Begin again with the writing. Find a suitable length to be away, and begin again.
So, old friends, what news? The festival is archived and notions of climate change, explored over seven days as paradigm shift are now archived forever (digital degradation aside). The festival team enjoyed the processes of a round table feedback session today and truly it is hard to say whether the festival enjoyed success or not. My personal project, to broadcast the happenings online to remote viewers, went well, but what of the overall bearing of the enterprise? Who can tell, surely it is to early for the snows to have settled and what is certain is that I have neither the brain nor the vocabulary to deal with such closeness here.
Be satisfied therefore, with this as a start. Stuck in that post-focal lull, where one cannot look forward into blinding nothingness, nor can look back into what is an empty, finished affair, I long to start to read books again, to finally master the new album for its release in March, to properly once and for all, complete a first draft I can call a first draft. As it is, I console myself with vinegary red wine and a jukebox of known music.
While ice drifts into England, Berlin endures little more than cold rain. Tomorrow I will cycle down the hill, soon this area of town will disappear. Having made the non-decision of staying in Berlin till I can stay no longer, a new house is in order. In times like this, only new surroundings can resurrect an interest in the world.