Straße des 17. Juni, Tiergarten and Siegessäule, Potsdamer Straße, Unter den Linden, Alexander Platz and the light of Berlin smudged across my eyes at 1:30am.
London Orbital, Merstham, M23 and A23, Brighton Rd, Coulsdon, Beddington Sewage Treatment Works, Croydon, Thornton Heath, and into London smudged across the horizon.
S.J wrote and talked with us about aftercare for Rest Area. Kali Rose said the snake I ran over on my e-bike was a good omen, and she’s never going to let that go. I arrive in Vienna, cafés I’d aimed for are closed for lunch so I find myself in Café Jelinek, a bit off Mariahilfestr. neighbourhoods I’ve biked through before. A second breakfast, after our all-’80s singing one in Landgasthaus Rodlhof on 3 hours sleep, raked from the work and hungover, is a big mug of coffee, croissant and honey, bowl of fruit and yoghourt, 4 slices bread with cream cheese, chives, tomatoes, all for 9,50 €. On the plane, easyJet to Schönefeld, they offer me two seats, ’cos I’m mad tall. I fall over myself into it. 4 hours later, a half before midnight and the Danube churning in my lungs, I arrive home. Katrin has left dinner on the table for me. Aftercare all the way.
These lyrics. How she sings them. Just my regular reminder to self that after 24 years Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville is still one of the best albums ever.
An ominous bruised horizon, warnings of thunderstorms and a deadening, electric heat tense to snap, I was hoping for a funpark joyride of a flight with plenty of turbulence punctuated by occasional vertiginous, stomach-voiding drops in altitude. Nothing of the sort. The sky though became progressively shrouded, even at twelve thousand meters, in a vague diaphanous white haze, plunging deeper into a hadean, thuggish gloom, but all the while descending across South Australia, the sun cutting a feeble, jaundiced glaze through sweltering up-wellings of the guttering cyclone Isobel and its conjoined southern ocean trough, it was anticipation disappointed.
Wet when arriving, and stormy with fecund humidity, I continued my series of extraordinarily strange dreams last night, then this morning, dehydrated and woozy dragged myself into class, on a Saturday, with Gala, taught by Gabrielle. So once again, I am with old and very dear friends in Adelaide, and seeing again new ones from Crush and my other adventures in the murder capital below the Tropic of Capricorn.
Before I left Melbourne, I had one last destruction of language and faces at The Wall with Emile, who is off to Europe before I return, and is very happy with his new airport fascination. So here for Emile are some more photographs of runway aprons and other fun impedimenta of economy class.