sleep deprived live-blogging from cafe hurwundeki:
so: Two guys adding an office space to the back room of a cafe. If the construction workers (slavs of indeterminate origin) don't understand English then the obvious thing to just repeat yourself more loudly and angrily over and over (I thought this was a solely American strategy, but nope- apparently the English have this magical skill as well.) WHoa, hah!...
shit is softly and slowly hitting the fan... passive aggressive British faux-politeness vs. slavic no-B.S. indignant rage. I love it when brits get mad, it is so insane and awkward and sickly fun to watch. I think a fist fight is about to break out between a middle-aged librarian-looking woman - she's trying to enjoy tea with a friend amidst the screeeeeech of a saw-
with short grey dykey haircut and the barrel-chested power-saw-wielding slavish hulk. Damn. This is beautiful. (Eyes blurrrring...)
Wow. Hot shit. So tired. zombie tired. Oh shit, they hit something. Internet is DOWN. Internet DOWN! In a big "Free Wi-Fi" a man who looks like
a arab version of Russell Brand in my line of sight bothers to walk alll the way across two rooms just to ask if I'm online- I say "no, the workers must've unplugged something-" they've now barricaded themselves into the backroom the back room using an enormous antique trunk as a blockade... either the librarian won or they just don't want to deal with her shit. who knows. this cafe is beauuutiful, though. a noble-looking taxidermied penguin off to my left (surrounded by other stuffed bird friends) stares at a huge deer and gazelle above the door across the room.
.
on the train from Stansted I started to slip. multiple nights of barely any sleep caught up to me and I kept catching myself reinacting or acting out imagined or past conversations and then yapping on the phone in German rudely, arrrgh. a-hole. grumpy a-hole.
I like to listen to music WITHIN ITS CONTEXT- (i.e. sigur ros while drivng in iceland = absolutely perfect, and is JUST MAKES SENSE.) so I put Burial on and stuff the noize-cancelling headphones as far into my ears as they will go and just enjoy the ride- and enjoyable it is, with this soundtrack all the adorable monopoly housing up until Liverpool St. Station is magic, totally amazing. Boom, burble, driving along... I start writing crazy shit phonetically in English using the cyrillic alphabet- half to challenge myself and half to keep the German spiessers next to me from reading my notes.

This is the first time I have been in an English speaking country since early January... odd, it is all odd. Tension... always tension in the air... whoa-hey... London.
two men in their late 40s are sharing dirty stories and talking all fakey like Angelinos, one is American, the other a Brit- yuck- I get the impression that they are veterans of the electronic music world/scene...
Hurm. Understanding every tidbit of banter is always a curse. in German I actually have to pay attention- but here my brain is always "ON" whether I like it or not. that allows one to pick up and become washed away in/on all the truly inane BS people are constantly spouting. This would be a strong argument- if not THE prime argument- for never living in an English-speaking country ever again.
There are three other free seats at this huge table but no one will sit in them.
Neeeeed nap.
&
the internet is flickering on and off so often that the arab Russell Brand returns to consult me once again. no. no connection.
&
Surprised to encounter more Americans here than in Berlin... oh, plague. oh fun.