A slow day, woke to a light falling of snow and new birds in the garden. Yesterday I put out scraps of food for them, there were two yesterday and seven today. Beyond that, little of note was achieved. More archiving work for transmediale, a painful, cold ride into the Griefswalder Strasse office, editing videos, converting videos, uploading videos.
Then home again and to the freezing living room to set up a microphone stand and microphone, the amplifier, mixer and Casio. Played complete nonsense for hours, something of an indirect recollection of my lunch conversations with Micz where we spoke of the balance between intellect and ego that a frontman must possess in exactly the right quantities - quantities that we were not aware of the proportions of, let alone in possession.
Spent this morning reading through old novel drafts, trying to work out where I was. It has become an old task now but reading those words, the opening fifteen chapters or so, is like reading the works of someone else. It only serves now to ignore them completely, finish the second half and then go through and edit, detached but implicated. By approaching the work this way in a second round, a new layer of narrative is placed into the text, one that comes from that transitory space between remembering and forgetting (that space, spoke of often here, was explored in a different way recently in a neighbouring blog).
Tomorrow brings nothing spectacular I fear, more of the same, a summoning of the energies to push my work beyond the incomplete and into the finished. Only then can approaches fresh be sought – I started today with a clearing of my mail inbox, writing some letters and recording some inane musical ramblings. Cleanse the system and await our second winter.