Almost… quite… anywhere…

I am not transformed. Neither do I quite feel like my Old Self.

I feel OK. God is dead. Marx is dead. But I think I’m gonna make it.

We have been shooting Hard Copy III in the old Rissik Street post office for almost two weeks now. Most mornings are freezing: when the weather report says ‘very cold’, it is here, on the 2nd floor of this cat infested ruin that you understand (and I mean UNDERSTAND, Mr Krishnamurti sir) what Very Cold means.

When the wind blows outside, a gentle and mysterious movement of air originates somewhere inside the cavern which we have transformed into an office and caresses the body parts not covered by parka. It chills, it freezes, it teases, it drives you crazy. For survival, I firmly clutch a scalding oil heater between my thighs: it is a desperate relationship, full of need, dependency and almost psychotic levels of separation anxiety when I have to pop downstairs to speak to the director for some Very Important Reason. Or to admonish the AD for not wrapping on time. (There must be some change in me a month ago I would have just plain crapped on him. See? A bit of yoga and pranayama will save the world still, I think.)

But today the sun is out and the large windows are letting in a lot of light. The temperature is up and the traffic hums like a chain gang on acid. The city noise is beautiful; it is a day in which anything is possible. I am happy to be here, I have energy to write. I’m in the mood to say something. I want to flirt with someone. I wear my hair down.

I am In Between, Neither Here Nor There, and I don’t mind.