There's so much room to breathe here in Berlin. I didn't expect that. It's like Paris, but without the weight and peacoque expectation of beauty. There's an emptiness which exists as a perfect palette upon which to create. The streets are quiet. People move almost as ghosts, as though to draw attention would be to break the spell. I roll a cigarette and stand on the balcony and I can see beautiful apartment buildings hunched beside post-war brutalist blocks and everything just fits. I can hear birds singing at dusk.
This is my life now. I will never turn back. I have a background in normality. As normal as all that ever was. Tomorrow the travelling, the playing, the work, the joy of walking my own path begins. I clean the blood off the guitar, caked and black from last week's goodbye. I make hand made CDs to sell as I go. I stay home, happy to be alone, drinking tea and quiet. I drink the quiet. I can't remember the last time I did that. I sit by myself, happy in a room with tall ceilings and a high lamp, though I am never alone these days. A happy thought synched with the buzzing of my phone. Oh, hello. Not long. I'm on my way. Just got to go through Europe to get there.
Life has sure taken a turn. I have begun to learn the Art of Happiness.
