Berlin | Back in Town Pt 3

The next morning Vic and I went for breakfast in a little German bakery that sold giant rectangular cakes the size of bricks. We walked to Moritzplatz and up the road past the infamous club Kitkat; I pondered aloud to Vic how, if one could invent some sort of gadget that detected historic orgasms per square metre, the machine would hit the roof when you passed the area. Further down the road we arrived at the giant industrial building that houses Tresor, Ohm (where I watched Annie play a set back in the day) and Kraftwerk – a gargantuan events space inside the gutted husk of a power station.

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London | Loonies at the Open Mic

Sitting in bed writing this, 8:52am, had a coffee and two slices of toast (one marmite, one honey), and the footsteps of my flatmates above through the creaky floorboards are so loud every morning it makes me want to throw a brick at the ceiling (if only I owned a brick). Why do two humans need to walk around so much: that is my first thought upon waking every day. Why do two humans need to pace back and forth eighteen times over the space of half an hour: tell me. Their bed is on one side of the room, their drawers are on the other. There is nothing else in the room. So: what is going on up there. 

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London | Steadily Healthier

I raised my prices today – for my lessons. That’s not particularly interesting for you, probably, but it’s a milestone for me we’ve got to start somewhere. Actually we’ll start here: I’m two months sober. I don’t really like the phrasing of that, makes me sound like a crackhead, but well, maybe I was a bit, back in the day. Not crack but – plenty of other stuff. I stopped drinking after New Year’s Eve with the intention of going three months without. Since I was 14 I don’t think I’ve ever gone anywhere near that long – and I started to worry that my life was not as glorious as it might be and more tragic that it need be. I find myself underwhelmed by years of drinking and the knock-on effects it has on every little thing: that being discipline, money, body fat, anxiety, skin, hair, teeth, motivation and the great sapping-away of TIME. 

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California Pt 11 | Sea Lights

We said goodbye to Annie’s parents in the morning, and I wrote them a letter to say thank you for everything: thank you for the food, thank you for the hospitality, and thank you more than anything for creating the rare delight that is my friend. We set off back to Oakland in the morning, full of breakfast and with a clear sky overhead. First, however, Annie wanted to show me Las Gatos and the area she grew up (which was news to me because I thought we were already in Los Gatos but whatever).

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California Pt 7 | Vesuvio

I hadn’t expected Kerouac Alley and the bookshop to move me so much; the emotion of it all took me by surprise. Truth be told, I don’t often think about Kerouac these days. I read other authors, other genres, and when I write I don’t try to sound like him anymore; I feel I’ve found my own style, more or less. I had my phase and I moved on – left it behind, along with all the other stuff I left in my twenties, voluntary or otherwise. But despite all that, being there did something to me – something visceral. It felt exactly how watching the Lion King on TV feels, even after all these years: it felt like nostalgia, it felt like loss, it felt warm, it felt like a hug.

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