Post Titled: Way down in this Pubbacultcha
Post Subtitled: Wow, finally found some internet access here in the library.
Everyone has been sleeping a lot so I"ve had to make my own fun:

The locks and waterways were begging to be jumped-over, unfortunately it is very difficult to film onesself doing this, so to compensate I remixed it and refilmed it from the screen with that Justin Timberlake song that keeps playing on the radio, but slowed down,

and again, and again, abstract, etc.


and some scenery with a smaller less-impressive jump:


ANYHOW, here is the post I wrote at 4:15 this morning during a bout of insomnia, I do not remember anything I wrote and do not hold myself responsible for its contents:
Nadine, my lovely finace, just grabbed my skull (in her sleep) with both hands, shook it, knocked on it three times, then released it, or- me, rather. After hours of motionlessly spooning her with insomnia and a head full of worry perhaps she was just trying to exorcise my impish troubled little thoughts while she slept soundly. We are often on the same page like this so I shouldn't think about it too much...
I had been staring into the dark for who knows how long, at one point re-suffering the reoccurring waking nightmare where my conscious being is reduced to the size of a speck of dust floating in the air aimlessly and the room becomes the mass and is pure horrific darkness and vacuum-of-space while I am left to float, observing its vast nothingness for what seems like an eternity without steering or thrust, just floating in infinity forever. That is the usual bad dream, but this time my arm had swollen to the mass of a solar system and I could see the tiny door to the bedroom through the translucent black mass of my own forearm and elbow... so far away and unreachable, that door... massive arm, and Nadine's head on my other timy arm light years away on the pillow next to me...
These dreams all stem from a series of particularly disturbing fever dreams I had at the age of 11 or 12 during a long bout of sickness, positively terrifying stuff I could go on for pages describing it, or- actually -can”t quite describe it, but it comes back around from time to time.

It is early early morning on a day in late late late December still fairly early in the 21st century, I am awake because I can't sleep and I can't sleep because I can't stop worrying and I can't stop worrying because the future is shaky at best. I have two weeks to mull this over while I stay with my folks over the holidays here in the Cottswalds, England, before returning to Berlin for more self-punishment. I do love Berlin, though, and my fiance, don't get me wrong.

In Berlin I have no steady income, no direction, no particular duties when I wake up, no life, no clue, but I do have a bike (which doesn't belong to me but I can use.) The bike is a savior. With this two-wheeled wonder one can whoosh away, play in traffic, and end up lost on the other side of town. It is brilliant...

We have been in England visiting the family for a week now. I am surprised at how surprising England is when you spend a little time here and are able to absorb whatever it it that this country exudes... I was surprised to find that they actually have their own culture... I know that sounds awful, but I suppose I just didn't expect, I suppose... funny how one can expect a place to be so similar just because they speak the same language as you do... I guess I hadn't been to England since 2001 and then before that it was always in strange and very short-term circumstances so I never had the chance to sit back and realize “Oh, duh, this is a real country”... maybe I don”t know how to explain this exactly; for example;
the Pubs out here in the countryside are pretty amazing. Like walking into a Hobbit hole since the ceiling is usually just barely above 6 feet hight and the beams are worn, warped and/or sometimes even burnt with age, but so cozy. Ales abound and they are what they are, not quite beer but drinkable. Football matters, books and television matter, and wow- 80-90% of programming is actually created here and not imported from the USA, that is refreshing, although I'll admit that I have been dissapointed with the BBC.
Jumping with more wierd pop music:


That is all I wrote. We get on the train to London in about an hour and a half, that should be interesting...