drinking gin on the streets of London whilst doing Christmas shopping (ultimately failing to do any Christmas shopping whatsoever), building forts without tidying up afterwards, eating pizza two days in a row, chocolate starters.
can’t wait to go home and assemble all my beloved allies – homebound and emigrants, the driven and confused, students as well as workers (and an unemployed brother) – in one confined space and indulge in meaty delicacies, alcoholic beverages and general Christmas carnage. I’m currently writing an essay on urban modernity, staring at my laptop all day and feeling very much disconnected from the 19th century opium-crazed vagabonds and prostitutes. and the flâneurs, the lucky bastards, whose only mandatory preoccupation seems to have been to saunter across major metropolitan locations, producing lots of top class literature and art in the process. in my current postmodern condition of persistent fragmentation from friends and family these early modern experiences are seductive to say the least.
when I get home I’m determined to wildly articulate some of my feminine primitivism (another popular modernist idea) on the streets of Gothenburg to make up for these months of total isolation.