Monday, 10 December 2012


I'm conscious that I've been here for five days and I haven't yet sat down to the reason I came in the first place. I'm not clawing at a reason, but see how the brain likes to recognise patterns and have things Make Sense. Anyway, it's funny how the order of importance shifts, but still places the most difficult things at the bottom. I will much rather shop snow boots, book festival tickets, weigh up sea versus air travel, marvel at DHL charges. This is procrastination on an open scale, without a deadline, no aim no product, no exterior force saying 'sit down and do some writing otherwise this is the consequence'. All I am is my decision to be here. It was enough. It is enough. You know all the mantras but they annoyingly peel off when most needed. Shorten the recovery period. Make it even shorter.

'There is nothing more certain than uncertainty'. You're following a feeling, a right, a truth, a kind of devotion by other description, animating the hand of God, as Patti Smith put it. A need a want a lack a divine truth. It gets a bit hazy. Of course we all want a nice life, to not face up to our whys, doubts, pounding existential weight. They say it's nice to know what you don't want, but once you eradicate things, perhaps exhausting work or a draining relationship, you're left bare, honest and vulnerable. On cold days a little pointless. I'm having trouble deciding what matters, she once said quite plainly in conversation at the bar. I loved that one, we laughed.

You moved for love, he asked me later. He'd already asked if I'd moved for work. Our society seems to place the biggest emphasis on our job, our money-earning capacity, our worth as sacrifices made in order to pay for things. I imagine I wouldn't have minded such classification in trading days. I grow this thing and I swap it for that thing to add a little variety to dinner tonight. I make this thing and I swap it for that thing as I do need to darn the holes in my socks (I actually do). The directness wholly makes sense and is instantly gratifying.

I didn't move to Berlin for either of his reasons, I moved for me. He stepped away slightly and creased his face, muttered something in squints and I'd only just met him so I didn't know if this exclamation was a good thing or a bad thing. What, I puzzled, searching my eyes over him to confirm my absolute craziness, fully expecting to instantly lose the respect of each near-stranger as they uncover my fraudulence whilst my back's turned. Amazing, he smiled. I keep hearing it. I haven't yet worked out if it's a polite euphemism, but this time I'll take it as the truth.

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