf roof, a not-quite-Luke hero tugging us forward, and a cottage where blue cheese grew in the breadbox like a tiny forest.

We visit old windows with yellow curtains, recite war verses that don’t quite fit a five-year-old, and meet the faces that made us—grandmothers, grandfathers, and the mystery of a dad who tells perfect anecdotes with the feelings left just offstage.

It’s an intimate, fog-soft journey to sleep, where the past keeps showing up as rooms in the mind and you get to simply lie back and let it all carry you. Not boring, not exciting—just human, just enough, so you can fall asleep and drift off to a peaceful night. Sleep Tight!

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

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Hi Sleepy. This one drifts like an unnecessary car ride into town that turns into coffee left unfinished. From there we tumble back to 2006—binders full of tour dates, whispered phone calls with elk hunters named Kurt (or was it Koot?), and four people in a forest of 500 empty chairs, half of them heckling.

Out comes Mr. Green Branch in his too-tight green suit, a grumpy caterpillar refusing change, while I wonder why I always end up in tights.

Phones appear, disappear, reappear. Memory slips, blue light glows, meditation becomes a crutch, and suddenly sleep itself is just another improvisation.

It is what it is. What happens, happens. And right now, nothing is required of you. Just drift.

Sleep Tight!

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

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