Tuesday, August 10, 2010

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.
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