Welcome To The Campfire

Well now. Look at you. Clicking on strange names like “Ulf Ragnarsson” as if that doesn’t sound like a man who once wrestled a bear over the last honeycomb in Scandinavia. I applaud your curiosity. Or your recklessness. Either way, welcome.

My name’s Ulf, though it wasn’t always. I used to be a quiet, unassuming nobody called “Gary,” living under the tyrannical reign of modern life: deadlines, bills, IBS, and mild to severe existential despair. Then one day, the sky cracked open, Odin hurled his trusted spear (Gungnir) at my internet router, and I remembered who I truly was. A man reborn. A wolf awakened. A Viking without a king. A philosopher with IBS.

That’s right. While others found enlightenment in yoga retreats or ayahuasca vomit buckets, I found mine through bowel cramps, panic attacks, and being too terrified to leave the house. Truly, the gods work in mysterious (and mildly hilarious) ways.

The Saga Begins in the Gut

Let me tell you something about rock bottom: it’s not a pit. It’s a sense of adventure, subdued and locked down in your own living room because you’re too anxious to face the outside world. It’s working from home not because it’s trendy, but because the idea of stepping into a queue at Tesco feels like crossing Helheim’s threshold.

I was broken. Not dramatically, not in a sexy movie-montage way. I was quietly broken. On paper, I functioned. But inside, my thoughts were strangling me like draugr in the dark. And then came the shift — not a single heroic moment, but a slow-burning revolt. Like lighting a match in a cave and realizing it was a dragon’s mouth all along.

I started studying the human mind. Not just to fix myself — though that was the bait — but because I got obsessed. Psychology, biology, philosophy, theology, metaphysics — the whole chaotic tapestry of what it means to be human. I dove into myths and ancient traditions, not for nostalgia, but to steal their secrets and forge something new. Something for now. Something for us.

The Viking Rebirth

And thus, Ulf Ragnarsson was born. Not from a womb, but from weeping into cold baths and writing poetry by torchlight. Ulf is my mythic self. My wild self. The version of me that isn’t shackled by want and desperation, sugar cravings, or the unspoken social rule that we all pretend to enjoy having the same conversations over drinks on repeat.

He’s part Norse war priest, part grumpy philosopher, and part stand-up comedian at Ragnarök’s afterparty. And he’s here — I’m here — to carve a path from the ashes of my old life. My years of research, study, and careful application. Not a path of axes and raids (though, never say never), but of transformation, laughter, and fire-forged philosophy.

What To Expect If You Stick Around

You may be asking yourself, what the Hel is this guy all about? And the answer is simple enough. I love to write! I started years ago in my ‘scared to leave the house’ era and never really stopped. I love to create and take on challenges, and make little badges and achievements for their completion.

I’m here to share my strange, wonderful, occasionally horrifying journey toward becoming a free, joyful, dangerous man. I’ve thrown off the chains of comfort. I live by firelight and ritual. I bathe in cold waters and cook over open flames like my ancestors, and yes — I occasionally fantasize about drop-kicking my smartphone off a cliff.

I’m crafting something a bit mad, a bit mythic, and 100% real. My writing is for the weary, the curious, the heartbroken, the seekers, the misfits, the brave, and the broken — all of whom are actually warriors in disguise.

You can expect the following:

• Poetry that punches you in the gut and then hugs you.
• Fiction laced with myth and modernity.
• Journaling prompts that make you stare at the wall in stunned silence.
• Philosophical essays that ask “why?” until you scream “I DON’T KNOW, ULFRIC, I JUST WANTED A SNACK.”
• Challenges that demand you rise from the ashes — or at least try to get out of bed on time.
• And always, humour. Because this whole existence is one big cosmic piss-take, and if we don’t laugh, we’re just crying in chainmail.

My Beliefs (Or, Why I Sleep in a Tent)

Here’s a little truth bomb: comfort is the enemy. Modern life has sedated us with softness, processed food, and eternal scrolling. But I’ve chosen another path. A harder one. One paved with hunger, solitude, resistance, cold showers, and long walks into the forest with only a flask of black tea and the distant sound of my sanity crumbling.

My creed is simple: discipline brings freedom. Strip it all back. Earn your food, feel your body ache, write until the bones of your fingers creak. Sleep under the stars, not for aesthetic, but because the sky is your cathedral.

And yes — I plan to live in a van, eventually. Travel the wilds. Build a unit. Forge my own gym with rusted chains, tyres, and raw iron. Why? Because nothing heals like sweat and solitude. And because I like the look of a burning fire inside a steel cave while the rain thunders on the roof.

From the Ashes, I Build

I’ve known pain. Deep pain. The kind that wraps itself around your soul like Níðhöggr gnawing at Yggdrasil’s roots. I’ve lost love. I’ve been abused. Beaten, bullied, discarded— imprisoned, even. I’ve ruined things I cherished. Made promises and broke them. I’ve failed, fallen, risen, and wept beneath the trees.

But I also have hope. Not the fluffy kind. The ironclad, flame-breathing kind. I believe anyone can change. Truly. With enough will, enough awareness, and enough self-inflicted hardship, you can become something unrecognisable — something dangerous in the best way.

That’s the journey I’m on. A warrior’s path. A poet’s path. A lunatic’s path. And I want to share it all with you. Put it on display for the world to see.

Final Thoughts, Before the Mead

So here we are. You’ve met me. Or at least, the me that’s clawed his way out of depression, turned his fear into fuel, and forged a voice loud enough to echo in the halls of Valhalla (or at least down the hallway of a run-down gym).

Follow me if you want stories. Follow me if you want laughs. Follow me if you want fire, ice, and weirdly specific metaphors about Norse gods and intestinal inflammation. I’ll give you fiction that stirs your blood. Prompts that bend your brain. Reflections that poke the wounds you thought were long gone. And I’ll do it all in the name of rebirth.

Because if you’re not dead yet, then dammit — there’s still time to become a legend.

Until then… sharpen your blade, pack your flask, and join me on this journey.

Yours in fire and foolishness,

Ulf Ragnarsson

Philosopher. Warrior. Tent-dweller. Lover of wolves and weirdos.

🪓 Like what you read?🪓

🪙 Then toss a coin into the fountain.

Make a wish —

for wilder words, sharper truths,

and more wild-folk with wild hair doing wild things.

Each offering stirs the water, feeds the fire,

and helps one such beast keep writing beneath the stars.