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@thewatcherandthewatch

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der Stoff -> substance
wechseln -> to change verstoffwechseln - > to metabolize German language is fascinating.
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Probably my favourite thing about Berlin is the Saturday night Stummfilm am Mitternacht at Babylon Kino. This week it was Murnau’s Nosferatu. I must say I definitely like German renderings (i.e. Herzog’s 1979 make) much better than the Anglo versions. Somehow stuck-up Victorian anxieties transpose very well to the 19th century Germany bourgeoisie.
Germans macht good Gothic. Mubi has Der Letzte Angestellte on this month. Frustrated as I am with job seeking, this was a fairly satisfying watch as well.
Sen bir yerlerde ben bir şehirde akşam olunca beni hatırla

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23 February
I am at the library. Not writing. All day I fantasised about reading something that would stir me. Some Eliot. Four Quartets. In my beginning is my end. I missed my mom. I texted her, asking her to come visit me in May, maybe? The heftiness of these intimate moments all imploding inside you. A man wouldn’t understand. You’d wish he did. But he wouldn’t. I only realize what I’d done to myself now. How could I not see? “A man of dubious erections.” Stupid, stupid girl. He never loved you.
Bumped into someone I know from the theatre. He invited me to a party. Then a friend called. I want something bigger than all this. But how? How? I make and unmake. Always.
Go home. Get naked. Get under the warm water. Wash your long, beautiful, princess hair. Resist the desire to cut it. Don’t do anything. Not yet.
Days like this.
I am at the moment sitting in the kitchen of a beautiful town house in Edinburgh. I should be writing but I can’t. Listening to John Cage instead, intending to reach my arm out to the nearest book. Tomorrow I’ll go to a shop on Royal Mile to buy a deck of Tarot cards. I’m imagining a Anna-like existence for myself. Sitting on the floor. Mind as well as hands preoccupied with something.
What else? I went to the Portrait Gallery. Bought postcards. Wrote on one. Bought a bar of nice chocolate for someone I don’t want to care about anymore. I’ll probably end up not sending it. This thing, this libidinal energy. I’m slowly re-learning what to do with it. How to dilute it. Dilute it through reading, writing. One thing I’m happy with: am not counting days, dreading or anticipating the day of my return. Home is home. You make it and unmake it.
I took a few notes today. A Scottish Modern amongst the Bloomsbury lot. He looks interesting. Must look more into him.
We draw a magic circle and shut out everything that doesn't agree with our secret games. Each time life breaks the circle, the games turn grey and ridiculous. Then we draw a new circle and build a new defense.
Through a Glass, Darkly (1961, Ingmar Bergman)
Yes.
Letzte Mitternacht ins Kino Babylon: Geheimnisse einer Seele (1926)

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I went home and then went away from home. Those 5 nights I spent up in the mountains. Watching the moon rise above the forest right in front of our balcony. Scorpio constellation with the blinking red Antarres. I spent my days reading Tolstoy and drinking coffee. Picked blackberries, apples and pears. Were afraid of wild animals thumping at our door at night. Saw a wild boar (dead). Drove the 25km road from the centre to the village as the night was falling, illuminated by the near full moon. Learnt some strange dialect words.
Now trying to be slow and efficient. I realized I’ve missed the conversations I have myself against the backdrop of my routine here.
Lukewarm coffee. Cold weather. Long nights and lazy limbs.
Gestern. Sonntag.
I went to Babylon to catch the 1600 Stummfilm. La Passion de Jeanne D’arc. Beautiful, eerie images. Antonin Artaud was also in it. Small but intense role. I loved the economy of language.
I know I miss someone but I also know it’s not like what I think it is.
The 'chemical wedding' of solar king and lunar queen might represent the alchemical process of conjunction - the physical joining of gold and silver - or suggest an analogy for the mysterious and unseen bonds between substances, now envisioned in terms of human desire.
LRB, 27 July 2017
Johann Christian Dahl. Norwegian. View of Dresden in Moonlight.
This Sunday I was in Dresden. Beautiful, sad town by the river. Went to Gottesdienst at Frauenkirche. Saw a really nice exhibition on Romantic Art at Albertinum. Terraces and the alleyways reminded me of Burgh, but I still don’t know what to make of a city when it’s neither predominantly Baroque or Gothic as Dresden was. The first part of the day, walked around Altstadt. Then I threw myself into the welcoming, bohemian arms of the Neustadt. Had Störtebeker at a café in the sun. Took off my shirt and lied on the grass with my bra at Alaunpark. Then off to that garden/beach party for Gui Boratto. Danced, danced, danced until there was 10 mins to my bus back to the Big City.
Toni Erdmann The Big Short Ex_Machina The Attack of the Clones The Revenge of the Sith Rogue One Frantz Manchester by the Sea Nocturnal Animals A Bigger Splash El Club Things to Come Mistress America

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“If you were a work of fiction...”
“I’d be a short story. A great one.”
These wet, gray days.